He waited as the phone started to ring on the line. It went the accustomed three rings before it was answered. "Hello?"
     "Is Tina there?"
     "Just a moment."
     He tapped his fingers just above his knee, just atop where it turned to the side sharply, and thought of the nerve response occurring to produce the effect, as well as the possible systematic effects on his being.
     "Ah, hello?"
     "Tina, Greg Landival."
     "Greg! How are you?" she responded warmly and with enthusiasm.
     "The question should be going the other way. Are you as still as big as barn?"
     "Yep. Nothing going on, yet."
     "I remembered the due date being somewhere near today."
     "Tomorrow. You're pretty close."
     "Just wondering. We're all thinking about you. Keeping our fingers crossed. Hoping for the best."
     "Aw, that's sweet of you."
     "Missed you at the last party. Just didn't have the same fire. Henry says that he sure missed you in the kitchen. I told him about telling you that he burned his cornbread at the second party in a row. You remember the first time. You were there for that."
     Tina laughed. "Right. Bake at 700ƒ for seven minutes."
     "I should ask Karen to find out if they fixed the thermostat on that oven, or just switched out a new or used one."
     "What did Henry say when you told him?"
     "He's still on my case for mentioning the infamous Corn Jitters every time he talks about cooking for sport."
     Tina laughed again.
     "Well, I want your promise that you'll call as soon as you are capable."
     "If you keep me laughing, you may not have to wait. You may shake me into labor."
     "Half the reason I called. Did you get my letter?"
     "I haven't been to the post office in a week."
     "I mailed you a copy of the song I wrote about the party."
     "You did? Well, then that gives me inspiration to get up and go. I haven't been out of the house in a few days."
     "Too big to get in the car?"
     "It's uncomfortable to sit. Standing and lying down are okay. I'm not that big."
     "Ah. That explains it. Well, it's in there. Bouncy little number, going down the road toward the party, except for the last, where it drags like the day after the party, but it snaps back just before the last chorus. Everybody was singing it as it came around. Even Henry was singing it."
     "Well, I'll learn the words, though I won't guarantee that you'll ever hear me sing it."
     "If I can listen to Henry sing, I can put up with your voice." He got Tina laughing again. "You can sing along with me anytime."
     "Aw, thanks, but put out the pets before you do so."
     Greg snickered. "I've been writing a lot of music recently. All kinds of stuff. Nothing the same."
     "So when do I get to hear it?"
     "Depends on you and when you'll be able to get down here next."
     "That will probably be awhile."
     "As I figured. But they will be that much more familiar to me when you hear them. They'll sound better. You're going to miss the New Year's Eve get together at Mid-Week Jam."
     "You're getting together?"
     "Yes. And I have done some learning since I unveiled the ones that I had just written the last time I was there. Got a few weeks of practice under my belt. A couple of them were very non- repetitive, except on the first line, which were identical. Mass confusion in a pentonic country ballad. But I like it. Sweet and rowdy, a touch sad."
     "How can it be country and not be sad?"
     "Be goofy."
     "You have a plentitude there."
     "Yes. Goofy Greg. That's me. Karen has been spouting that I've been living alone too long. I rather like it. Sure beats banging your head against the wall."
     "So how is the writing?"
     "Just finished, as a matter of fact. That was the second half of the reason for the call. I'm finished reading it until a paycheck comes in. No more proofing, rewriting, modifying, or changing my mind until the check has cleared the bank. Ready for the copier. All half million words worth. Never again at that level."
     "I don't blame you. I have trouble with a thousand."
     "I remember the feeling. And speaking of feelings, I feel that there will be something about this baby. Something special. I guess that's why I really called. Hard to describe, but I feel that the child is destined for something above the ordinary. It comes in strong. I tend to think it's a matter for the future, as an adult. Hard to qualify exactly what, but it speaks of respect, acclaim. I don't know if it means that much, but the feeling has been there. It's just my feelings. Who's to say?"
     "Well, from you, that is something. I'll remember."
     "Did I tell you that Kevin has gotten a new processor. Up to his eyeballs in new hardware. New Falmark Ultra technology. Is he ever aglow like a child at Christmas."
     "For what?"
     "Word and business. Some publication."
     "I envy him. Ask him if wants to trade places."
     "I doubt that you'd have much luck there. Not to draw anything from what you have going there. Our positive thinking is going your direction. And so is the ether, if I read it right."
     "I hope so. I need to be getting back to work as soon as possible. You know how quick you can be replaced in today's market."
     "Don't remind me. I have ample time to ponder that as it is. Besides, how can you think of shop at a time like this?"
     "Not hard, when you're looking for distraction as hard as I am."
     "Well, I hope that I helped."
     "Best laughs I've had all day."
     "If you're looking for more, let me tell you what Billy went and did two days ago. . . ."

     Angie sat in her roamer and watched as the radio-printer rolled the message out to her. She paid it little mind, her thoughts elsewhere. When the perforation trimmer snapped, she gripped the last half inch and pulled. She had to read it three times before the news sank in. Back on Earth, her mother, Tina Harvela Thompson, had passed away and was buried in the grave of her choice. She said nothing, though a vast oscillation of unstableness teetered inside her, never allowing her to get a grip on it and bring it under control. It was a bitter struggle, one that defied restraint, giving her reality the texture of a dream of a medical emergency.
