“How I wish you were ‘Hear’.”
It was the perfect place to eat. The relative normalcy. Being amongst the unfamiliar and the nameless. All of those that didn’t give a damn about our day’s trials. The expected screaming children. The foreseen mothers battling too many children and not enough money. The predicted fathers yelling at the screaming children. It was all normal, expected, perfect.
Our stress melted amongst fries and special sauce. I left feeling strangely refreshed. Peter pissed was gone from Rojer. As we slipped into the Falcon Rojer said; “If you don’t write me a check right now for a grand I’m gonna tell Pami that you ate here.”
“I’m not afraid of her.” I said it with belief in tone. This threat failing, he altered his demand.
“Okay okay how about I tell Sarina then?” I thought about paying the extortion. Sarina does scare me a little, and he knew it. He chested a deviant laugh.
I had to believe that Rojer’s feelings were unsettled as he unlocked the door to the former slave house; his current house of servitude. He had to be wondering; his future at Monticello.
We enter and take care of our personal needs. Mickey D’s may have been the perfect choice, but the facilities here are certainly better.
February Virginia days are short of hours and sunset arrives early. With the disappearance of the sun and the arrival of a full moon less than two hours away, and the weather still appreciatively warm and seasonally defiant, I determined a walk to be immediate. However, the disappearance and arrival would no doubt bring a winter chill. I gathered my parka, two bottles of water, and my cell.
I yelled to Rojer, who was brushing his teeth; “I’m going for a walk that will put me on The Throne for sunset.” Rojer spits and pokes from the tiny bathroom. With winter-mint paste slowly slipping from the left corner of his mouth, he had a Mervin look. One of being denied a car ride.
“You want… do you want some company?”
“Yeah of course I do. Just, just give me a half hour head start. I want to call Pami.” With the paste clinging to his square chin, I chose this moment for a parting shot. I had to. It was right there. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell her? Oh yeah! I haven’t forgotten.” He smiled.
“Yeah tell her you’re a jerk. Never mind she already knows.”
“Oh, ouch!” His smile broadens and the drool heads to the floor. He places his hand to catch the impending and darts back to the bathroom.
After a muffled laugh accompanied by a washcloth wiping, he adds; “No it’s cool. I have a little work to do anyways.” I had another comment loaded to fire about his ‘work’, but I left it alone.
“I’ll see you in thirty Roj.”
He verifies; “At The Throne right?”
In the doorway I say; “See you there.”
Heightening always upward to tickle the clouds, the Loblollies form a curtain drawn against the sun. Parting only in the middle to graciously lend light to a path that is narrow and gracefully curved. My path is a tunnel of fauna and flora. Both are massive and minuscule. A natural path forested with the hint of a view of unequalled fineness in splendor. Light flickers and dashes my eyes as I walk to a historically holy place. The Throne.
One furlong west and then another. Walking within the entombing darkness there is a sudden awakening; sky blue, sun yellow, and tropical green. Littered amongst the green, but not visible to men of this time, are footprints of men past. Men of significance.
From this place of old, Jefferson would have seen only a sprinkling of mankind. Small farms and single dwellings. Barely peeking from the Virginian landscape. But visible to those with awareness of their hiding. For two centuries and then some, The Throne has held all would-be monarchs who wish to absorb the imperial feeling and the few seen sight.
The Throne is the title that Rojer passed to me upon first showing it to me. I wonder if he and I only define it so. It matters not. It is our term and we use it with admired hidden reverence.
In its physical orchestration, it is engineered and constructed with a marvel of 18th century stone cutting. Local stones, including the Limestone that drapes the flat where visitors old and new rest, are so geometrically entwined that they are immoveable. This is accomplished like Egyptian craftsman; without mortar. The Throne is 8 feet long, 3 feet high, and 3 feet deep.
My wishful heart supports my belief that it has weathered time in its current artful condition since 1770. If Rojer knows differently, he also knows that this is a belief I wish to let linger.
This place, where I now sit, once held the physical Jefferson, Madison, Hamilton, Washington, and the others documented in history and alive in my imagination. What conversations took place here? What plots unfolded? Did Jefferson mentally write and rewrite a declaration that might one day be penned? Is this the exact spot that Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton, agreed upon The Great Compromise of 1790? I have devoted countless hours of thought cultivating what might have transpired on this hallowed site. My list of such imagined grows with no foreseeable end.
Having the pleasure of living in Colorado for over fifteen years, I have seen some spectacular sights. I have been to the tip of sixteen Fourteeners and have witnessed overwhelming beauty. However, I have found that when Tipped, it is not the view that is the dominant sense fulfilled; it is the silence. The silence that I know I can’t describe with deserved sensation. A silence so encompassing that it can not be fully actualized unless experienced. A silence so complete, that it creates sound. This created sound can not be experienced in any other natural setting on our planet.
This experience, I have described to others in the past. However, I know that I have failed in a true depiction of its soul consuming experience; each time. Although I know I will fail in this text delivered attempt as well, I wish to try and share just a sampling of its experience.
If you have ever been lucky enough to be atop a mountain where nothing in your sight soars overhead accept the mightiest winged creatures, you have realized Perfect Zero of silence. In this environment you can close your eyes, relax, and channel pure thought. Zen-like thought undistracted. The stated goal of 60’s LSD users. No Yoga training or narcotics required; only acceptance of thought with crystal clarity. Unencumbered by anything not from within yourself. A mind free of any distraction can be used to view pure sterile thought. Thought that can be understood, accepted, and distributed.
As I sit here witnessing the beginning of a sunset, I know that I have come in search of those same pure thoughts. Hoping that I will find it, yet doubting this to be the place or time. So much has been in play today that I accept I will most likely fail.
Thought, it looms amongst the darkness always stretching forever.
Thought, singular and yet amongst others.
Thought, close and distant, eternal and finite.
Thought, none more important than others.
Thought, some arrive undeveloped, never instituted, never amongst the realm of reality.
As I sit on the same stones that our Founding Fathers did, I have to ask myself; what is the realm of reality, and what should be instituted within that realm. Maybe more important, what should be left undeveloped?
“Pami do you have time to talk?” There was a brief digital silence.
“I guess… I know what that means Danny. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. I think. Umm… It’s been interesting.”
