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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Friends / Friendship
- Published: 02/14/2017
The story of Bill and Tom.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesTomorrow was his fortieth birthday. He dreaded it. Oh sure, every one he knew teased him about turning forty, and he was sure he would get the proverbial cane, or walker.
A gag gift that made him gag. No one around him would know that he would never get to use either. He never did. Forty is as far as he ever made it. And tomorrow…he turns forty.
‘Tom, why so down in the dumps? Tomorrow is your birthday. You should be happy you are here for it. Heck you look thirty, you have crammed two lifetimes worth of work into forty years, you are famous, rich, good looking, and still single! There is no body better, or better known in your field than you. What else could you possibly want?”
“I want to die. Bill. That’s all.”
Bill almost dropped his drink. Instead it froze halfway to his mouth. Bill’s brain had a glitch in it. The way Tom had causally uttered those few words, with complete absence of any kind of melancholy, or depression, or sadness left Bill’s brain unable to register them for a few moments. The words came out just like they sounded- a request. No big deal. I just want to die. That’s all. And that was all the words said. Just a forlorn hope without a prayer of coming true.
“Tom. You shouldn’t joke around like that." (even though to Bill it did not sound like a joke. It didn’t sound like a cry for help either. It sounded…well, like a wish.)
“Oh? Sorry. It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean it. Forget about it.”
Bill sat his drink down on the table with the care one takes when they don’t want anything to disturb the moment. Bill was a very smart Engineer, maybe not as good as Tom, but then again- who was? Unlike most Engineers, Bill had a good grasp on the moods, intonations, and body language displayed by those around him. It might be why he was one of those rare breeds who had Doctorates in Engineering and in the Humanities. Bill was as comfortable with the words of Wadsworth, Frost, and Jane Austen, as he was with the math of Einstein, Hawking, and Penrose. He knew the difference between a romantic notion of suicide and a real cry for help. Tom’s words were neither. They were simply fact.
“No. I don’t think so. What’s going on Tom?”
Tom thought for a long time before answering. A long time. Bill waited without an ounce of hurry or impatience in his posture or demeanor. He just waited for his friend to speak. A comfortable silence, the kind that only 20 years of working closely together, sharing memories, and failing together brings about. Tom needed to talk, Bill was his friend. Bill would wait.
“Okay, Bill. You won’t believe any of this, and tomorrow it won’t matter. So…I guess…well, here you go.”
Bill was paying attention with every ounce of his being. The word focused was to weak of a word to describe how intent he was ready to listen to Tom. What in the world could Bill say that he wouldn’t believe, and why wouldn’t it matter tomorrow. Bill didn’t like the sound of either of those statements. Tom was as far from hyping hyperbole as Bill was from understanding Egyptian Hieroglyphics; Bill was going to listen with the intent of understanding, and that takes effort.
Tom sighed, looked at his friend for more than 20 years.
“Bill, how old do you think I am?”
Bill blinked. That is not the question he was expecting. And both of them already knew the answer. He decided not to treat it lightly and give Bill the answer as the number of hours that have passed in 39 years, 364 days ( 350,376 Hours)- a Nerd thing that they often shared to the delight of other Nerds, and the dismay of every ordinary person they ever share it with.
“Tom. You turn forty tomorrow. “
“No, Bill. I do not. Tomorrow I turn five hundred and eight years old. “
Bill had nothing to say to that. So he didn’t.
Tom studied Bill’s face. Stupefied. Stunned. Flummoxed. All those words paled at the look on Bill’s face. When Tom saw Bill’s face relax just the tiniest bit, he continued on:
“I am not kidding Bill. A long time ago, I was just like you…maybe. At least I only had one lifetime…I thought. I was sixty eight years old and still active. Believe me when I say I was older than anyone in the village. I had outlived four wives, thirteen children, and all of my siblings. It was a rich full life. I was born in 1509. I was the sun of a prosperous stone mason in Wales. My Father built most of the early Tudor Chapels, and I worked on the main Tower at Westminster myself. It was the beginning of the Protestant Reformation and that killed any hope of Renaissance Architecture blossoming in England. The Reformers were not into poetry in buildings.
