We Met in Java
I was ten minutes late; she was early.
She teared up a little—not from sadness, but because I was still here. I looked like I had things figured out, or at least more than she expected.
She stared at the stranger before her, and I leaned in, hugging her tightly.
She whimpered.
Her hair was bald, mine in braids. I hoped she saw that our scalp would get better.
She ordered a caramel milkshake; I chose dawa. A reflection of how different I had grown to be.
We finally broke the silence.
"Why were you late? Don't you have a car?"
I held her gaze.
I wanted to say no, quickly, but then I remembered all the dreams we had at her age—how we thought we’d have a car by 20. I smiled a little.
"Hey, even if I did, I could still be caught in traffic."
She asked if we found love. I said yes, but not the romantic kind.
"But you’re a lover girl!"
"Yes, but that doesn’t mean I like everyone."
I told her about the incredible people I now call friends, the radiance they bring into my life. For a moment, I wished I could tell her what she wanted to hear—but I didn’t have a lover.
She said she topped her class again but felt unappreciated because no one gave her presents.
I looked at her. That feeling—raw, familiar. A mirror of what I once felt.
"Are you still a genius?" she asked.
Shame crept in. A poignant reminder of time slipping through my fingers.
"I’m not sure I always know what I’m doing," I admitted, "but I got 47/50 in a recent test. So maybe I still have it in me."
She chuckled, hoping she’d never have to worry about failing. I prayed she never would.
"Did we go to Harvard?"
Oh, this child had dreams.
"I went to a Kenyan Harvard—world-class university, diamond of the country. The closest I got to Harvard was reading their research papers and writing references in Harvard style."
She slouched in her chair.
"Do we have friends?"
"So many that I’ve lost count. I don't know how many best friends i have. Too many to even gift in time."
She smiled, relieved. "I don’t have any right now."
I stretched out my hand, touching her palm—an assurance. It gets better.
"People call me the smiling machine at school. My smile keeps me going."
I still smile, but not as often. I frown when I work or read. My friend Ptah says I look ugly when frowning. He makes me smile more.
She looked outside. "Do we still memorize Bible verses?"
"Of course."
She recited her favorite—Psalm 139. Back then, she didn’t fully understand it.
"I know over 200 verses now."
She giggled. "I’ll go memorize more."
I wanted to tell her about my relationship with God now—a sweet place to be. A Father who constantly reminds me I am loved, worthy, seen, heard, and felt.
"Do we make our bed in the morning?"
I laughed. A struggle still.
"Sometimes," I answered, trying to mask the guilt.
She grinned. "Some things don’t just go away, huh?"
Habit is second to skin, they say.
"Have we met the people we watched on TV?"
Oh yes. I’ve met them. The poets she adored. I even have their contacts.
Her eyes lit up. "Even Mufasa?"
"Even Mufasa the poet."
I scrolled through my gallery, showing her selfies with her idols from different events.
"I have the confidence to perform on stage, by the way."
"Wait! Perform poetry? When did this happen?"
"Don’t worry. One day, you’ll put pen to paper and craft beautiful words that people will claim to love."
"I hate leaders," she said, her class prefect leading the list of those she despised. "They’re stupid, mean, attention-seekers. I’d never want to be one."
I smiled. If only she knew.
I told her we ended up in that world—wholly immersed in something she never thought we’d be. I told her I was a leader now.
"One that goes around convincing people with slogans like 'comrade power, comrade tialala.' We fight for a common good now. We sit in places discussing socialism, capitalism, feminism, global warming, societal change."
She got mad. Wanted to leave.
A sheer coincidence of what life had become.
I was afraid I had disappointed her.
Choosing a path she never imagined.
But I knew she’d be happier when she got here.
At least I could pay for a Java bill for two.
She hugged me tightly and left.
I’m not sure I’d want to meet her again—at least, not until I get better than this.
Hello lovely readers
I hope you enjoy this akiii
A reflection of a dream in this piece
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I love this!😊
Growth and embracing change is my pick up.
This just teared me up....I cannot get enough,I should take the young happy bubbly girl for a date...she deserves it ..I promise to be on time🥰
This is a terrific piece. Really sends you down the memory lane. And reminds you that we may not have everything we wished for but it does get better - even if it's in ways we never imagined.
I have always wished to have coffee with my younger self and tell her all the affirmative words that would build her up more. She really needed to hear that!
Thank you so much for your words!
Good read.