     She recognized the shock taking hold of her, shadowed by the guilt at not being at her mother's side. That had always bothered her. Now it hit home with a finality. She reached out and pressed the off- line button, disengaging her from command net, registering disabled to the program directives so that the other units could fill in her gap.
     She opened the door and stood to step out, when the physical reaction reached its fullest and her empty stomach heaved, and she fell to the ground. She felt the impact, but no pain. She intuitively knew that she wasn't hurt. But it didn't matter. She tried to cry, but the shock cut off her channels for tears, and she lay there, letting her prone position equalize her blood pressure. The dizziness began to fade, though the emptiness remained. She breathed shallowly, feeling again the helplessness that she dimly associated with infancy, though the warmth and security were stripped away. She lay there and cried inside, shudders wracking her chest. She tried to scream, but only a hoarse gargle emerged. But it was enough to finally start the wetting of her cheeks.

     Angie knocked upon the door. She waited nervously, not hearing anything from within. She was about to decide that no one was home when the door opened.
     Greg looked at her and smiled, showing a touch of sadness in the corners of his eyes. "Angie. I see that you have returned. Welcome. Won't you come in?"
     She nodded before she finished evaluating Greg. She had known him casually through her mother for as long as she could remember. He was often there when she and her mother would travel to places for parties. She remembered him as a gentle and funny man, one who listened to the kids, rather than one of the ones that ignored them. He had taught her many an interesting fact during her youth. He had also made her laugh just as often with his clowning, and later with his humor. Probably what stuck with her were the tricks he used to do with his hands, things like the illusion of pulling off his thumb. She thought it was stupid when she learned the trick that made the illusion real. But now, it seemed to have a bit more class, now that she was old enough and knew better how difficult it was to pull something over on a child. She smiled and entered the house.
     "How are you doing, Greg?"
     "Wearing out. I'm no longer as fresh as I once was. Other than that, I'm doing rather well. Getting a bit lonely. But that is nothing uncommon for the elderly that survive their friends."
     "I heard that you handled Mom's funeral. I want to thank you for that. I'd like to compensate you for that."
     "I'd be honored if you'd let me take the loss. I've been financially self-sufficient, and I don't have that much left to buy for myself. Can't take it with you, you know."
     "I wish that you would let me reimburse you."
     "Oh, dear Angie. Are you feeling guilt at being far away when it happened? Come. Let me pour you a cup of tea. Have you had a chance to talk to anyone about the events?"
     "The doctor. He told me that you handled the funeral."
     "So you understand that she slipped away peacefully, rather than suffered."
     "That is what I was told."
     "I was there with her, at her bedside. Her last thoughts were of you and how hard you might react." Greg poured the tea as Angie sat. "She asked me to tell you that you should not feel bad about being away. She worried that you might blame yourself, and she wished that not to be the case. There was an implied hint that I was to be the one to make sure that you were to forget such notions. Angie, your mother was very pleased with you. A prouder mother I have never known. She felt no resentment over the fact that you were elsewhere. She felt only concern that you might take it too hard. She was ready when the time came. She faced it bravely, with that a spirit and fond farewell. She had lost her fear. She left this world in a quiet blaze of strength. She felt no pain that made her react. It was a gentle slipping away."
     "With you there with her."
     "Yes. She was a dear friend. Her happiness was important to me."
     "I'm glad. You were the one person whom I remember whose name always brought a smile to her face. I don't think that I ever understood the depth of the feelings that you shared until recently. Not just you, but the whole group of you that used to get together for celebration. I'm just getting to the point of realizing how special a group of people that you were. I never remember any cross words at any of the parties. That is something that I have found to be rare. I can't remember having been with a group of people that laughed and smiled as sincerely as your group did. There was something there that follows me even today. I guess it's what I'm looking for when I assess people. You loved her, didn't you?"
     "Yes. Not so much as in the traditional "Until death do us part", but there were strong feelings among the whole crowd. It wasn't something that had boundaries. It was a community thing. Grew from a small core until it engulfed a fair number of people that wanted the same thing out of life, and that was the exchange of intelligent, sensitive, and compassionate experiences. Our music was important to us. It was the one thing that pulled us together in the sharing, each adding his or her best to make the warmest soul-stirring music that we could. There was a feeling to be creating beauty together. It sealed many a friendship between us."
     "I wish that I had been old enough to appreciate it more."
     "Oh, it's still out there, if you look hard enough. It may have not have happened all over the place, but I have talked to many that found similar groups. It is a human drive. When you find it, it will be obvious to you. And you will be ready, having seen it in action before."
     "Do you think so? If that's the case, I've sure been looking in the wrong direction."
     "Probably. You have to first realize that you want it. Then you will start working toward it, and it will draw you in the course of your actions. You just never quite gave yourself over. You were always one to want the control over the things that happened to you. That seemed to be your guiding premise. You should let that go and start sniffing the breeze more often. That is how you find things, not by an act of elimination."
     "Sniff the breezes?"
     "In a metaphorical sense. The human mind is so little understood by man at large. It holds far more in senses that our five senses tell us. The key, Angie, is resonance. That is what you are lacking, and that is why you are frustrated. That is what you need to unlock the inner reaches of yourself. You sniff the breezes for what resonates."
