"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny." -- unknown

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - Albert Einstein

Yes...another story
2001-11-06 - 10:36 a.m.

�Oh, come on. How old can you feel? You don�t look a day past thirty, thirty-three tops.�

I could not help but smile at this. I love him dearly. He makes these comments to just to see me smile and that�s why he�s so precious. He enjoys my company and asks for nothing. He knows I would give him the world, but he refuses everything. Instead he sits across from me in my study and makes jokes. Well not jokes, but close enough. But tonight my smile fades, even his company, his words, are not enough. I watch him watch me as my smile fades. If only he could truly understand. If only, if only lemons were not so sour.

�Tonight my friend, not even your wit can lift my spirits. The time is coming for a change. I can not deny this anymore than I can stop the turning of the earth.�

He sits back in his chair and considered my words. I watch him as a thousand questions race though his mind. I wondered what he would choose to ask, I could know. I could easily read his mind, but there is no fun, no enjoyment in that. It is better, far better to let him make his choices and react. He knows that I enjoy his company and perhaps has an inkling to the depth of my adoration. He is baffled by it, but accepts it. Indecision is marked all over his face. He can tell tonight is no normal night, that weighty things he can only at cloud my mind. I watch as an unexpected spark of bravery grows in his face. I watch, from the corner of my eye as his fidgets in his seat, quite out of character. My own hands swirl the glass of wine I hold as I pretend to be absorbed by the dancing flames in the fireplace.

In truth, I can think of few things more beautiful than vibrant, blaring flames. The constant changing patterns and colors. I become mesmerized for hours on end. I feel the urge to lose myself in the combustion, but I resist it. I know the time is growing short, but tonight the time has come for me to tell a story to my friend. For thirty years he has known me and for twenty years I�ve hinted at the truth. Tonight, if he asks, I know I will tell him and God help his soul after that.

�I think perhaps you could stop the world. There�s nothing I doubt you could do if you put your will to it. You�ve said this before, this change to come, but what of the past? Please, forgive me for asking, but this question burns in my mind.�

I feel a quick flash of anxiety, very out of character for me. I smile at queasy feeling. I revel in a flash of emotion and life that I�ve long lived without. I lift my eyes from the fire and look at the worn and aged face of my friend. I can see the young man inside that I met thirty years ago and I marvel at what he has become. My own face has not changed a bit, nor will it ever. I will never know the joys and wonders that come with growing old, not as he will. I shake my head, not to say no, but to clear my mind.

�Of course, I could forgive you anything. I know your hunger for knowledge of history and for stories I can tell knows no limit. I think tonight is a good night for such a story, but please give me a moment to collect myself.�

I stand and walk to the bar. With my back to him, I fill my glass. I wonder if it will be easier to talk not facing him or if I should turn around. With a deep breath and long pull from the glass I begin to organize my thoughts. I turn around, my face impassive. My eyes absorb the old man before me. My memory races backward in time, so many years it must travel. So many days, months and years that must be rewound. His eyes are still bright, his mind is still sharp even if his skin is wrinkled and his hair gone. I can almost taste the excitement emanating from his body. This is the moment he had longed for since he first stumbled upon my real nature.

I chastise myself for the billionth time for almost killing him that night. I know it�s what I should have done, the only logical thing to do. But if I had, I wouldn�t get to experience this night, to tell my story and bare my soul. I know that at the end I will tell him to put my words to paper, to immortalize me. I chuckle softly at this thought. I delight in the irony that I still long to live forever when I envy him the death he will one day know. Even after all the ages I�ve lived with myself I still do not understand my own desires, which I take as a sign that the time has not yet come. However, I am saddened that I seldom take the time to think about my thoughts. My growing apathy to my own mind is the surest sign of what is to come.

I become aware of his eyes staring at me. I realize he heard my soft laugh and then watched me drift off into the netherworld of my mind. His face is one of rapt fascination, rather like I imagine mine is when I stare at the fire. I take another long drink from my glass, draining it. With infinite care, I rest the empty glass on the table behind me. I have no need to look. I know the exact position of everything inside this house. Often I wander randomly through the rooms with my eyes closed, tracing my footsteps from years ago. A feeling of total calm and peace fills me. I�ve never told these words to anyone, but first I must be sure he really wants to hear the dreadful tale I have to tell.

�My friend, my only friend, are you sure you want to hear these words? Once heard, once learned...they can not be forgotten or erased. It is a wicked tale I have never once uttered to another soul, but if you wish it, I will tell it. Just know, you will never look at me or, perhaps anything, the same.�

I could nearly smell the fear as it mixed with his excitement. I barely suppressed a smile, for this is no time for levity, as he chewed on his lower lip. I�m amazed he hasn�t chewed it off. I could scarcely count the number of times my words have had that affect on him. It�s one of things I envy in him, his unconscious habits. His eyes slide up and down my body, taking in every facet of my appearance. His wrinkled hands cup the half-empty glass. He looks so much like the day he first realized I wasn�t growing old, that I was not like him. He was sitting in that exact chair and unable to form his thoughts into an intelligible sentence. Few people have learned that fact and most react badly. Most feel overwhelming fear, as, perhaps, well they should. I am a monster in every sense of the word and humans feel a need to destroy anything that is not human. He didn�t react that way at all. He was full of wonder, like a child who just saw his first magic trick. He tried to say a hundred things at once, wanting to know every detail of my life. I shudder to think the amount of ages I have to travel back in my mind to when I last felt true wonder.

�Yes, I have to know. You know I must, for good or for bad there is no real choice. Tell me, but only if you please. This is your story to tell and I won�t force you.�

�I know and it both saddens me and elates me that this night has come. For thirty years you have known me and for the last twenty you have known that I am not mortal. I cherish the time we have spent together, for in you I have found true acceptance. You have never asked me for the things that so many others have. You have never sought to abuse our relationship. You have had the precious ability to accept our relationship on the terms I need. In return, after all these years, the least I can do is tell you the one story you long to hear most. I only pray that you�re ready for these words. Brace yourself my friend. Fortify you mind with more wine if you must. This is no fairy tale. This is no flight of fancy. There will be no happy ending.