Hoping she was ready to listen and wondering if she would regret answering her phone, I began my purge. I littered her with all the garbage that had transpired. Pami has been my best friend for more than half of my life and nobody knew more about the workings of my mind than her. Nobody had cleaned out more cobwebs than she. I spoke, she listened. I rambled, she tolerated. I whined, she changed my course. During the thirteen minute confession, she got it all. As my breath of thought exhausted, I exha
led. This is when she was to prophesize. “Well Danny what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
She lovingly snapped back. “After unloading on me like that you must have an idea. You must know Danny. What is your head telling you? I think you need to use your head Danny not your heart. All I am going to say is that I very much like our house Danny. Unless you plan on going back to Chef-ing, you better use your head if you go to that press conference. And Danny, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed Dear… but it has been a long time since you last did that. You are a few klicks older my love. Look Danny… just use some common sense. If you do attend the press conference, choose your words wisely. Choosing words is your profession now. Don’t let that get away from you.”
She was Japedo and I was starting to feel like a real boy. “Yah I know. Thanks Babe I will. I still don’t know if I’m going, but if I do I’ll choose wisely. I’ll let you go-”
“Hang on! You’re coming home tomorrow right Danny?”
“Yah, I’m scheduled to arrive DIA at 4:32.”
“Well I’m off the next three days…” Her pause, I didn’t get. She tried to give it.
“Why don’t we spend a couple days downtown. We can do some shopping and have a couple of nice meals. I’ll make a reservation at The Brown Palace. We can get a massage. And… if you’re lucky you might get a little somein somein. Oh! We can get a room with a Jacuzzi tub. What do you think?”
“Do I really need to think? You have such great bad ideas.”
“Okay I’ll get Sarina to watch Mervin. I’ll set it all up. I’m excited!” Looking back at this exact moment, I wasn’t feeling it yet.
“Sounds good Pami.” See!
“Oh yeah Danny; I rescheduled your eye appointment. It’s the middle of March.”
“That’s fine.”
“Also some guy called the house. Let me see here… Okay, his name is Todd Mortson. He said that his father spoke with you years ago. He thought it might have been around 96. He said something about his father being a Bomber crew member in World War II. Do you remember?”
“Oh yeah I remember him.”
“Well anyways, he said his father needs to speak with you again.”
“His father is still alive?”
“I guess so.”
“He was in his mid-70s fifteen years ago.”
“I have the phone number and his son would like you to call when you get home. He seemed pretty adamant.”
“I will. Anything else?”
“No I guess not. I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep thinking about that Jacuzzi!”
“Bye Pami. Love you.”
Sounding like Jade from an adult chat line, she wanted to imprint anticipation; “Bye…” Drawn out dirty long.
From behind me, the path yields a scuffled sound and then another. A kicked rock bounces to my seat. “Looks like it is going to be a nice sunset. I can’t believe this weather. I don’t remember it ever being warmer here in February.” Rojer joins me and searches the life from below the mount. “I brought you a water. Didn’t know if you needed it or not.” Out of his other coat pocket he pulls one of two Miller’s.
“Thanks for the water.” Pause for affect. “Did you get your… ordering done?”
“Umm…” His pause was without intent but did have affect. “No. I kind of got distracted.” I looked at him questioning. He returned a smug smile. “I called the chemist lady. Kaitlin.”
Choosing words for a living, I chose; “Hmmm!”
“Yeah we had a nice conversation. She wants to see Monticello next weekend and then have dinner. Where do you think I should take her?” I looked at him again questioning.
“I don’t know! You’re the one that lives here.” His face told me that I was being stupid and should know that he was not much of a socialite. “Take her somewhere nice. Probably someplace you’ve never been.” I paused to make sure he was looking at me. “Someplace with cloth napkins and everything.”
He turned from me looking across into the unfolding colors. But he wasn’t seeing anything in focus. Rojer had something to say. Something he wanted me to know. I waited. Still looking away he said; “Did I tell you I got my teaching certificate a couple of months ago?” He looked to me knowing he hadn’t.
“I didn’t even know you wanted to get a teaching certificate.”
Looking like Jack Nicholson as the Joker, he gave me; “Pami didn’t tell you?”
With play aggression poorly played, I jumped to my feet. “Okay let’s have it! You’ve been calling Pami once a month for years and not a peep out of her or you?”
He laughs. Stopping just long enough to say; “No I don’t call her every month. Sometimes she calls me.” He laughs harder. Wondering my next move I stood there looking down at him. He looks up at the clown in front of him. “What! You gonna hit me? I’ll kick your ass!” So un-Rojer it was hilarious.
Still playing the bit out, I suppressed a smile and said; “Yes you would.” I sat with emphasized passivity.
Enough time passed to recognize that the bit had failed. Rojer offered; “Danny I don’t know. Pami asked me not to say anything. She told me not to say anything. I’m not sure why. I guess you will have to ask her.” I gathered my direction.
“So when… why did she start speaking with you so much?”
“Like I said Danny, she first started calling when you were really hitting it hard.”
“I guess I don’t get it. What did she want from you?” I think that insulted him.
“I don’t know she just wanted to talk! It seemed like she wanted a Sounding Board. Danny she was worried about you. You know she thinks the world of you. Don’t know why! I never understood what she saw in you. She could have done so much better.” My head drooped towards the ground with a shallow laugh. With a deeper laugh he patted me on my back.
We both looked westward in momentary reflection. The best I came up with was; “Okay that was a long time ago; why does she still call you?”
Rojer; “See that’s what I mean right there. You are such an ass! Have you ever thought maybe we’d became friends?”
“No no how would I think that? How would I know that? How would I? Rojer that’s why we’re having this conversation.”
Rojer hushed: “That’s not why.” I looked to him. “I’m sorry Danny that’s just the way Pamila wanted it.”
The moment came and went. We both took a second to let it flow to past. There was no real anger. Feelings I didn’t think were in jeopardy. I was the one that needed to let it settle. It was mine to deal with. A something-was-settled-moment was how I chose to file it. I understood it as my bad and this made it all good.
A sliver of the yellow orb was now behind the Virginia horizon. Its colored dance of the vanishing had begun. But not before we were to be immersed in colors that only God could display.