     "I'm not sure that I follow you."
     "You have experienced a change of attitude since arriving. Why is that? What made you change your attitude?"
     "I guess that it's the way that you are talking to me. You are giving me information to fill the empty places where questions have been for quite some time."
     "Is that everything?"
     "No. I guess that part of it is seeing things in you that remind me of my mother."
     "Think about that. What is it that you see?"
     "The spirit, the concern, the caring, I guess."
     "Can you feel it inside?"
     "Yes. I feel more comfortable. I'm more at ease than I have been in a while."
     "There is a case of resonance. You seem to be stronger than when you first walked in, like you have gained energy. That is the definition of resonance, is it not? The attuning, that in the presence of a range of energy bombardment concordant with the fundamental frequency, the system gains energy. Being off alone on your own, you've no doubt gained a bit of knowledge on romance. You should then know the nervous feeling that things are going well, that the energy is growing. Not just arousal, but a flow of beauty, positive reinforcement, being in sync. That being in sync is why we played our music. But it was with the group. Everybody flowing in the same direction with the same reaction to that which was created. It wasn't always the perfection, either.
     "Often it was blowing it at the improper moment. I can remember Shelly cracking up over an unexpected version of a particular song in this song book that I assembled for our choir book. She saw a word that she usually sang as something else, and it cracked her up. We ended up trying to pick ourselves off the floor for the next twenty minutes. And it was so wonderful a feeling. Pure hilarity. Just as someone got it under control, the word would come back into focus, and it would destroy any progress made at trying to stop laughing. Had it been read, it might have not drawn a laugh at all, or at most a small chuckle. But it wasn't noticed until we got to the passage in singing it. At that point, we were synced, keeping rhythm with our ears, our eyes, and our minds. We were really sounding good. That is what made it so funny. The resonance. No one could break the cycle between us until we exhausted it."
     "Like when a crew works together."
     "Yes, but in a different part of the mind. The big difference is that we were open fully to the sharing. Not just the cognitive, but the emotional as well. Not just achievement, but inner strength. That is what you are searching for."
     "I guess so."
     "And that is why you felt such guilt. You feel that you were not contributing to your mother in this fashion when her time came."
     Angie's lips wavered. She found herself unable to speak.
     "Now the thing not to do is to sit and stew in it. Your mother would have had a fit to see you like this, and you know it. If you want to please her, take this knowledge and do something with it. Find your resonance. Sniff the breezes. You can not do that and feel pain at the same time. The pain is the distraction, and it is something that you created, not circumstance. Whether or not you come out of this period of self-contempt is totally up to you. Do you wish to be happy, as your mother would have preferred seeing you, or will you cling stubbornly to self-pity that makes you alienate yourself?"
     "You don't mince words, do you?"
     "Only with those that don't need it or don't matter enough. You need it and you matter enough. You've always mattered enough."
     "Greg. I remember my mother asking me if I would live up to what you expected of me. Not that she expected or got an answer from me. It was asked more of herself. What did that mean? I never understood that. Can you shed some light on that?"
     "Oh, call it sniffing the wind. Perhaps I sensed a potential in you shortly before you were born."
     "How?"
     "Sniffing the wind, though the one I felt about you was no light breeze. It was a feeling. A confident feeling. One I associate with destiny. But you know the fallacies of confidence. Not an ordained thing, as I perceived it, but a potential. You know that your father ran out on your mother at the first word of pregnancy. Vanished. Wasn't really one of our group. He could play music, but he never was one to share the fullness. He was always a bit outside the sync. He didn't understand the act of surrender.
     "So your mother went to stay with your grandmother. That is where you were born, many hundreds of miles away from the group. As soon as you were able to endure day care, she went to work and saved up enough to move back to where we were, aided by her previously working at home over the phonelines via computer. I called her a couple of days before you were born. I guess that I felt a feeling that time was coming. Like I said, it came on the wind. It wasn't a flashing sign in simple to read English. It was just a feeling that made me think enough of your mother to call her. She promised to remember what I said. I would think that that would have been her reference. I guess that she trusted my sniffer."
     "What. . . . I don't know how to ask this. Do you still feel the same thing?"
     "Yes, especially when you're in my presence. It is still only potential, though. I do not feel the resonance of actuality. But you are yet young. Your mother bore you at a late age. You still have plenty of time to see actualization of the potential. But you are a source of unrealized energy."
     "What kind of energy?"
     "Positive, creative, intelligent, strong, warm. Pointed in the right direction, you could easily achieve what I felt possible. That is up to you . "
     "Greg, would it be asking too much for me to stay with you for a while? I have yet to get a place to stay. I'd like to know more about this. Would you be willing to put me up and teach me what you know about all this that you've been describing?"
     "Why would you care about what an old man thinks?"
     "I don't know. It hits home, I guess."
     "Why does it hit home? Do you want to make up for all the guilt in atonement?"
     "No. I don't think so. It's more like an emptiness inside me that has never been filled before, and I find myself feeling a rising level in that cavern that has never been there before. It has nothing to do with my mother's death. It has to do with wanting something more in my life and not knowing how to go about satisfying it."
