Merely the Shadow of a Dream

The day we met was uneventful, other than our encounter. And from that day on, I couldn't let go.

I was in the middle of a park in broad daylight, my legs folded under me and my songbook open. It was unlike any scene I'd ever experienced in my dreams. It was too real, too clear.

I was sitting on a bench. It was just an ordinary bench, bolted to the ground and painted an ugly shade of green. I held my guitar. It was just an ordinary guitar, purple with inspirational phrases and signatures from friends plastered all over it. I was writing a song. It was just an ordinary song meant to have a simple rhyme and flowing words.

I sat, fighting with the words, trying to bend them the way that I wanted them. They didn't want to cooperate. The words, meant to be a playful love song, were forming themselves into a sort of despondent funeral march.

And then, of all the parks, in all the towns, in all the world, he walked into mine.

He sat down next to me on that bench. And he began to sing my song. His voice was smooth and beautiful and he made my words fit togther perfectly. Crowds began to gather, dropping coins and bills into my guitar case. I was in awe as the case filled.

I finished playing and he smiled at me. I examined his face carefully, taking in every small detail of my singer's face.

Well, I decided after a short second that felt like an eternity. He doesn't look a thing like Jesus.

I smiled back, suddenly unsure of myself. "Hello, what is your name?" he asked, that same sweet smile on his face.

I made a mental note of his gentlemanly manner. He sat up straight, not slumped over like most guys I knew. He was confident, but not arrogant. He was nothing short of royalty.

"Geneva. Geneva Hill," I answered quietly, still mesmerized by that which sat in front of me.

"Geneva," he whispered my name like it was a secret.

I averted my gaze and grabbed the money in my guitar case. "This," I said, holding it out in from of me, "belongs to you."

He laughed and closed my hand around it. "Keep it, superstar."

The boy stood to leave and he held out his hand. Instead of shaking it like I expected, he kissed my hand and then looked into my eyes again.

"I hope to see you again," he said, releasing my hand. "Maybe tomorrow?"

I smiled and nodded eagerly. Too eagerly. He didn't seem to notice.

"Goodbye, Geneva."

I looked down into my guitar case. On top of the money lay a single rose.

And then... I woke up. I smiled to myself, grabbing my dream notebook.

I wrote down what I'd dreamed and transcribed our song.

I realized all at once that he was perfect. He was like the Prince Charming I'd imagined when I was little, the perfect boy I'd dreamed of when I was young.

I smiled as I put away my journal and thought nothing more of it, just that I'd had an amazing dream.

I got up and began getting ready for school, following my normal routine. I never had a "bad hair day" or ran late because I paid attention to the little things, the subtle changes.

One small detail I'd neglected to notice was the small rose that now lay on top of my pillow.

I'd thought it was just a great dream. But I was wrong.

It was so much more.