“You will, either in 2017 or 2019. I see it in your numbers,” he said.
“Really? I would never have thought so. But why can’t I see it?” she replied plaintively.
“It just is. Maybe it will happen faster, in 2017 than in 2019.”
And so the roots of hope form, like an idea. Cobb has said once, and many times at once: An idea. Resilient, highly contagious. Once an idea’s taken hold in the brain, it is almost impossible to eradicate. A person can over it up, ignore it-but it stays there.
But hope, like ideas, can be insidious. Quietly skating, sliding around, lightly sticking to the meneges of the brain. On this end, it is waiting. Waiting for that one chance to crush it all.
Will it happen, or will it not? If it happens, will it be good? If it doesn’t, how will she feel?
And she continues to dance, dance, dance.