We enjoyed a few unbroken minutes of appreciation. Like a chemistry student trying to read a meniscus, Rojer held his bottle in front of his eyes. I was guessing what his words might be, but I had no feel. Softly, with care in his tone, he said; “You know, you have never really spoken to me about it.” He said ‘it’ like ‘it’ was real and right in front of me. But I dare not touch ‘it’. My chin dropped partially and I turned slightly towards him. I remained in this position as if I was searching. As if I was trying to pick a distinct sound from the ambient noise. He knew I held for clarification. “You know… your drinking.” I finished the turn to him. I meant my eyes to say it was alright. They let him know he was free to speak. My heart knew I needed him to open this talk. “I mean you have never said a word about it to me. Pami said one day you just stopped. You never talked about it. You just did it. She said that after a couple of days she became keenly aware of your sobriety. She didn’t let on. She didn’t
say a word to you. Then a week went by and she could see what you were physically going through and she supposed mentally as well. She was confused. She felt helpless. That’s what she said; helpless. She wasn’t sure what to do you know. She called then and asked me the same. Poor thing she wanted to know what she should do. Hell I didn’t know.” I’d waited for this conversation for years. But suddenly I didn’t think there was any air in Virginia and I wanted him to stop. I had to let it run. I looked into his face again but he didn’t want to look at me. Looking straight ahead was how he wanted to continue. “Danny I didn’t know if it was the right thing but I just told her to give you space. Watch you, but let you go on. Help him physically if you can, but just let him go. I told her you were a tough bastard and it would be okay.”
“Hoping I gave her the right advice I spent the next three weeks worrying about you. I wanted to call you but I didn’t know how to start the conversation. Finally she called me. Oh God she was crying and she scared the hell out of me. It had to be the worst I knew it. I didn’t know what the worst would be but I knew this was it. She tried to speak but I couldn’t understand her. Finally I made out; “It’s been a month. He’s made it a month!” Then there was nothing but tears. Danny she was so elated. She told me you weren’t sleeping and she was still worried about you. But she was so happy.” Tears were starting to well in my eyes. As they are now.
“Danny if you don’t want to talk about it just tell me to shut up and I will.”
“I’m not talking,” I said.
It was true that I hadn’t really discussed that time with anyone. Somehow I was fine with that. I didn’t really feel like I needed to. For me, I thought it would be destabilizing; not healthy. Someday; I always knew that someday I would need to. That day hadn’t come. That day had come.
I forced myself to sit upright; stretching my back and rotating at the hip. I took a breath and said; “Why is it, we are so afraid to talk to people who are recovering from an addiction? Do we think we might break them? You are the first one in almost four years that has asked me about it. I mean anyone that really wanted to know and wasn’t just being polite. It’s okay with me. I’m fine with it. I don’t know, just an observation.”
I looked briefly at Rojer and then back to the west. “Even Pami doesn’t seem to want to wake a sleeping giant; a sober one. I don’t think she is embarrassed, but I do question that.” Thinking I was done, I paused.
“I do think about it every day. Not a desire-like thought. It is like a ghost that follows me and every once in a while reminds me that it is still there. Anyways it is in the past. I have enough to worry about in the present. That time passed, it seems like such a long time ago. It will never go away but that time is not who I am anymore. But damn it was time wasted. Time I can’t ever get back. I will never waste the time of my life like that again. Never!”
“Danny, Pami is not embarrassed of you. I know that. But I do think she doesn’t know if you need to talk about it. She does know that you are a stubborn bastard! But she does hope that you will talk to her if you need to. I don’t know I just think she feels a little distant from you on this. You two are so close and you’ve built this solitary wall. I’m just telling you that’s how she feels Danny.”
Rojer stopped and stepped toward a ponder. Amidst swirling thoughts I took the minute to do the same. Rojer; “I hope you don’t mind Danny, but I would like to know more. You are my friend and I want to know what you went through. Is that weird?” I chuckled. He continued; “And not just when you quit, but how you got there. Do you know what I mean?” Rojer did not wait for a reply. “I never really knew what was going on with you. That last year we didn’t speak much. I was glad when Pami and I started talking. It was my connect with you. A lifeline.”
Rojer swathed in perspective leans forward. His arms weigh heavy on his knees. Sad, torn, or just thinking, his head hangs loose. His words are light. “Danny… I feel terrible. You’ve always been there for me and I let you down.”
“What do you mean?”
“I should have been there for you. It was… it was that I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to do.” His head fell a touch. I placed my hand on the back of his neck and squeezed.
“Rojer you didn’t let me down. You didn’t. No one did. Look. I was in a bad way. I was the only one that could help me.” Wanting to look into my friends eyes I gently pulled him up. His glossed eyes found me. “You’re my bud. You know that; right Rojer.”
Rojer placed me into a moment that I hadn’t had time for. My trouble laced thoughts had always been kept mine. It was my choice; my thoughts kept mine kept me secure. Fighting through was hard enough. If I shared, control might slip from me. The only way out is through. I was through. Was this moment waiting for Rojer? Was it always meant for The Throne? Maybe it was much simpler. Maybe it was as simple as moment’s patience outlasting me.
Should I have spoken to someone; anyone? That question is where I am. It was a recovery rule broken. My set recovery rule. But maybe now, at this moment, it wasn’t a breach of my guard. Would I be fined? Was I a failure as a recovering alcoholic? Would I be ostracized by the alcoholic community? No worries. I am through. I wrote it. I want pie.
You’d think I’d have had thoughts long time stored away. But I had nothing. No chosen words sentences or paragraphs. However, rambling was a plenty. And so I dumped freely delivered emotions upon poor Rojer. “I have to wonder when medically, or in alcoholic definitions, I scientifically became an alcoholic. When by definition did I become an alcoholic? Was I predetermined to be an alcoholic at birth? As some subscribe to. Personally I don’t read that magazine. Or was it later but still early in life? I did start drinking in high school. Since then I have drank too often and too much. Was that when? I don’t know and I don’t much care. But wait… maybe I’m not an alcoholic. I mean, not within me, but certainly within society, the connotation of an alcoholic is a loser. I’m not sure. I really don’t think of myself that way. I have noticed though that the word alcoholic does not roll off my tongue easily. I’m not sure why I am uncomfortable with its use at certain times. I’m not accepting of that word defined as derogatory. In fact sometimes I think I should wear it proudly. You know, like a badge of courage. But that doesn’t roll easily either. Probably rightly so.”
“I don’t care much, and I don’t know less. I certainly don’t listen to the tune that others might like to play. Like you like to say Rojer; “All that shit, it’s just shit.” An instantaneous spark of thought flicked myself to ask myself; am I making any sense, any at all? A second spark flicked; I don’t care.
