A Wifes Prayer

It was a long day. Not so long that it made me exhausted. However, it was long, and my throat was more tired than I was due to all the talking I had done today. College presentations were supposed to be presented all day. It appeared that my teachers came together and decided to have presentations on the same day. So was I tired? Yes, but I could still function.

I let out a breath when I opened my house door and set down my book bag on my couch, turning on the TV, and walking to the kitchen.

I was ready for some food and water.

I quickly fixed my small sub sandwich and got myself a cup of water. I sat down on my couch, put on YouTube videos, and had my sandwich coming to my mouth. But something came to my mind.

I can do some writing.

I stood back up and went to the kitchen table, setting my sandwich and water down. I grabbed my notebook and pencil from my room, and I went back to the table.

I was ready.

When I opened my notebook, I started to write:

It’s been a long day

Presentations did flood

But at the end of it all

I’m okay no matter what

My thoughts raced. The beginning wasn’t terrible, no. But the stop of my thoughts made the process more difficult. What else could I put in this poem? I didn’t know. But surprisingly, a romantic idea came to me, and I started to write:

It’s been a long day

Presentations did flood

But at the end of it all

I’m okay no matter what

Today yet again

Did I notice someone

It was the boy Elijah

Whose confidence is fun

But I stopped again. Was I really going to start writing about a false crush? I don’t think so. But then the most random thought came to mind, and I moved my fingers again:

It’s been a long day

Presentations did flood

But at the end of it all

I’m okay no matter what

But there is something here

Something on my mind

And it’s about someone

Someone divine

Imagine your husband

Someone brand new

He’s someone who’s like

He’s just like you

His personality is thrilling

He’s professional and nice

His love is genuine

And he has a little bit of spice

I want a man who’s mature

Who’s lovely and swell

Who’s a hard-working man

And a caring male

So here is a prayer

Something I want to say

I pray that he’ll come to me

That he’ll come one day

I stopped there and mentally looked at myself with a look of disbelief. Did I just make a poem about my future husband? I laughed and took a bite from my sandwich. I really just made a poem about my future husband, what I imagined him to be, and prayed for him to come. But that’s when another idea knocked on my mental door. I drank my water and started to write again:

I’m a little tired

From this long day

But I’m sitting here

Still feeling okay

A story of something

It’s coming to mind

So I want to get writing

Seeing it’ll be fine

There once was a girl

Who had a big dream

Whose passion was mighty

And very supreme

She enjoyed a pencil

And enjoyed much paper

Those would transform

And be fresh as vapor

She went off to college

To learn more of books

To become an author

Whose stories would hook

During those times

She realized some things

That adults her age

All they would bring

They started to marry

And had many children

Having great jobs

And making a village

It made her one day

Sit and just think

What would the future

What would it bring

Did I have a husband

Did I have a child

Were they in my future

Would I even smile

Would my husband be sweet

Caring and kind

Would his love be true

And won’t leave me behind

Would he hold me tightly

Comfort me in need

Will his maturity shine

Will he be able to lead

Will he be a communicator

Will he own his mistakes

Will his love be genuine

And he won’t be fake

Will he be himself

Enjoying his flaws

Will his support be stunning

Leaving me in awe

She hadn’t thought of a husband

Nor want a child

But having a husband

That would be wild

Finding a guy

Who was thoughtful and kind

Very empathic

That would be fine

That girl who’s been thinking

It’s actually me

Finding a husband

It’s not a bad story

So I pray of my future

In line it will go

So I’ll get my husband

And our love will sow

A love that is genuine

A love that will mend

So to the dear Lord

Here’s a prayer that I send

I stopped moving my pencil and let a smile come over my face. I really wrote a poem about my future husband, and this time it was in a different form. Something way deeper than I thought it would be. I emphasized having true love, but I think it was pretty good.

I named the poem “A Wife’s Prayer,” then finished up my quick meal. I sat in my living room watching the TV until sunset, then I realized.

It’s time for dinner, and I have nothing in there to make it.

I haven’t gotten groceries, and I was too comfortable to move. But I groaned and reached over to my bookbag, digging out my wallet, then picking up my keys. The supermarket wasn’t but a few minutes away from my house, but when you felt lazy after this long day, it was hard to move.

But to the supermarket, here I come.

***

Thankfully, Waylon’s Market wasn’t busy or crowded. People were coming in and out, but there were still not many people in here. I pushed my cart around to find all the ingredients for my dinner. A lovely ravioli dinner. Tomatoes, marinara sauce, ravioli noodles, garlic powder, and many others.

“Ugh,” I sighed gently to myself. “I can’t wait to get home.”

