It seemed most fitting that it was a mystical, deep fog-covered, pre-dawn of an autumn day. It was an excellent setting, worthy of Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King.
"I was worried there for a few weeks, concerned that your heart problems might end your calling me. Your modern hospitals are interesting places-most interesting. I was being selfish, insensitive, I suppose, but since you are the only caller I've had for over a hundred years, I felt justified in my fears that you might join me through eternity's door before you could recount my story".
That last statement shook me, shook me really hard. Yes, I had had three heart attacks within six months and lived through a half-year dread of dying. His abilities at inventorying my consciousness-and, it would appear, unconsciousness-joined with time shifting were most disconcerting. He was correct though. He had been on my mind and in my dreams often as I lay in CCU and later…weird that! Part of my reentry into the world had been a compelling interest in tracking down his story. Now it seemed I was, but in a most unconventional way!
He looked at me in my reflections and silence, and said "I'm not sure anyone will be favorably interested in my life but as you say, 'writing keeps you out of the brothels and sinful bars.' That is an exceeding weak alliteration, sir, and only crudely amusing. Its humor is decidedly boorish. Be it what it would everyone needs a vocation though. Writing seems to be your present calling.
"You've summoned me by your interest and I've accepted your entreaty. Recruited I am here, sir, to help you with your writing project. I warrant I shall be complaisant in your enterprise. I seek to aid in your considerate endeavor. Granted it is about me but 'vanity, vanity, sayeth the preacher'." He threw back his head in a full laugh. He vibrated in his merriment at my-or was it our-expense.
"Here we have the fully dead politician preaching to the occasionally dead preacher and would-be writer. What a state of affairs." He finished his humor at my expense and then retreated to thoughtfulness. "As the Bard observed, 'there are more things under heaven than your philosophies have dreamt of.' I suppose my visiting and our work on your literary aspiration will favorably attest to that truth." He radiated joy and peace of mind.
"Yes, I intend to help you make this a worthwhile effort, sir. Since you called on me in your reckoning with my story, I feel obliged to assist you in your intentional vocation." His demeanor offered an affirming warmth and respect.