My nano-second battle between sense and caring now over, I continued; “It’s always been unhealthy, but it didn’t really get away from me until 2006. I seemed to get into an ever increasing circle of drinking to excess every night. It became such an ever increasing pattern that I drank until I was ready to pass out. Once I got that drunk, Pami would get me to bed. In bed I’d complete the circle. This circle was geometrically perfect and growing ever larger. I drank more and more each night.”
Rojer was leaning forward and locked in as I continued. “Then I became sleep dependent on alcohol. The problem was that if I didn’t drink enough, I would wake up at two or three in the morning. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore and I’d feel awful. A horrible feeling. Anxious, scared, a heavy chest. Scared, mostly scared. So… I drank more every night. I needed to guarantee that I would pass-out for at least seven hours. I drank more and more. This was the circle I had to complete. This became the addiction that forced the circle. The circle I couldn’t seem to break. Addiction defined. Did you know that at the end I was drinking a half gallon of rum every night. Cheap rum. Nasty rock-gut. Real shit. I would work all day and start drinking
as soon as I got home. I was always aware of how much rum I had waiting for me at home. I was buying two and three gallons at a time. I remember Pami would get so mad at me when I wanted her to stop on the way home and buy more. I would freak-out if I didn’t have at least a Fifth waiting for me. I knew I had to have it. It was so much of the circle. Sometimes she would hide the rum and I would lose it. I feel bad that I put her through that. It must have been hell on her.”
Rojer reflected on part of their conversations. “Danny she was scared to death that you wouldn’t wake up.” Reflecting, my chin swayed slight.
“So was I Rojer. How crazy is that? That’s what I mean about the addictive circle. I was genuinely worried about not waking up, but more worried about waking up too early. I had to stay passed-out through the entire night. I had to.”
“Do you know that when I was drinking that much I didn’t get hung-over anymore. Holy shit! Can you imagine how screwed up your body has to be to stop getting that hung-over feeling.” Taking in the sunset as it had progressed, I was reflective. Reflective defined me at this exact moment. Half of the sun had slipped away for the day. The surrounding clouds were a soft glow of yellows and reds.
Rojer turned to me. “What made you to stop Danny?” I can’t count how many times I’d asked myself this.
I answered without hesitation; “I don’t know. I don’t. I have been wondering that for four years. What made me stop? What made me decide that I was done? I don’t know. Maybe I was scared of dying. I knew Pami and the kids still needed me. Rojer I can’t answer that. I wish I could. I feel like I missed an understanding.
“It doesn’t matter Danny. Don’t let it eat at you. You did it. It’s amazing. That is all that matters. You’re a blessed man Danny.”
“Amazing no that’s not it. What is amazing is that I ever got to that state.”
I was deep in releasing years of thoughts. “I guess you have to believe the doctors that say alcoholism is an illness. You know, you can be predisposed to it. I kind of have a theory.” Rojer sat rigid upright. Over our friendship I have presented many theories to him. Some were okay. Many I presented only once. Ignoring his visual questioning of what was to follow, I laid it on him. “I think that there are two types of alcoholics; the ill, and the weak. I am of the weak. To me it just seemed like weakness. I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t deal with it.”
“I don’t have cravings like someone with a neurological illness. Do I miss it. I won’t lie at times I do. Beer, mostly beer. I enjoyed a good beer. Fat Tire. Yeah I like Fat Tire. But now I can’t drink NA beer. It sucks! And it does seem to be a bit of a trigger. When I’ve had a beer it does seem to be a neurological trigger. My mind anticipates the mellow that a beer will bring. So I tend to stay away from them.”
I came back from the beer veer. “However, I do know that I became physically dependent after I became mentally dependent. I guess they happened at the same time. But I only became mentally dependent on alcohol when I failed to control it. I mean look at you.
“What?” he asked.
“No no. You have been drinking that same beer as long as I have known you. But you don’t get drunk.”
“I’ve been drunk Danny.”
“Well I know… you know what I’m saying.” I didn’t expect some kind of Plato like response from him, yet I waited for a response.
None coming forth I continued; “Do you know that when you pass-out, you don’t dream. I went almost a year without dreaming. I missed seeing them. And when I started dreaming again, it was really cool. And kind of scary.”
“What do you mean scary?”
“More creepy than scary. So real. Powerful! They just didn’t seem like the dreams from before. Before…. I don’t know how to describe them. Actual? Maybe actual? High definition actual. That’s it. They were so very real. And they almost always had some kind of mystical and spiritual overtone. I remember one more than others.”
The evening’s wind was almost none. A sudden gust was noticeably awakening. A melancholy suddenly washed over me. I recognized it pushing me down. Unaware of what sent me there, I knew I didn’t want to talk anymore. I missed Pami.
“You alright Danny?” I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if I could. Rojer put his hand on my shoulder giving me a comforting squeeze. He didn’t say a word. In a minute my throat loosened. With effort I said; “Rojer… there were times during my first six weeks of chasing the devil… I thought goodbye to everyone. I wasn’t going to wake up. This was it. When I’d wake up I’d grin. Beat him again. Damn!”
This was not mere melancholy. I was about to clear happenings that I’d held tight as dark remembrances. “I couldn’t sleep, my back wouldn’t let me. I had terrible back pain when I’d lay down. I spent almost six weeks trying to sleep in my office. Sitting upright at my desk with my head on stacked pillows. This was the only way I could sleep without excruciating pain. I was only sleeping three or four hours a night. Minutes at a time. That was the worst. Damn that was the worst. I almost broke. But I didn’t. And damn I don’t know how I didn’t.”
Rojer; “Buddy you have got to stop worrying about why. That shit doesn’t matter. Danny you’ve been given a second chance, you made that chance happen, and that is all that matters. All that other stuff is just shit. It’s just shit Danny.” He paused, and then continued with Rojer-ism; “You’re a good man Danny and that is all that matters. All that other shit doesn’t. I’m glad that you’re here.” He looked away from me with a pause. I think he felt his perceived overdue help was now being paid. I was sure he had no debt. He felt differently.
Along with the wind, our conversation changed. Rojer, boastingly, nauseously; “Now, let’s talk about my new girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” I asked. “Rojer what are you gonna do when she puts in her contacts?”
“Oh see… that’s why Pami calls me.”
“Yeah?” I asked, said, stupid’d.
“Yeah! She gets tired of talking to the ass that you are.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Rojer punched as fact.