     "You want a friend?"
     "I guess. That's part of it, but not all of it. I want a friend that understands what the flow inside me means. I've never had that, and I feel that you understand it, more than you are admitting. Maybe not in ways that come with words. I don't expect something as intertwined as what you and my mother experienced. But here is a void in me, and I think that you know something that will help me fill it."
     "Looking for an easy answer to life? There is none. Life is anything but simple."
     "Let me put it this way. I was a smart kid. Most adults would say that I was a good kid and let it go at that. Every time that I saw you, you sat down with me and talked to me like you knew what I was thinking. I want to know more about how you knew."
     "I never completely quit being a kid inside."
     "Only because you were grown up enough to be able to afford it."
     "Pretty profound concept."
     "You are a rather profound man. Will you teach me?"
     "Are you sure you want this?
     "Yes."
     "How do you determine this?"
     "Gut feeling?"
     "Good enough. Where are your bags?"

     Angie growled at her fingers. Greg blew a raspberry. "It's not your hands, it's your head. If you're going to curse something, look in the mirror."
     She sighed and adjusted the strap to the mandolin. It fit her hands better than the guitar, and the pressure on the string was easier for her to handle. She started off and faltered in the first measure.
     "Why can't you play?" whined Greg.
     Angie started to snap back, but caught herself in time. She now knew better than to fall for his bait. "I can't play because I'm clogged."
     "What's stopping you up this time, or must I find my own answers?"
     "You sure are pouring it on thick today."
     "This is how I usually get in the presence of a tornado."
     Angie laughed. "True. Guilty. Caught red handed. Slap my wrist.
     "Deep breath. One, two, three, four."
     They started playing together. In the second measure, she blew it. "Okay, okay." she laughed. "An afterthought in retreat. Any time you're ready, take it."
     He hit the first six notes, let a brief pause, and she was in beside him in the music, trying to stay with him. She started off a bit shaky, but got her balance, anticipating the notes before they came, staying ahead of the music as she knew she must to get it right. The mental echo of its actuality was what confused her.
     "Tighten up. Shut out what is. Think ahead. Stay on track. Let the memory return. Know where your fingers go. Let your fingers remember. Feel the flow. Work it. Here we come. Ready or not."
     They went into the chase, and Angie tripped slightly, but recovered nicely without too much damage. "You're problem is that you are conscious of making mistakes. Stop. You are not seeing the music. Each song is an entity that commands the power of communion. Why do you think people sing in church? Focus. That is your block. You lack focus. You have attuned yourself to the life that you have found. You did not live for you and what you are. You sacrificed that for a cut of the action. Not a crime, except to your sense of harmony. Look at me. What do you see?"
     "A wonderful man."
     "Hogwash. I'll not be bought at my age with such prattle."
     Angie giggled. "Honest, deepest answer?"
     "Yes."
     "I see a man who is very much in love with life. To him, it is treasure, to be cherished. He makes his own reality. He knows of Utopia. He is a sensitive man. Sensitive in the way of sensing and knowing. Very subtle. A man who knows his trade and is a bit closed mouth to those that don't get to know him well enough. Beneath that, I see a wounded man. Hurting. But braving the wounds and still smiling, strength to endure. You have power."
     Greg shrugged. "Some might call it that. I just take to it because I like it. Fits me. Makes me content. Isn't that what we are all looking for? Something that gives us contentment in life. You just have to use what you've learned and not let it get in the way. You say you want to learn. What you want to learn is not easy, if at all possible. It takes focus. Focus is what I have. Focus up here. Shut out everything but the event. Then you start to exert your will upon your focus. You see the movements come to fruition before they fall. You are not seeing them all fall. You see only one part of the spectrum.
     "Sit down on the pad, cross your legs, hands at your knees. Let your neck go limp. Relax. Breath slowly. Reading is done in a manner of ways. Most have a topological expression inside their brains. Consciousness is a mass culmination of that topology. The energy levels are that which exists in a questionable state of balance. To read, one has not to still one's thoughts, but instead unleash them. Let them flow at one level, unimpeded. Look for patterns and intensities. Look for things appearing rather than flowing. Don't impede them. Match the patterns. Allow for error. Examine them. Then sniff for the source. After a while, you can smell the errors. You mustn't be in a hurry. I like to call the state 'precision inspection.' Your feelings inside are your flow gauges. Attune the feelings and you attune the flow. Do you get frequent headaches?"
     "Sometimes."
     "How often?"
     Angie shrugged. "Usually from getting off balanced. Stress."
     "How do you feel about your job?"
     "I quit. Gone."
     "No, I mean how much of it are you still living?"
     "I. . . . Another trick question."
     "Bounce up and down. Go on. Bounce. Like when you were a kid. Forget the older connotations that make it taboo. You did it as a child. My memory isn't that bad. Come on. Something that you could never do on the job. Get a rhythm going. Got to get you some focus somehow. May as well start large scale for the veterans of corporate wars."
     "You just want to get your kicks."
     "And the sooner that you get to a stage where I can get them, the better." Greg walked to the window and looked outside, giving her a chance to get started without feeling self-conscious. "Think to the time of the music that we were playing and get established." He picked up the guitar and started to play. "Listen, feel, bounce. Get it all linked. Feel it flow through you, dictate to you. No trying, only complying. Dissect the moments for what they are. Vectors of flow, established, ordained, set, aware, spontaneous."
