Anticipate

I have a question, a small request—I like to reason, just a favor, just permission. I want to ask it. The forces that be, do not. Which is why they’ve forced their shriveled little hands (because this is how I imagine The Fates, as gnarly old women in tattered rags, constantly cackling at me from above and pointing with thin gray fingers) and pushed a meeting from Friday, to yesterday, to today to tomorrow.

And, as if they know that I really want the answer to be positive, they’ve thrown in the second straight week of black rain this May.

As if anyone who addresses this request (or any others floating out there) needs a reason to be in a bad enough mood not to grant it. So everyone is grumbling along, slipping in rain-slicked lobbies, muddying leather shoes, soaking their morning papers, and prepared—simply, ready—to say no/bad/wrong.

Even me. Even as I sport a spring skirt and a forced smile. Because with that extension without expiry, I’m starting to think so. Of this idea, this light bulb that was just positively brilliant last week. Fading fast, that confidence could fizzle and pop at any moment, leaving only a scorched ring and bits of clink in the glass. Swimming hard against what I do need.

I need to radiate positive energy and warming rays. I need to ooze yes. Though I anticipate a no, I need a yes in return.