When I told him the news, joyous to most, he didn't betray any hint of disappointment. He shared the good sentiments, definitely. I can't pretend to read his mind, even after so many years, but I know that I at least could not forget the alternate future he had planned, one which the news so firmly and emphatically rendered impossible. The rest of us never took these dreams seriously, and would tease him about it in conversations amongst ourselves. We remarked that even he couldn't really think things could work out the way he wanted. I think now we were wrong: his silence just speaks too loudly. This doesn't change any of the realities, not least that we were always right about this being the only way it could have worked out. But it's not always a good feeling being right.