Obligations Willingly Accepted

My private line rang the other day. Less than a dozen people know that number, and all of them know not to call unless it is supremely important. When that number rings it means something is wrong.

Just for purposes of clarity, let me explain. Throughout my thirty-five-or-so centuries, I have occasionally chosen to confide in people the true nature of my existence. In the last thirty years or so I have actually provided those people with a method to contact me if they ever feel I can help them in any way. I owe these people, they have accepted me and helped me in ways both large and small, and in every case I hold their friendship to be a precious thing.

Still- I seldom meet with my confidants. Once I move on in my ceaseless change of identity the contacts necessarily become less frequent and less personal. This protects me, but it is also a mercy to them. Despite an intellectual acceptance of the reality of my existence, most cannot truly deal with my agelessness. Better to correspond via letters and the annual phone call.

But the personal line is my concession to any who accept me on my own terms. If you need me, call.

The Professor (a suitably descriptive, yet obscure euphemism) called last Sunday night. I met him and his significant partner (Mrs. Professor- a grand and enlightened educator in her own light) in 1962. We have not met in person since 1975. When I realized who was on the line my first thought was that somebody was about to die, but the first few words from the Professor’s mouth dispelled that concern. Both of them are nearing seventy now and the Professor wanted my input on their youngest grandson, a boy of seventeen whose path was headed decidedly in the wrong direction.

After a long discussion, I booked a flight to Colorado.

There is more to this story, but I need to see how the next few days unfold before I proceed. I beg your patience.

Comments are closed.