2040

"I would like to begin", says Kenny, stirring into his coffee the meticulously measured two teaspoons of sugar and huge dose of cream that I aways knew him to favour, and even on the cusp of sixty, he is stirring with musical tinkling vigour. Dad used to tease him that he was going to take a recording of him stirring his coffee then hand it over to the church organist so that he might use the tinkling melody for composing a new liturgical anthem, perhaps for the Feast of Pentecost. Of course he just might have said to Kenny that the relentless tinkle tinkle tinkle never failed to get on his nerves, but Dad was two kind for that as well as too timid and polite. But on occasion, we, father and son, would exchange in private our mildly amused and vaguely irritated glances, one or both of us would briefly chuckle or titter, nothing further said or done. "with telling everyone here about how you and I came to know each other. Are you okay with that, Ethan. I am not going to mention here your true history as an early church martyr, nor of your eternal identity and service to God, nor anything at all about the Refuge. The two dimensions have come together, things are beginning to get calm again, and we are stuck here now, right now, in the boring mundane here and now." "Proceed", is all he mutters, while testing an experimental sip of his black and bitter coffee. first of all", so that no one gets confused, Only in Ethan's eyes have Kim and Tim remained young. And Ethan himself was just a kid of thirteen when he came into foster care in their home. Would you like to continue from here, Ethan..."