     "You're not making sense."
     "I'm making perfect sense." He launched into the song and applied the power of his core to his music, bringing with it a life of its own that transcended their usual contact. "Get lost in it." he said aside in a vocal pause, as the music came around between lines.
     She started to sway to the music and was soon totally absorbed, open to the music and what Greg's voice conveyed. She began to see the impact as it flowed through her mind. She found herself becoming more aware of herself in totality. The flow of his voice caressed her playfully, a joy burning through to her senses.
     Greg hit the instrumental verse and asked, "Are you just going to sit there like an idiot, or are you going to play?"
     She came to face him, then let the eye contact linger for some time. Then she picked up the mandolin and joined in on the beginning of the next verse. She played flawlessly and with command, pouring her feelings into the instrument and making it sound that way. She breathed deeply and smiled, letting out a little squeak. Greg yah-hooted in response. Angie broke into giggles.
     "So this is why you had all those parties."
     "You catch on quickly."
     They played the end of the song in growing vigor and ended with a flair. They both stopped, breathless.
     "What did you just do to me?"
     "Nothing. It's what you did to yourself. You opened the door. Hello, Angie. Nice to meet you.''
     "I feel you. I feel in my mind what you are saying."
     "I know. It shows like sunshine. I like it."
     "You do? Really?"
     "Very much."
     "Don't tell me it was all me."
     "All I did was puff a little breeze."
     "Breeze? That was power I felt."
     "Okay. A small gale, perhaps. Good heaven knows that I was wasting my time on the subtle approach. Consider yourself taught. Now go out there and sniff the world. Let me start thinking again of chasing women. I may be too old to chase, but I can still think about it."
     Angie kissed Greg for the first time, and there was a twinkle of pure joy in her eyes.
     "Enough. Don't bring back memories. Go find those that can match you and make your own music. Let fate be kind to you."
     "You're kicking me out?"
     "You got what you came for. It's been a rocky four weeks for me, and I need my rest to recuperate. I'm no longer a young man that can keep step with someone your age. Feel free to stop by and visit. Let me know what you find out there with your nose."
     "Why?"
     "Because your future is out there, not here. This was only a pit stop for you. You needed your carburetor adjusted. Now get out there and make up for lost time. You've certainly logged your fair share. To stay here with me, grown far below your potential in strength. . . ."
     "You, beneath me?"
     "Beneath your potential. All I have going for me is experience, and I have you there by forty years. If you go on to sniff the air, you will grow far larger than me in little time. But that is your road. All I can do is teach you how to drive. That I have done. It is now up to you to take the wheel and travel. I am not your destiny, Angie. That is as plain to see as the woeful look on your face. All I am is a road sign telling you how to get there. Go find where that is plentiful. You should not have so much trouble finding it."
     "I don't want to go. I want to share more with you."
     "I'm not going anywhere. You know where to find me, and how to find me. You won't even have to travel."
     "This is why you were at mom's side when she died."
     "Yes, Angie, she went in love. That is how to go, be it the first or last time. We will see each other again. I'm not gone yet. What you need to do is go shopping. You have a whole new set of senses. Go, see what the world looks like. Learn of it, from it, find where you blend with more than one."
     "That was the reason that you had the parties?"
     "Yes. For the sharing in the making of music, in numbers."
     "It makes sense now. It wasn't everybody there at the parties, was it? Seems like there were two groups. Those inside and those that simply came because a party was going on."
     "Yes. Not that any of them were the wiser. They just knew that we knew how to throw one hell of a good party. They never figured out what it was. They just enjoyed it. You don't have to understand it to enjoy it. But it does make a world of difference to know."
     "How long do I have before you toss me out?"
     "Stay long enough to catch your wind. You'd leave whether or not I sent you. I'm just letting you know that I expect it to happen, so why delay the inevitable? Leave when you like, but no more lessons. I intend to rest my aged carcass for no one's pleasure but my own. When you've been around as long as I have, you'll be bossy too. I'm just glad that I came before you and not after. You'd have shamed me."
     "Huh?"
     "Better that the stronger come last. Nothing is worse than watching yourself unable to match up with what came before you. It's what makes watching someone in your footsteps all the more fun when they exceed you. Knowing that you came first to pave the way. Nice consolation reality."
     "There is still something that you are not telling me."
     "I lied to your mother."
     "What?"
     "I led her to believe that I didn't know exactly what your fate was to be. I did. She died not knowing exactly what, though she perceived the direction."
     "You know what is in my future?"
     Greg nodded. "And that is for me to know and you to find out as it befalls you. For me to advise you would be to alter the pattern."
     "And that is why you are sending me away, to make it easier for you not to tell me?"
     "I'm glad I came first. Angie, your destiny is out the door. Do you refuse it?"
     "Is it positive?"
     "It is not without its trials and tribulations to shape you. A few failures to humble you. Some losses to teach you the value of life and make you stronger. The making of the path is yours. Go out and love life for a change. It is waiting for you."
     "Am I to become happy?"
     "Happiness is fleeting emotion, a state of flux that has its costs in compensations for the drain of maintaining it. Rather you should ask if you will find your center. And the answer is out there, not here."