I took over my Father’s business when he died. He was forty seven- a ripe old age back then. I had just turned 18 and was a full fledged man. I had been married for three years already with one child. When I was Sixty Eight years old, I used to sit in my study in the Country Mansion , a fine Mansion for its day. My three sons and I built it- alongside some craftsmen who worked for me. It had a Great Hall, more than 20 rooms, and two kitchens. During those last few days of my life, as I sat in my study…I daydreamed about being 18 years old again. But…knowing all the things I had learned about life, people, and the world, but having the youthful body of an 18 year old man.
Belive me Bill, in the 16th Century, you were well and truly a man at 18. Hell, you were a man at 13…that is how old I was when I fought my first battle. My Father was the Captain of our Regiment. We were rewarded by the Royals for winning those battles and staying loyal. They gave us a lot of land…a lot. Bill, land- back then- was oil. We were rich. But I have lost my way here… .
Okay. So I died. April 27 1577. Elizabeth was Queen of England, and Francis Drake had just received a commission to leave in November to find a Northwest Passage. The Treason Act had been in force for several years, and the Queen had decided not to rule over the Netherlands. All that was behind me now. I was dead. Until….
On April 28 , 1577, I awoke with all my memories, but the body of an 18 year old man. A much bigger 18 year old than I had been in my first life. I awoke to find I was almost five foot ten inches tall, and weighed more than 10 stone! I was one of the biggest men in the Village. Unlike my previous life, I now had blond hair, blue eyes and all my teeth. It took me a few days to get used to my new body. I still had all my old memories. All of them. (at this point …Tom sighed and looked off into the distance for a while…Bill sat unmoving, listening with a growing sense of awe, as disbelief was being replaced by stunned belief).
Tom chuckled then his eyes twinkled before they darkened as some other memory (or thought) bubbled up like black tar to drag down his mind.
As you can Imagine, Bill. I was thrilled at first. I even went back to my Village (which was a good three miles from where I woke up as an 18 year old) to see my old friends, coworkers, and flings. None of them recognized me. I made a few slips and bedded two women I shouldn’t have. Word got out that I somehow channeled the life of a local Lord who had just died. That made folks think I was a warlock. I managed to escape with my life, move to London, and start another career - this time as a painter. It kept me close to the Posh upper crust, but low enough on the radar to escape the notice of most Courtiers, Royals, and other Social Circles that could get you killed. I did that for 22 years. Then…I died again. I woke up in France and I was 18 years old again. This time my body was whippet strong, wiry, and lean, I had long dark hair, and brown eyes.
I took up my old trade of being a Stone Mason, and believe it or not, I built the first building in Versailles. Yep. It was a stone and brick hunting lodge for the King of France. Bill, you would not believe how much hunting meant to the Royals of the Day. It was dangerous, and exciting, and only Royalty could hunt. Lodges were ornate and had to hold the Kings entourage- and mistresses. I would work on Versailles in three other “lives” over time.
By the fifth time I was …was…well..reincarnated I guess is as good a word as any, I figured out the patter. I would be “born again” always at 18 years of age. I would live 22 years, and then, well, I would “die” at forty. Within a few days of dying, I would wake up 18 years old…again. All my knowledge and experiences from that life were retained. Let me tell you, it was getting crowded up there (and Tom tapped his head).
At this point Bill was so drawn into the story he became fascinated, mesmerized, enthralled…Bill would not interrupt this fantastic story for all the wealth in China. When Tom looked at him occasionally to see how Bill was handling it…Bill would smile, nod his head, and gesture a very clear “do go on” with his hand. Bill did go on.
About this time - around the late 1600’s…early 1700’s , I became… well, unscrambled. I had to many memories. I couldn’t connect to anyone. I had seen so much death, slept with so many women - and yes, a few men. (Tom looked at Bill with eyes that showed all five centuries…it made Bill cower inside) When you have a youthful body, and enough time, you experiment. I did things for most of the 1700’s that would have shamed the Marquis De Sade. I knew him before he went to prison, and believe me, kinky does not even begin to describe what he did to folks. I did it too. I lost contact with my humanity for almost a century. I may have been insane too.
For the first time in more than an hour, Bill spoke:
“I don’t think you were insane. I think the right diagnosis is complete dissociation due to psychic shock. A perfectly normal response to an insane reality. “
Tom looked over with new found respect, admiration and thanks. Bill was a good friend.