The sun had finished its job for this day. We sat and talked into the late evening. The conversation was light and mostly stupid. We didn’t want it any other way. The evening went the way we both wanted it to; enjoying each other’s company. All that other shit didn’t matter.
Heading back, looking forward to tomorrow, or wishing it past, I gave Rojer my decision. “Rojer I’m not going to the press conference. I don’t want to-”
“It’s okay Danny I understand. After all, I don’t want you going broke and coming to live with me!” We both enjoyed the final light moment of a wonderful evening.
“Rojer, I still want to attend the dog and pony show. I just don’t want to be in it.”
“It’s all good. Let’s go home and get some shut-eye.”
Both of us stepping up to his home, a drained feeling suddenly smacked me. Physically, I still had adrenaline. Mentally, the light was getting dim. Unless it was frivolous, I was leaving it in the shadows.
Lying in my roll-away, ready for a peaceful slumber, Rojer came from the bathroom working hard with a toothbrush. He removed it and with a pondering look recited; “Benjamin Franklin’s nephew’s name was Benjamin Franklin Batche. In 1776 he was the Editor of a Philadelphia newspaper called the Aurora. Isn’t that what Patrick said?” Not surprised with his recall, I was surprised with his timing.
“Yes that is what he said.”
“Is that fact Danny?”
“Yes.”
His toothbrush back in place, he ended with; “Hmm?” He returned to his work in the bathroom. I could tell he was wondering if I had missed the connection. I was fully connected.
‘Mystical and Spiritual; in Hi-Def.’
/> Slicing and pelting my face, stems cutting and stinging. I duck under and around the leaves wind driven and directed. The Virginian’s breath is cold. It’s not frozen, but it has no temperature, no feel. Wobbling, sometimes there, mostly understood as there, the blackest sky void of all mythically named celestial patterns. There is only one celestial light that is recognized. This only parting of the curtained darkness directs the dancing shadows. The shadows that creep wavering along the dormant dead. Creeping to change the now yellow to darker shades of gray.
Unoccupied; it is so large and even grander hiding in its pure white. As I approach it, its face of windowed eyes sharpen to razor’s edge. Now only is its total-ness; its relevance to time as I glide upon time. Time that ticks not.
The gate-keeper that guards and either allows entrance or denies the same, is within an arm’s reach. Reach, it won’t. The entrance morphs from obscure to perfect. It flashes to never ending up to a mind’s normal identification. Reaching, the keeper denies grasp. It is no more. The White wills me to introduce myself within. In sight before me there is only the dark of light denied. A dark that does not hold a single sprite of color. My presence of thought is enveloped in the dark that the White gathers. Alive is all that the Dark has gathered. Thousands of sprites have arrived. Tables, chairs, clocks, more; they reach to and through me. Not with motion I wash passed. I am without physical movement as I am not physical in being. Only awareness follows me through the Labyrinth. No senses; only comprehension.
Only of comprehension, there is a second third and fourth guardian. Only one guardian of obvious choice stays with me. Without reason to, I am now physical in being. Perfectly I have clarity. My senses pop. Abstract has said its goodbyes. Perfectly, I will remember what happens forward. Because of what has passed, I understand this as the way that this always happens.
The door to the Study pulls away from me. A vacuum unsealed pushes out a translucent cloud. The light that I can feel envelops me with a touch comfortably warm. My view is of a room without boundaries. The floor must be there as it holds me. But walls and ceiling; no. The fog, as I think it, is lit brilliant white from no apparent source. Only the middle of the room is hollow. This void leaves room for identifiable sight. Slow and continual the White’s motion is in all directions. It is the finest of soft on my eyes. Yet it has the brilliance of all suns. Held in the unlit are three entities. Two, as knowledge of man is, have mass and density. One, as man wonders about, seems without weight or substance.
Jefferson’s polygraph machine is guarded by his writing desk on the left. A man’s hand is firmly planted on the top of the desk. A tall man supports himself with his right hand flat on the top of the desk. His lean back is towards me. Nothingness, as I think it, he is in deep gaze to. It comes to me that he is in a mental connect with the source.
The lower halves of his legs are not there. But I know they are. His textured trousers are a dark green; corduroy like. I knew he would be wearing a jacket. It is black velvet with satin cuffs. Not seeing them I know his lapels are as well. His long hair falls over his coat’s collar. The back of jacket is Sparrow Tail split. It hits me hard how perfectly tailored it fits hm. The tips of the tails length perfectly to the back of his knees.
His at one time auburn hair drapes his still broad shoulders. His mane is now royally laced with silver and gray. His build is steady; strong slight. It hits me hard that the supporting hand is more of a pose than for support. My mind wished to step towards him. Physical movement was not in the script.
Barely noticeable, there was a deep hum. It was continual and never wavered in tone ore volume. What I was within was without any other sound. It hit me hard that the time was 1:20 a.m.
“Mr. Rengaw, what did you think of our sunset this evening? It was as glorious as I remember. The perfect passing of amber blue and yellow. It was written by a great poet of color. One of my favorite memories of my home was watching the sun setting. Slowly, sliding amongst the water-colors. Hiding itself behind the Cedars and Oaks. Always a celestial canvas. A Rembrandt in real time. Those twenty three minutes between sundown and sunset… it tranquilly signals the end of each day. Unfortunately far too few embrace this daily splendor.”
With his words at an ending, he eases his stare. His connect is now a sunset gone by. With eloquence that is only in imagination, he turns to pull in my eyes. His face in my vision has long been of reverent relevance in my heart. This gentleman of relevance has a face of years and time understood. It is warn and wrinkled. It is a philosophical gift of knowledge and life experienced.
In a voice that was lyrically pure, he effortlessly began unveiling my gift. “For the generations that have transcended through the portal of time; looking first into the mirror of the 18th century and then seeing where we are this day, their reflection would be most distorted. Thought with reason would tell the knowledgeable that the light of the past does not beam today. It will not reflect clear in time being marked present. The responsible that sent us on our quest into democracy were a mere pair million. Today there are hundreds of these mere. They all are ever seeking guidance, security, and freedom. The looking glass indeed will ever display these seeking’s. The clearest reflection of the Founding Fathers. This must be understood and undeniable.”