     "I'll pack."
     Greg picked up the guitar. He opened up his voice and sang to Angie.
          "Oh, don't you go out the door with a stingy disguise, oh no.
          And don't you go out the door with them old sad teary eyes.
          Open up your face to a whole brand new day.
          Show some sunshine and chase those clouds away.
          Aw, give the world what you want, and it will show you the way."
     A smile broke through Angie's frown. "You know what I really regret is that you and I never really got to party. You have me jealous of my own mother."
     "Can't have everything unless you get out there and try. And knowing you all your life, you'll go out there and put us to shame in sheer spite."
     She hissed like a cat, then smiled. "You sure do build some mighty tough walls around yourself."
     "I'm not twenty anymore. Can't take the abuse I used to."
     "But you can't hide your spirit."
     Greg sighed and went and sat down. "I'm turning lazy." He propped up his feet on his favorite ottoman and shut his eyes. "I'm going to be awfully boring."
     "Not possible."
     "Oh? Watch."
     Greg shut her out and sighed, then drifted off to sleep. Angie sat and watched him for a while. Then her eyes went to the door. She shook her head, knowing that she had all the time in the world for that. She concentrated on what Greg needed most. When she came to the realization that she could not supply it, no matter how strong she became, she stood, kissed his forehead, stroked his jaw with the back of her fingers, then went out the door. She left without her suitcases, wanting to get out and feel the world a bit before saying her farewells to Greg.

     Angie shook the road from her shoulders, having driven an hour and a half, before she settled in to the festivities. She noted that the parking was more crowded than the previous year, and it was still early in terms of arrivals. The party was just getting under way. She smiled at those that greeted her with a mental touch that had become the signature of the core group. Bill pulled her aside with a warm unending grin.
     "Music hasn't started up yet, has it?"
     "Oh, my guess is that everyone hasn't been traveling much this year, and they want to talk first and catch up on lost time."
     "Ah. Feels good, though. Very positive."
     "Yes. A gentle breeze. And how are you doing?"
     "Busy. Finally off the ground and starting to show some stability. We have landed a number of contracts that should have us in for some smooth sailing. Just the ticket that we needed. Steady work and income. Have you seen sign of an elderly man? His name is Greg. I invited him out for the party. I didn't think that you would mind. He is responsible for the parties, in a way."
     "Oh?"
     "Yeah. He was the one that got me pointed in the right direction. He's an old hand at this sort of thing, as was my mom. They used to do this sort of thing several times a year. It's where I got the idea."
     "Well, he hasn't arrived yet. Does he know how to get here?"
     "He'll find it, if he's coming. Even without directions, he could find it."
     "So he's a sniffer."
     "Like I said, he's responsible for these parties ever happening. Had it not been for him, I'd have never had known about these abilities. Had I never known, I'd have never started looking for those in the core group. It's been a few years in the building, but he was the one that set me on the path."
     "Then we owe him an honor."
     Sheila came into the room with a squeal and hugged Angie. The spark drew others, and soon the room was filled with the core group attending. There were hugs and kisses and smiles and excited chatter, the room a haze of heart-felt welcome. Angie was hopped about among the crowd, saying helloes in happy abandon.
     When she turned to the door, there was Greg, standing just inside other room, watching. She smiled widely and went to him. "You made it. I'm so glad that you could."
     "Quite a group you have here."
     "Yes. It is. Seem familiar?"
     "In terms of general impressions."
     "Let me introduce you." She turned back into the room. "Could I have your attention? I'd like you to meet the man that is responsible for our parties. Without his guidance, we would have probably never have found each other. Now this man is an old hand at parties like this. I grew up going to the ones that were the model for these that we hold, and he put me on the path when I returned to Earth."
     "Do you play music?" asked Bill.
     "A little."
     "Oh, don't be fooled. He's probably better than any of us here. And he plays the same way that we do. So be warned that he might put us to shame."
     Bill extended his hand. "Then you'll have to join us when we get started. We'd be honored to have you play with us."
     Greg accepted the handshake, feeling the energy flow between them. "If I can keep up with you. I'm not a spry as I used to be."
     "From what I can see, you should have no problem."
     Angie took him around and made individual introductions, letting him meet with the entire core group. With that done, Bill started cracking the whip on getting set up and into the music. Greg sat out the first hour of playing, sitting back and listening, observing the group mind. Then there was a changing of part of the group, and Angie dragged him in. He got set up and asked about some songs that he knew that he sensed might be known to the musicians. They gave him the lead, and he started off with a moderately paced tune to see the feel of the group with his interaction. By the third song, he was a fully melded member, and there was applause after each number from those that were drawn inside by the sweet texture of the music. He played for almost an hour before tiring. He sat with no objections. Angie sat with him.
     "I must say that that is the best that we have ever sounded. I guess that we don't quite match the standards of old, do we?"
     "I wouldn't say that. Ours had their highs and lows as well. You seem to be doing quite well. Focus is good."
     "But you bring such a special texture to the music.''
     "The wisdom of age, Angie."
     "I'm glad that you made it. It's been too long since we've had a chance to visit. I've been thinking a lot about you recently."
     "Not much going on for me now. One day passes much like the others."