“Thank you for that, Bill. ( A smile and another nod) When I finally ended that chapter of my , of my…of my reincarnations - I got involved in life again. I became a lawyer, a businessman, a scientist, a benefactor. You would not believe the amount of wealth I have accrued. Some of my holdings are Charters from the New World, all cleverly disguised and hidden, but believe me, I am wealthy in every country on Earth. Four centuries of compound interest, land grants on three continents, and then the technology boom…and I mean I owned some of the first factories, railroads, steam ship companies, and yes…both the automobile and telephone startups too. The only thing I missed out on being in on the ground floor (and here he smiled turned wry) was the personal computer.
It just never dawned on me, even with five hundred years of spotting trends in every industry, that people would need a home computer. I didn’t miss the SmartPhone opportunity, though. (Tom laughed out loud). So here I am. Almost six centuries old. I have seen history repeat itself. I have seen, fought, and lived through more wars than you can probably name. I have been good, and evil. Sane and insane. I have spent most of the last three centuries trying to be a force for change, for good, for a better world. Now…well, Bill, I am tired. I don’t want to love and lose anymore. I don’t want to be able to manipulate people like chess pawns. I am tired of always being young and strong. I want to die in the arms of someone who loved me for forty years…and go to sleep. Forever.
(Tom didn’t cry when he said all this. Tears , for him, had dried up many centuries ago. He was still human, maybe- but to get him to react emotionally to anything, well that process had run out of catalysts hundreds of years ago. )
“Tom. Suppose you stay with Darla and I tonight at our house. You love that little porch room out back looking over the lake. In the morning, if you are gone. I will know. You can come back as an 18 year old, and I will be your friend. If your schedule holds true, I should at least know who you are for two more …two more…trips. It might help to have someone you know, know you.”
“You know, in all these years, decades and centuries, I have never thought of that. It would be a different to have someone know me, instead of hiding every leaving everyone behind every 22 years. Let me think about it.”
The next morning Darla came back to the breakfast room.
“Bill, you might want to check on Tom. I knocked, and called his name, but he never came to the door. He must be still sleeping.”
Bill did as he was told. The room was empty. The bed rumpled, but everything else neatly put away. Tom smiled.
Three days later, a gangly 18 year old boy, more than six feet tall, with a shocking amount of unruly red hair and green eyes walked up the driveway. Bill walked out the door before Darla could ask: “Who is that?”
As the young red head with the rippled body and giant shock of hair came towards Bill, he stuck out his hand.
“You must be Bill. “
“You must be…(The young red head took one of his giant iron spiked fingers and placed it over Bill’s lips, in the oldest gesture of silence known to man) “
“You can call me Shane. An old friend recommended I come see if you had a job opening. “
Shane winked.
The story of Bill and Tom.(Kevin Hughes)
Tomorrow was his fortieth birthday. He dreaded it. Oh sure, every one he knew teased him about turning forty, and he was sure he would get the proverbial cane, or walker.
A gag gift that made him gag. No one around him would know that he would never get to use either. He never did. Forty is as far as he ever made it. And tomorrow…he turns forty.
‘Tom, why so down in the dumps? Tomorrow is your birthday. You should be happy you are here for it. Heck you look thirty, you have crammed two lifetimes worth of work into forty years, you are famous, rich, good looking, and still single! There is no body better, or better known in your field than you. What else could you possibly want?”
“I want to die. Bill. That’s all.”
Bill almost dropped his drink. Instead it froze halfway to his mouth. Bill’s brain had a glitch in it. The way Tom had causally uttered those few words, with complete absence of any kind of melancholy, or depression, or sadness left Bill’s brain unable to register them for a few moments. The words came out just like they sounded- a request. No big deal. I just want to die. That’s all. And that was all the words said. Just a forlorn hope without a prayer of coming true.
“Tom. You shouldn’t joke around like that." (even though to Bill it did not sound like a joke. It didn’t sound like a cry for help either. It sounded…well, like a wish.)
“Oh? Sorry. It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean it. Forget about it.”
