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Episode 6: The Little Prince

Music - My Wild Irish Rose, Be Thou My Vision, Mozart Sonata, K.331, Erik Satie's Gymnopedie #1, performed by Jessica Roemischer
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When I was nine, Flora, my nanny, gave me a little diary for Christmas. It had a satin cover with red and green peonies, and a delicate brass clasp. The diary was a special gift from Flora and mine alone. I’d never kept a diary before. For the first few days, I placed it under my pillow - that way it would be protected and close to me at night. All the while, I wondered, what should I write? Should I dedicate my diary to someone? It took me a week or two to decide, but I enjoyed the challenge.

By that time, I’d discovered the children’s story, The Little Prince.  If you’ve read the book, you know that the Little Prince is a small person. He lives on a distant asteroid, a tiny place that he occupies by himself. On his asteroid, there's a miniature volcano. He cleans and tends it, so it remains peaceful and doesn't threaten his little planet. The Little Prince also cares for a single flower.
It's a special flower - a rose.
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  Amid his simple tasks and enjoyments, the Little Prince is, nonetheless, lonely. In his solitary existence, he longs for  companionship. That's why I knew that he would understand me. You see, a few years before I received my diary - when I was just six - I had a very sad experience. You see, I loved my daddy very much. We'd play together in the backyard. I'd delight in sharing my little discoveries with him. I remember finding a pine cone on an autumn day. Feeling its scalloped edges, I held it in my outstretched hand. Look, daddy! I exclaimed, as he marveled with me.

One morning, I woke up and uncurled myself from my blankets. It was a warm, sunny day in summer. Daddy would always make me breakfast in the morning. Especially, I loved his pancakes! I was looking forward to them. On that day, like usual, I toddled down the steps to the kitchen. But, I began to realize that I didn't smell the pancakes cooking. I couldn't hear the pan moving on the grates of the stove. Everything was quiet. As I entered the kitchen, no one was there. The lights were off. It was very strange. Where is daddy, I wondered? I didn't understand why he wasn't there. As I'd soon realize, and would be told, my daddy had gone to live somewhere else. But, why?  Why would he leave me? I loved him so much and he loved me. I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. After that, the days grew long. My daddy came to visit sometimes, but I didn't see him very much. Things changed. And my life became very sad and lonely.

So that, dear listener, was the reason why I understood the Little Prince. That's why I understood his loneliness. And that's why I knew that the Little Prince would understand me. Like him, I longed for company, too -  for someone with whom I could share my discoveries and innermost feelings. His life mirrored the sweet sadness of my own. Though the Little Prince was a make-believe person, it didn’t feel that way.  So I decided to dedicate my diary to him. As I started writing in my diary, here's how I began...

Dear Little Prince,
You might be an imaginary person to most people, but to me you are just as real as anybody else. Maybe you are more real, because in you is something that I have found in nobody—an understanding, a feeling toward people. So, I am dedicating my diary to you because you are the most favorite person I have in the world.
Yours,
Jessica

While writing in my diary, I also loved returning to The Little Prince book, to read the story over and over. I'd be reminded that the Little Prince lived on an asteroid so small that he could enjoy the sunrise, and then walk a short distance around his planet, and watch the sun set, too, just a few minutes later. The Little Prince especially loved the sunsets. They gave him a poignant feeling.
I understood that feeling. When I walked outside in the evening, I'd stand by myself in the backyard. The leaves of the maple above me moved gently in the wind. I'd look up to the poplar trees, arcing towards the sky as the sun set behind them, glowing yellow and gold.

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Dear Little Prince,
Last night I had five dreams. I enjoyed them all, especially one of them. You know, I really wish I could go to your asteroid and see those colorful sunsets, for I love them as much as you.
 Yours,
 Jessica

As the days went on, in the diary that Flora gave me, I wrote to the Little Prince more and more. Each evening, I’d pen a few observations. I'd tell him about my dreams, or my piano lessons, or my delight as I admired the daffodils in the garden. Thoughts of the Little Prince beckoned me to describe my world. There, on the faintly lined pages of my diary, my first writings began.

Dear Little Prince,
I had a lot of fun today. First, I had my piano lesson. Everything went very well.
My teacher got me a new piece that we’ll play together.
It is so beautiful.

Yours,
Jessica

Over time, my diary became a refuge, a place where I could be myself. So I tried to think of a safe hiding spot for it—somewhere it wouldn’t be found. I decided to hide the diary in my closet, a tiny room that had oak shelves for my sweaters and a thick metal bar to hang my dresses. I tucked my little book on the highest shelf.  I'd noticed that my nanny, Flora, put her precious things on the top shelf of her closet, too.

When I entered the closet each evening, I’d search for a long white string, my hand probing in the air. Pulling it with a firm tug, I turned on the light bulb. I'd reach high up and feel with my hand for the diary's silky cover. Then I'd take my diary and sit on my bed, nestling myself amidst the plaid woolen blankets.  As I wrote to my imaginary friend, I felt comforted.

Dear Little Prince,
I've made a poem for you today.
Here it is...

Dawn is like a sunset starting over again.
Except this time it awakens,
Instead of going to bed.
It begins a whole new day with laughter and tears
And then, when we go to bed,
We forget all our cares.
Yours,
Jessica
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Dear Little Prince, you are the most favorite person I have in the world...

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Copyright © 2019 Jessica Roemischer
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