     "You look happy now."
     "What do you expect? It's been a while since I felt the touch like this. It is a nice reminder. You are looking good. Growing stronger each time that I see you. You've surpassed me."
     "No."
     "Yes. I'm slipping a bit, and you are letting my familiarity be confused for strength. Maybe I can still outdo you, but you are stronger than me in gross production. Take it as a fact. You still haven't totally opened up, though. That is why you don't perceive the fact, along with your modesty. It is what also keeps you from truly shining. But give it time. You came further and faster than I did at your age. Give yourself the time to grow. It's the ride. Enjoy it while it lasts."
     "I am."
     "Not bad. Cook this party another eight years, and things will start to happen. Don't be in a hurry." Greg kissed her cheek. "Now run along and quit monopolizing my time. You should know better than to hog me at a party. How many times did I run you off before?"
     Angie smiled. "Sure is good to see you again.
     "It's good being here."
     Angie went outside, and Greg wandered into the kitchen. Bill was busy at the cutting board. "You run a sloppy kitchen."
     "Huh?"
     "You need a cook in the kitchen, not chaos. Who's the ornery, brazen, and adorable one of the bunch?"
     "Kelly."
     "Put her on kitchen duty. Let her run ship. Crack the whip." He opened the refrigerator. "You guys don't stock in enough food. Keep the fuel coming. Everyone is burning energy. Bring four times what you'd eat in a full setting per person, or more. Truck it in." Greg dropped five hundred dollars on the counter. "Beer money."
     Bill looked at him and laughed. "Are you kidding?"
     "Read my lips. You'd best get a crew out shopping before this party does get full blown. I'll do a number on the kitchen. Send me Kelly before you shop. I'll tell her what needs buying."
     "When do you plan on shutting down for the night?"
     "Are you kidding? The work begins for the main meal tomorrow when the music dies. I would expect that you get little sleep at an affair like this. That's the way we did it. Round the clock kitchen."
     Bill left with the money and shortly thereafter, Kelly found him washing dishes. "What are you doing in the sink?"
     "Getting this party squared away. You're Kelly?"
     "Right. What do you need?"
     "A kitchen master. Do you cook?"
     "Not bad."
     "We're going to need six meals before tomorrow evening. Big one comes last. That starts tonight when things die out. Two meals before the sun sets, one after midnight, to turn off as many lights as possible. Then the hold-outs will be put to work getting ready for tomorrow. Then there's breakfast, make that brunch, followed by lunch an hour later. Then the big one in the afternoon, marking the finale.
     "Everyone leaves with time to get to sleep in their own bed, except for the volunteer clean up crew that stays over an extra day. Long distance travelers that have taken the time off. After-party. There could be left-overs, so that is an option. One meal will generally suffice for the next day. Most everyone will have their second meal elsewhere. Wait and see. Hold a little reserve." he advised.
     "So I need to stock six meals, one breakfast, four balanced meals, and a centerpiece. And more drinks for fifty five people. I'll go take stock of the plates and coolers on hand. So you're an old pro at this, huh?"
     "I put in a few decades."
     "Much difference?"
     "Nothing that a little instruction wouldn't help. Attitude, mostly. But the parties are still young. Give it a few years to mature a bit. Like wine, it grows sweeter. Speaking of which, I noticed no cooking wine at all. Put that on your list. Spices. Make 'em fresh when you can. Ask who is cooking and get specific needs. Stay away from cans if you can. Fresh food. Not everyday stuff. Full, rich, tasteful, fresh. Ample. Big cuts of meat, rob the produce section blind."
     "I hope that there is enough money. You are talking a lot of food."
     Greg pulled on his wallet. Kelly stayed his hand before he could extract it. "I'll pass the hat. Wouldn't be right to ask twice."
     Kelly left the kitchen, leaving Greg to continue cleaning up. Five minutes later, Greg found himself with three helpers. He put them to work and quit after the dishes. Greg went outside to inspect the pit. The property was remote, but not distant from the city, a growing rarity. He had the lid open when a hand patted him on the back.
     "I seem to remember that you were the senior fire bug of the parties." said Angie.
     "Comes from a twisted childhood as a pyromaniac."
     "Ah. You do light a fire in the circle. Will you play again?"
     "A bit later. I'm getting the food services in order. Handing out a few lessons in Henry's cooking for sport."
     "Ah. You found discrepancies."
     "The kitchen was a disgrace. I just set things in motion. Cracking the whip is a necessity. Parties are hard work."
     Angie chuckled. "You still have it in you."
     "A skill like that you don't forget. Mark my word."
     "I shan't forget."
     "Why do you insist on being mushy? Go get to work, you lazy brat."
     "I'm putting a damper on your scene?"
     "You are going spoil my image of being available and unattached."
     Angie laughed and kissed his cheek. "You ferocious old pooh."
     "I liked it better when I had secrets from you."
     "You wouldn't have it any other way."
     "I guess so, after all the stupidity I've done in the name of your sake. I brought it on myself, thinking about it."
     "Uhn huh. Tell me another." She rubbed his back gently. "Nice to see you again. I don't get by often enough."
     "Sweet Angie, " he said, dumping the old coals from the pit, "I told you that your destiny was not at my house the first time I threw you out."