Bill sat his drink down on the table with the care one takes when they don’t want anything to disturb the moment. Bill was a very smart Engineer, maybe not as good as Tom, but then again- who was? Unlike most Engineers, Bill had a good grasp on the moods, intonations, and body language displayed by those around him. It might be why he was one of those rare breeds who had Doctorates in Engineering and in the Humanities. Bill was as comfortable with the words of Wadsworth, Frost, and Jane Austen, as he was with the math of Einstein, Hawking, and Penrose. He knew the difference between a romantic notion of suicide and a real cry for help. Tom’s words were neither. They were simply fact.
“No. I don’t think so. What’s going on Tom?”
Tom thought for a long time before answering. A long time. Bill waited without an ounce of hurry or impatience in his posture or demeanor. He just waited for his friend to speak. A comfortable silence, the kind that only 20 years of working closely together, sharing memories, and failing together brings about. Tom needed to talk, Bill was his friend. Bill would wait.
“Okay, Bill. You won’t believe any of this, and tomorrow it won’t matter. So…I guess…well, here you go.”
Bill was paying attention with every ounce of his being. The word focused was to weak of a word to describe how intent he was ready to listen to Tom. What in the world could Bill say that he wouldn’t believe, and why wouldn’t it matter tomorrow. Bill didn’t like the sound of either of those statements. Tom was as far from hyping hyperbole as Bill was from understanding Egyptian Hieroglyphics; Bill was going to listen with the intent of understanding, and that takes effort.
Tom sighed, looked at his friend for more than 20 years.
“Bill, how old do you think I am?”
Bill blinked. That is not the question he was expecting. And both of them already knew the answer. He decided not to treat it lightly and give Bill the answer as the number of hours that have passed in 39 years, 364 days ( 350,376 Hours)- a Nerd thing that they often shared to the delight of other Nerds, and the dismay of every ordinary person they ever share it with.
“Tom. You turn forty tomorrow. “
“No, Bill. I do not. Tomorrow I turn five hundred and eight years old. “
Bill had nothing to say to that. So he didn’t.
Tom studied Bill’s face. Stupefied. Stunned. Flummoxed. All those words paled at the look on Bill’s face. When Tom saw Bill’s face relax just the tiniest bit, he continued on:
“I am not kidding Bill. A long time ago, I was just like you…maybe. At least I only had one lifetime…I thought. I was sixty eight years old and still active. Believe me when I say I was older than anyone in the village. I had outlived four wives, thirteen children, and all of my siblings. It was a rich full life. I was born in 1509. I was the sun of a prosperous stone mason in Wales. My Father built most of the early Tudor Chapels, and I worked on the main Tower at Westminster myself. It was the beginning of the Protestant Reformation and that killed any hope of Renaissance Architecture blossoming in England. The Reformers were not into poetry in buildings.
I took over my Father’s business when he died. He was forty seven- a ripe old age back then. I had just turned 18 and was a full fledged man. I had been married for three years already with one child. When I was Sixty Eight years old, I used to sit in my study in the Country Mansion , a fine Mansion for its day. My three sons and I built it- alongside some craftsmen who worked for me. It had a Great Hall, more than 20 rooms, and two kitchens. During those last few days of my life, as I sat in my study…I daydreamed about being 18 years old again. But…knowing all the things I had learned about life, people, and the world, but having the youthful body of an 18 year old man.
Belive me Bill, in the 16th Century, you were well and truly a man at 18. Hell, you were a man at 13…that is how old I was when I fought my first battle. My Father was the Captain of our Regiment. We were rewarded by the Royals for winning those battles and staying loyal. They gave us a lot of land…a lot. Bill, land- back then- was oil. We were rich. But I have lost my way here… .
Okay. So I died. April 27 1577. Elizabeth was Queen of England, and Francis Drake had just received a commission to leave in November to find a Northwest Passage. The Treason Act had been in force for several years, and the Queen had decided not to rule over the Netherlands. All that was behind me now. I was dead. Until….
On April 28 , 1577, I awoke with all my memories, but the body of an 18 year old man. A much bigger 18 year old than I had been in my first life. I awoke to find I was almost five foot ten inches tall, and weighed more than 10 stone! I was one of the biggest men in the Village. Unlike my previous life, I now had blond hair, blue eyes and all my teeth. It took me a few days to get used to my new body. I still had all my old memories. All of them. (at this point …Tom sighed and looked off into the distance for a while…Bill sat unmoving, listening with a growing sense of awe, as disbelief was being replaced by stunned belief).