I try to speak but my mouth is packed cotton. My mind hears my mumbling. This has always been normal, but always I try words. My journeys always wish me only to listen and take away. He barks; “No! Listen only. Gather what I give.” His eyes that I hadn’t seen, pierce me in pause. Milder he continues; “Please don’t now clutter you mind with trying to reason. Clear room for what I have; what you desire. I am only now. Do not waste now. Wasting would leave much not learned.” It hits me hard; ‘A mind is a terrible thing to waste.’
His chin dips slightly. His eyes pull mine deep as he lifts. “America’s past history must be studied and used to strengthen us. Endlessly. Always as needed. However, the strengths of the past must be recognized as possible weaknesses today.” My mind filtered for his meaning. “Daniel! What worked in the past may not work today.”
His brow scorned me slight. He quickly forgave my little mind and went on. “Though the cornerstone is still intact, and the foundation sound, this house is starting to falter. Our ideology does not need be considered for change. But without visualization in thought, creativeness in action, and forced blossoming of education, the living testimony of the American experiment will perish.”
Constraint of questioning is something I was not born with and never learned. His scorn also failed to teach me. I ask; why is he telling me all this? My question is neurological; his answer is verbal. “It is for that very reason that I tell you these things. You are not held within constraint. It is this constraint that has too long kept your leaders on a path that circles unto itself. An endless looping of over and over. You are open to absorb. Your being thirsts to consume thought. Ideas are the cards that you continually shuffle. You are comfortable with change. You can take and make change. The change that others cannot; or will not. There are people that have a wonderful gift; the ability to see the natural and proper flow of the world. You are lucky enough to have this gift. We ask that you share it with the consenting others.” His face hardened. “Daniel, you do need to know that this will not be easy. I’ve been there and I have seen that there will be sacrifices.”
He paused and I tried not to speculate. I worked for the constraint that he denied me. He developed a smirk that I did not understand. His eyes once again were piercing. He was trying to persuade whatever it is that holds a man’s ideology.
“Daniel you must let your mind be enlivened by Patrick Thomas. Understand who his is. The acronym SDW; don’t let it play on you too strenuously. When you understand you’ll understand. Do let it pull you. It won’t be long. You’ll reali
ze. You’ll understand.” He so unexpectedly chuckled to himself. “We are just having a little fun with you.”
Amidst this haze of happening I understood his reference. Along with an emotional chill, my questioning was prevalent. “Now; your questioning must not only be allowed Daniel, you must be fierce with it.” He gave me a warming look of confidence. “Daniel. An answer, is, and what, you need to seek.”
His piercing ended and released me from a magnetic field. My listening was now passive; almost watching. Turning from me only his head, staring into a cloud of knowledge, he continued; “The stormy sea that the USS America has wake upon, can only be traversed with creativeness and accompanying change.”
Please help me. Please; define your request of me. A hindering wall pushes back the clarity of your words. Those words I again tried to say. It was only my thoughts that were heard. This time there wasn’t scolding; only emphasis. “Defining is something you can work on in years to come. Those years are not now. There are but two shores that you need to sail to. You need to drop sail in those harbors. Understanding these two concepts in their simplest form will much aid both you and the Consenting. All Americans, past current and future, need to scrutinize historical relevance. Passed men; John Adams, George Washington, Benjamin Rush, and James Madison, were all time relevant. A time that has passed without return. These men had moral compass. There ideologies were unquestioned and their determination unfailing. But time seems to have erased the fact that they were mortal. Many today place us amongst Gods. These men brought together by single-mindedness. A free and united republic. Their vision of the future cast the stone of democracy. Today their concept is globally aspired. “My brothers, much as the leaders of today, faced a daunting task. While kilning a nation, all philosophical differences were stoked, melted, and molded. All to forge a single united republic.”
His words again brought thought; but we don’t have these men today. “Do you believe America to be void of greatness? Greatness needs to be sought and allowed to lead. Women and men of ideals and fortitude towards national prosperity need to be called to lead. Perhaps they are not yet in place. Perhaps they are. This is your task; to task the people. The consent of the people is the soul of our democracy. The body may live on, but if the soul is not strong, a healthy body it will not be. However, consent without a kinetic force is not enough at this moment in history. And it will not be in any moment. Silent has so many of our voices become. Voices not heard through voting are removed as the kinetic force of thought. Removed, the force of change is not. I being aware that the right to vote, a right that all Americans are blessed with, is a right discarded by most. This right being unappreciated was never considered. It was never considered as a possible weakness. It was a part of why we were assembled. A part of why we were fighting. Why we were dying. Our missed perspective has brought us to where you are. If the governed do not inspire or demand that our leaders act for the good of the most, and the prosperity of the nation, this test, our democracy, will be Romanesque in its demise.”
“Many aspire to be a leader, but only a true leader aspires us to prosperity. A will to lead does not guarantee a leader with will. I fear that many of today’s leaders do not will us to aspire to prosperity.”
“Our creation of a democratic Union, the same that has morphed into its current form, is not perfect. Its plant is still young and its roots are needing nourishment.”
“Equality as defined, was an ideology that we initially and irrevocably failed to protect. Though it is closer to reality today. But less we be fooled, equality and the seeking of equality still needs completion. Yet it is more complete then our Declaration defined.”
“If I impart nothing else, and you take away only one concept, it must be this; the governed, the people of the republic, are responsible for the change. The citizens must force the leaders to lead; to compromise for the good of the country. If they will not or cannot, they must be voted out. The people must initiate a new Enlightenment. Your voices must be heard. Not meek voices or few voices; loud voices of the all. This is what falls upon the people. It is the time of the people. ‘Lead us to prosperity, or leave us.’ This must be their voice.”
“I’ve come to believe that the people of this great Republic do not understand how blessed they are to be a part of this Union. How lucky they are to have the liberties that are afforded them. Yet I fear that in this time and this place, without their determined solutions of opportunities, their liberties may dissipate.”
‘How do I start this guidance?’
“You do not need to start the guidance. It has already been initiated. You are asked only to help it along. This helping must be repeated and continual. The millions must be reached. The millions can make a difference. This you need to believe.”
“This is our asking of you. This is what the Consenting need to grasp firm; “One snow flake does not conceal a single blade of grass. However, millions will blanket a field.””
“Charles Dickens tells us that few endeavors are more important than reclaiming a solitary life. Is reclaiming America any less important?””