“It appears you don’t want to grocery shop,” a male voice said as I looked through the freezers and kept pushing my cart, running right into something. I quickly looked over, and a guy was standing in front of my cart. He chuckled as he nearly tumbled toward the right.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” I yelped and hurriedly moved to catch him, surprisingly gripping his arm in time.

He laughed and straightened himself up, looking at me with a smile.

“You’re fast,” he chuckled. “A cart is a bit long and you caught me.”

“I’m so sorry sir, I was looking in the freezers.”

“No worries. You can call me Samuel.” He reached out a hand, and I took his hand in mine, shaking it after letting go of his arm.

“My name is Alora.”

“Nice to meet you Alora. It sounds like you don’t want to get some groceries.”

“I don’t but its time for dinner and I forgot my groceries.”

“I’m almost in the same predicament,” he commented as he walked alongside me, basket on his right arm. “I just got home from work and was about to get started on school work when it clicked. I have nothing to eat. So you see me here.”

“I just got home from school, wrote, and sat around for a little bit. That’s when my click happened.” I took strawberry ice cream out of the freezer and put it in my cart.

“You go to school as well, what school do you attend?”

“Charlotte’s College.”

“Charlotte’s College is one of my favorite schools to be attending. I go there as well and it has really changed my view on my dream.”

“What may that dream be?” I asked as we walked down the canned food aisle.

“Getting my books to become more compelling and become more creative. I want to be an author.”

Surprise hit my heart almost like a heart attack, and irony was spilling out like water. He wanted to be an author, and he went to my school. That was just...insane!

“Me and you have the same dream,” I said, knowing that my face said a lot when I shifted to look behind me. His shock was written on his face as well.

“The irony is insane. Do you have a certain genre you want to write?”

“Nope. I just want to enjoy writing books and surprise my readers. How about you?”

“I don’t either but I’m a big romance guy.”

Now that was just as surprising as the dream and college similarities. A romance guy wasn’t something I heard a lot of in writing.

“I just wrote something sort of romantic before I came here,” I said as I put canned tomatoes in my cart.

Our conversation was long as we walked along the store, getting his groceries and getting my own. His smile was contagious, and our conversation was very mature. I didn’t want to stop talking at all. But when he paid for both our bunches of food, I was full of bewilderment. This random guy I knocked into wanted to help get my dinner and the week’s groceries.

It was outstanding.

“I’ll help put these groceries up in this car for you,” Samuel said as he grabbed a bag.

“Thank you, but you don’t need to.”

“No worries, I will.”

He and I started putting groceries in the back seat and my household supplies in the front seat. But when he and I were finished, we sat against my driver’s and backseat car doors, and he asked a question. “Tell me, what made you choose being an author?”

“My grandmother and mother’s bedtime stories were a big reason why I started writing. Being in those fantasy lands before bed were great for dreams,” I chuckled. “I grabbed onto other books overtime due to those stories and also due to boredom. I then wanted to make worlds of my own. So what did I do, I read stories and turned those composition notebooks into books. As I created those worlds, and got older, my love for writing grew. Then I thought about it. I could make writing my career and I finally decided to make it a goal of mine. To become an author. How about you?”

“I have bits of the same story. My parents were both struggling with money, but they got us things like art supplies, books, notebooks, sketchbooks, coloring books, and they read bedtime stories. They made sure that we still had everything we needed and helped with keeping us occupied during the hard times. Those bedtime stories created a love for books and want to make those fantasy lands just as much as my parents. Writing is one of my favorites due to the fantasy land. Being put in or creating one of those worlds is just so fun. So my career choice was to become an author.”

Bits and pieces of his story was so close to mine. “That sounds stunning. My parents too made sure that regardless of how much we struggled, we had everything we needed. Bedtime stories were the start of joy for books, writing is good for it’s worlds, and being put in those worlds were just fun. It’s amazing.”

“Yes, it is.”

We looked at each other with smiles on our faces.

When our conversation ended, we gave each other our numbers, set a date for hangout time, and he went to his car after a farewell. I couldn’t help but continue to stand by the car door.

I looked up at the sky, gazing at the stars and soaking in its beauty.

I just met a charming black man who was around my age, twenty years old. He and I had a great conversation about life, shared similarities, and he made me feel important. We had the same dream, almost the same story, and even had the same reason for coming to the market.

I couldn’t believe I now have a friend.

A smile came over my face again as I looked up at the stars. I wasn’t saying that he was my husband. But my two finished poems seemed to have been put in physical form, and that playful prayer appeared to be answered. All I could say was “Lord I can’t believe you answered me.”

His hearing made a sweet thought come to mind. I was more heard than I realized.