     "Oh, play the gruff. You're not fooling me."
     "I'm growing senile in my old age." He smiled at her.
     "Oh, Greg. You always were such a warm and lovable goof."

     The receptionist hailed Angie as she was leaving the complex. She altered her course to the desk on her way out. "This is your list of appointments for tomorrow. Terry left them. And here are your phone messages. And there is this telegram."
     Angie took it from her, half knowing what it said. The printout read: It is with regret to inform you that Greg Landival passed away Tuesday morning at 9 A.M. Funeral to be held Friday afternoon. Contact Hillson Funeral home.
     She picked up the phone and dialed. She waited for two rings. "Jim, Angie. Cancel me for Friday. Funeral."
     "Close to you?"
     "Yes. He mattered to me."
     "Drop off your notes with Lisa. Take as much time as you need."
     "Okay. Cancel me from now, then. I really don't feel up to work."
     "It shows. You've known this before now, haven't you?"
     "Yes. I woke up when it happened. I felt it. I was working real late Monday night, and I barely beat the sunrise home. I woke up in the middle of the morning and knew."
     "Come on back up to your office, get things in order for us, and then go. That would do you best. We'll manage here."
     "Thanks. I'll get in touch periodically, or if I get a call, or if you need to pick my brain."
     "We'll keep it down to necessity."
     "Thanks."
     She hung up the phone and turned to go, leaving the receptionist signing for a delivery.
     "Oh, Angie. This is for you."
     Angie turned back to accept the hand-sized package. She took it with her up the elevator to her office. Once there, she sat in her chair and let the remorse have its flow. Only when the door opened did she react. It was the cleaning service emptying the trash cans, so she busied herself opening the package. Inside was a data disc and a folded note. She unfolded it and read.

Dear Angie,
     Please don't be disturbed at my passing away. It was my time. I know that you will miss me. I know well how that feels. All too well. So let me give you a few pointers. First know that I am no longer troubled with my health. That was beginning to take away all of the fun. Also know that I had my fair share of bright moments, and then another few truckloads. My life was not wasted, and you are living proof.
     So do not feel grief for me. I had my time, and I lived a good life. Many would envy me for it. But life must move on for new life. I've sewn all but one of my loose ends together. You are sole benefactor of my will. In these years that I knew you, you felt like family to me. I never had any children, and you never had a father, and I feel that we used each other to fill the void.
     You are now at a crucial period in your life. These next few years will be the ones for which you are remembered. I've included a disc. On it is your future, as I have seen it. So far, what I have seen has held true. You are now a successful business woman. You hold a lot of clout in your position. That is about to change. That I will tell you. What else I tell you is up to you and how much of the disc you read. I've left nothing of what I've seen from the transcript.
     If you use it, it will change your future. The choice is yours to make. Not mine. You've always been curious. I've sensed it every time that I've seen you since I told you. Here is your chance to select your fate, to live it as I have seen it, or to change it with no clues as to what it will become. I guess it boils down to trust, doesn't it?
     I take your love with me. I felt it. I only hope that I left behind as much as I took.

Greg

     Angie folded the note back and took the disc in her hands. She noted the label telling of its compatibility. She pressed the disc into reader and hit the disc delete button. The safeguard came up on screen. She smartly tapped the execute key after a meditative pause.
     "Thank you, Greg." She picked up the phone and dialed. The phone was answered without ringing. "Bill, get the group together tonight. We have a wake to hold for the man that taught us how to party."
     "Greg?"
     "Yes. I feel the need to play music. I get this feeling that he still might be in hearing range. I'd like to sing a farewell to him."
     "Okay. I'll get on it."
     "Be there in a couple of hours."
     "Okay. I'll be here. Bye."
     Angie put her office into order, laying out the work in progress on her desk so that it would be easy to find. She left an hour after the phone call. Traffic was blessedly light and she made good time. About half of the group was there in the process of setting up. She was informed that the others were due shortly, being on their way. Once things were ready to play, Angie began to tell them of what she had learned of and from Greg. The others arrived in the process and listened while they set up. They shared the implications, then it was time to start playing.
     Angie took the lead, being by far the strongest of the group. She opened her mind to the breeze, feeling for traces of Greg. She got no response, so she directed her singing to him. After a few songs, she began to feel his presence grow. She became stronger, and a smile grew to her face. Her music soared, and the group had no choice but to follow her. She began to feel a calmness that reminded her of Greg in the way unspoken that he had first fully described to her of the way her mother passed away.
     She understood and smiled, and she became stronger. She felt the love that the two of them had shared, and a tear formed in her right eye and traced down her cheek where he had once kissed her. She laughed and poured herself into the music, and the torrents passed through them all. She lifted the group to the total shedding of all defenses so that they stood naked in mind before each other, all walls flung aside, and they found beauty in the melding.
     It was many hours before they wound down to a halt. Angie collapsed wordlessly onto the couch. "His final lesson to us, the one he so desperately wanted us to find. He spent his whole life making what we just felt possible. We can not let it go to waste. It would be a sin to destroy a life's work. So he goes knowing that he has won. To Greg, Love, Angie." She held up the wine glass to the air to his spirit. "You knew that I wouldn't look, you old rascal."