He played it perfect. He knew… he knew Dickens would impress. It hit me hard that our conversation was at end. I understand the finality of an impossible meeting. He turns from me and then quickly back. Had he forgotten a nugget of guidance? “Daniel, I want you to believe, I want you to trust, that when the darkness comes, it will enlighten you. Do not be afraid.” In this exact moment, I understood these words in a context that was wrong. In an exact moment later, I would understand these words in a context that wasn’t.
Deepest of dark. A labyrinth. Not grasping reaching. So much pelting. Wobbling.
“Danny what the hell are you doing out here? Are you alright? You must be freezing!”
“Rojer? What. Am I”
“Come on buddy let’s get you inside.”
Returning along the same path that moments earlier was a fantasy of reality, a single sentence went to Rojer. A long, more long, single sentence. It began with uncontrolled emotion. After most long, it ended without logic in another place. As we donned our nightcaps to find lost slumber, my rambling was calming to a slow. Rojer had heard about what this was, but never being a part of one, he left me to go on. The end-of game-buzzer within me sounded. There were no words. Our looks were only. We had a lie-down.
5:33 a.m.
As I define one, my restlessness is not a Newton. Possibly it is un-definable, certainly it is undeniable. I don’t really care what this is, and I seriously doubt that you do either. You only need to know that my sleeplessness is over.
(Over written? Perhaps. But hey… who’s writing this?)
The time since Rojer found me walking the grounds in a Zombie-like consciousness and put me to bed like my mother use to, sleep was intermittent. A continued recount of my travel and visit allowed less than more. Dissecting words and assigning meaning, sleep is for a different time. I smile. “The boy has apparitions.”
Standing bedside, looking down at a motionless Rojer, I very softly whisper; “Rojer.” Very loudly yelling; “Rojer!” He moves slight and then plays possum. Oh… okay. I lean to within a couple of feet from his ear. A hand slaps and pushes my chin away.
“Danny no! I’m up I’m up.” Disgusted but momentarily feeling safe, Rojer rolls abruptly back. Eyes closed he wants an answer damn it. “Danny what is wrong with you!’ His eyes blink open. Much softer; “What’s the matter?” Waiting for a reason why his sleep has been so obnoxiously interrupted, he tussles to a sit.
I still want. However I sense that I may, I may have been rude. Nicer, I demand; “You have got to get up Rojer.”
His torso twists and his red eyes look to the Howlers. “Is there something wrong Daniel? It’s only around 5:34.”
“It is 5:34 and you
have to get up we have to look at the digording.”
“Digording? Danny-”
“Yeah come on get up.”
Rojer is not at all with me and murmurs; “What digording? Can’t it wait Danny please?”
Being as compassionate as any man, ever, I understand his wanting to escape this early morning interruption. Therefore I gave him a very insincere out; “Okay Rojer. But can you please point me in the direction of the security system? And tell me how to access it. I can check it out by myself. You can go back to sleep.” His gives me a pissed off look that most wouldn’t want to receive. But me, I smiled. A child on Christmas morning, I grab my Dad’s arm and pull to raise. My pissed Dad pulls it back.
With leaking air that is heavy with disgust, he pulls free and reaches to the nightstand. Finding and placing his glasses upon his nose he asks; “Danny what are we looking for?”
“I don’t know come on.” I really did know what I was looking for, but my explanation would have only delayed the search.
Interest, enthusiasm, Rojer had neither as he headed to the bathroom. My thought that I didn’t put into words was: Rojer you can pee later. It was a near unprecedented mental intervention. I was kind of proud. Almost normal people like.
I then relapsed to abnormal people like. With Rojer’s release undergoing, I stand feet from the bathroom door. A puppy waiting for his master’s return. Awakening obligation complete, Rojer reappears and doesn’t seem pleased with my proximity. I heard only a mumbling of Pami and what my problem might be. With me steering he makes his way to the workstation. Jerking his arm fee he plops into a chair. I slide another to his right and join him. Rojer gives me a look that says… Well… I’ll leave that to your imagination.
“Rojer make it go!”
He flings himself back into the leather chair. “Daniel!”
“I’m sorry! Go ahead.” I tried to force a face of calmer restraint. Silently staring at me he slowly leans into the desk. Mouse in hand, he clicked, clicked, double clicked, and opened a file. The screen popped a list of dates.
With sarcasm that I didn’t catch, Rojer says; “I assume you want to see last night. I mean this morning.”
“Yes! Yes go to around 1:15.” As soon as I said it I hoped he wouldn’t catch my subtle mock. A single click told me that he hadn’t. Six black windows popped from the monitor. Another tap of the mouse brought them alive with color. Four showed the main house from all angles. The other two showed inside views of the Study and the Master bedroom. I leaned forward and tried to watch all six at once. It seemed that minutes passed.
“There you are Danny.” Rojer pointed to the upper right window and then froze the video. His words and actions held more of the excitement that I was looking for.
The window showed me just coming into frame. The video was looking at the north façade. I asked; “What time is it?” Rojer selected the window; bringing it to full screen. I found the date and time bar.
Just in case I couldn’t see it Rojer told me; “One eighteen and thirty five seconds.”
“Okay let it run in real-time.” Rojer clicked and we watched as my digital being approached the door to the kitchen. I… it reached to and pulled the door open. Rojer instantly froze the video. He sat back staring in thought.
His tone wavered with confusion. “No way! I locked that door. Danny I know that I did.” Rojer looked at me. My eyebrows lifted slight. He looked back to the screen. “I don’t understand. I mean why is that door unlocked?”
Not knowing and not caring why I replied; “I don’t know.” I tapped the time-bar. “Okay it is one eighteen and forty six seconds. Let it go Rojer.”
We watched as I disappeared into the kitchen and time beyond. Another grumbling of the unlocked door. A sixty second minute passed. Another sixty. Sixty more. Half those sixty and I reappeared. Rojer slammed the video to a keyboard stop. “It’s one twenty one and sixteen seconds,” he said. Rojer freed the pixel me. I disappeared from the camera in the same direction that I had come from.
Rojer pressed hard back in his chair. With a quick short rocking he grumbled still more. “Get over it! Rojer… that’s it. That’s what you take from that. The unlocked door?
Without a plan for what I was going to do with it, I grabbed the mouse. He grabbed it back. It was his football and if he couldn’t play he was taking it home. He actually held it up in front of my eyes. Remember… it is my story.
Rojer; “What do you want me to do now?” Rubbing my face quick I hoped friction would give energy to thought.
“I don’t know. Wait! Rojer go back to the window that shows the Study. Start it at one nineteen and… uhh… forty five seconds.” He made it so. The Study was dimly lit. The furnishings were barely visible but you could define them. Seconds ticked by slowly; I could hear them. Leaning forward I was gazed intently. Rojer joined me forward.
It was not so much a flash as it was a window briefly awash in soft white light. The non-flash shock waved me upright. Rojer; “What the…”
Just that quickly the dimly lit room was as it was. Hand hiding his mouth, Rojer was standing and staring. “Danny…”
“I know I know.” Rojer crashed back down into leather. I was nearly a clean miss as the chair had been pushed away from him. Recovering and jerking the mouse through a maze, he reset the video. Left-click index finger poised, he let it roll. Locked on, Rojer’s face is a foot from the screen. I watched time counter click. A non-flash. Rojer unloaded on the mouse. The white numbers on black background displayed: 01:20.00.13
The counter had stopped on a dime. That dime’s time was what I knew it wouldn’t be. My fixation was expecting it to change to 1:35 or 2:33 or anything else that I’d understand. Understanding hadn’t begun, but I knew 1:20.01.
Both of us were staring silent. Slight belief starting to flicker, I tried one last time to extinguish it. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Rojer?”
Leaving this exact moment I now briefly must. See… this is the way it always was. There was always denial, then understanding, and lastly eventual acceptance. There had been so many. Why couldn’t I just accept? But more it was that I couldn’t accept not accepting. I was forever trying to figure this out. I couldn’t accept that I couldn’t accept that I couldn’t accept.
I looked to Rojer who was still facing the unchanging screen. He wasn’t seeing anything. The part of his brain that controlled sight was napping. Rojer already knew and I was getting there; one thought still needed to be explored. Rojer fell deep into the silent. “Should I… You know…” His hand reached for the lifeless rodent. There was only one answer to Rojer’s asking, but I didn’t give it. He wasn’t waiting. Rojer for a second time reset the video. The clock ticked, the white washed, the dim returned, and the mouse clicked stop. The counter displays: 1:20.02.29.
Arms folded upon his chest, Rojer matter-of-factly says; “Two seconds.” Rojer pauses. He looks to me. “Danny? A two seeped anomaly?” Rojer is reliving our Mathematician’s percentages. With a huffed laugh Rojer’s chin drops to his chest. “What are the odds Danny?”
Rojer’s thoughts must have been everywhere. Mine I was much surer of; what happens next. “Danny I think you need to tell me what happened last night?” My assumption was correct; Rojer had only been hearing my rambling in the earlier hours. In fairness, I’m not sure I was making much sense. My mouth probably was not keeping up with my mind.
Seconds passed as I rewound the VCR tape lodged in my forehead. Rojer’s eyes were fixed on me. His reality was in a cloud. He waited for me to rain it back down upon him. “Rojer I’m not sure you want to know… Hey! Coffee. We need coffee.” Time bought.
A steaming cup of coffee before him, he sat at the tiny kitchen table. He seemed ready to bolt. Pushed back from the table he was leaning hard on his kne
es. I feared a good cup of Java may go wasted. My cup perfected without realizing that I had, I sat down across from him. Trying to set precedence I exaggerated pulling tight to the table. He stared waiting for me to bet. Being a perfect Wyatt Erp I pulled twice on my Rio River Water. He didn’t want to play. “Danny!” His rebuke of the game did disappoint me some. But with as much clarity as time had bought me, I eased into my wakeful sleep. With comfort that comes from order, I revealed what I had now accepted. There was what the wobbling was. He knew, but still I told of the white. But most curious to me, I told of his words; every one of Thomas Jefferson’s words. Total recall; not a vowel missed.
End. I’m back. My hands lay flat on the table top. I see Rojer. And there is his coffee mug; it’s both full and cold. Sad.
Rojer shifts in his chair. He’s not comfortable but he does settle. He runs his fingers nervously through his hair. I grab his mug and nuke it for 43. As good as it now can be, I replace it in front of him. Rojer lifts and sips it. I feel better.
“Two seconds. Your conversation lasted only two seconds. How? No way. How?” I looked at him with a shrug. With the groans of a four hindered pound man Rojer lifts himself from the chair. “I’m gonna take a shower. Why don’t you cook some breakfast.”
I reach but don’t grab his cup. “Your coffee!” Glaring at me he picks it up. From behind me the mug clatters in the metal sink. Brutal!
Knowing that I needed to push away, I let my notions flee to a happy place; food. I would make us breakfast. There was only one culinary treat that felt appropriate. My much repeated preparation of this meal made it a chore that did not require complete attention. My thoughts surely would slide in and out
When I was diagnosed with Chronic Kidney Disease, protein was something I needed in large quantities. I was ever in search of tasty and healthy ways to get my required daily a lotment. From my search I created this breakfast. I would like to say that I have a creative name for it, but I do not. I went with Peanut Butter French Toast. I gathered the makings for this Rengaw Family Famous breakfast.
Take two pieces of white bread; Texas Toast preferred. Spread Peanut Butter medium thickness and make a sandwich. Then soak the sandwich for two minutes on each side in egg-wash. My egg-wash contains a secret spice. (Remember, Chefs never give up their secrets. Hint: Pumpkin pie. Rojer didn’t have any.) After soaking, cook on medium heat in an oiled skillet. (I prefer margarine. Olive oil is healthiest.) Cook until the egg coating is lightly crisp. Serve with your favorite syrup. I love it and it is healthier than you think. (Ignore the cholesterol and Carbs.)
Rojer and I ate our last meal together and spoke little. The conversation that we did have was forced and awkward. Uncomfortable conversation was more than strange for us. He did like the breakfast. Even without fresh ground Nutmeg. Damn!
I made breakfast; Rojer did the dishes. It went unsaid. Which was good.
“I’m going to shower, finish packing and get ready for the press conference.”
Seemingly distant Rojer was late with a reply. “Gotcha.” Another pause. “Danny I probably won’t be here when you get out. I have some work to do.” Which seemed normal as work was something he hadn’t done since I arrived. He continued; “I will be back by ten. We’ll walk over together.”
“Good. See you then Rojer. He looked at me. From him I took ‘expectedly distracted’. But there was also a comfortableness. This made me feel better. Wanting this to be where he was, I turned from him.
The press conference was supposed to start at ten-fifteen. I had time for one more wander of wondering around the property. I hoped it wouldn’t be too littered with people for me to enjoy it.