Tom chuckled then his eyes twinkled before they darkened as some other memory (or thought) bubbled up like black tar to drag down his mind.
As you can Imagine, Bill. I was thrilled at first. I even went back to my Village (which was a good three miles from where I woke up as an 18 year old) to see my old friends, coworkers, and flings. None of them recognized me. I made a few slips and bedded two women I shouldn’t have. Word got out that I somehow channeled the life of a local Lord who had just died. That made folks think I was a warlock. I managed to escape with my life, move to London, and start another career - this time as a painter. It kept me close to the Posh upper crust, but low enough on the radar to escape the notice of most Courtiers, Royals, and other Social Circles that could get you killed. I did that for 22 years. Then…I died again. I woke up in France and I was 18 years old again. This time my body was whippet strong, wiry, and lean, I had long dark hair, and brown eyes.
I took up my old trade of being a Stone Mason, and believe it or not, I built the first building in Versailles. Yep. It was a stone and brick hunting lodge for the King of France. Bill, you would not believe how much hunting meant to the Royals of the Day. It was dangerous, and exciting, and only Royalty could hunt. Lodges were ornate and had to hold the Kings entourage- and mistresses. I would work on Versailles in three other “lives” over time.
By the fifth time I was …was…well..reincarnated I guess is as good a word as any, I figured out the patter. I would be “born again” always at 18 years of age. I would live 22 years, and then, well, I would “die” at forty. Within a few days of dying, I would wake up 18 years old…again. All my knowledge and experiences from that life were retained. Let me tell you, it was getting crowded up there (and Tom tapped his head).
At this point Bill was so drawn into the story he became fascinated, mesmerized, enthralled…Bill would not interrupt this fantastic story for all the wealth in China. When Tom looked at him occasionally to see how Bill was handling it…Bill would smile, nod his head, and gesture a very clear “do go on” with his hand. Bill did go on.
About this time - around the late 1600’s…early 1700’s , I became… well, unscrambled. I had to many memories. I couldn’t connect to anyone. I had seen so much death, slept with so many women - and yes, a few men. (Tom looked at Bill with eyes that showed all five centuries…it made Bill cower inside) When you have a youthful body, and enough time, you experiment. I did things for most of the 1700’s that would have shamed the Marquis De Sade. I knew him before he went to prison, and believe me, kinky does not even begin to describe what he did to folks. I did it too. I lost contact with my humanity for almost a century. I may have been insane too.
For the first time in more than an hour, Bill spoke:
“I don’t think you were insane. I think the right diagnosis is complete dissociation due to psychic shock. A perfectly normal response to an insane reality. “
Tom looked over with new found respect, admiration and thanks. Bill was a good friend.
“Thank you for that, Bill. ( A smile and another nod) When I finally ended that chapter of my , of my…of my reincarnations - I got involved in life again. I became a lawyer, a businessman, a scientist, a benefactor. You would not believe the amount of wealth I have accrued. Some of my holdings are Charters from the New World, all cleverly disguised and hidden, but believe me, I am wealthy in every country on Earth. Four centuries of compound interest, land grants on three continents, and then the technology boom…and I mean I owned some of the first factories, railroads, steam ship companies, and yes…both the automobile and telephone startups too. The only thing I missed out on being in on the ground floor (and here he smiled turned wry) was the personal computer.
It just never dawned on me, even with five hundred years of spotting trends in every industry, that people would need a home computer. I didn’t miss the SmartPhone opportunity, though. (Tom laughed out loud). So here I am. Almost six centuries old. I have seen history repeat itself. I have seen, fought, and lived through more wars than you can probably name. I have been good, and evil. Sane and insane. I have spent most of the last three centuries trying to be a force for change, for good, for a better world. Now…well, Bill, I am tired. I don’t want to love and lose anymore. I don’t want to be able to manipulate people like chess pawns. I am tired of always being young and strong. I want to die in the arms of someone who loved me for forty years…and go to sleep. Forever.
(Tom didn’t cry when he said all this. Tears , for him, had dried up many centuries ago. He was still human, maybe- but to get him to react emotionally to anything, well that process had run out of catalysts hundreds of years ago. )
“Tom. Suppose you stay with Darla and I tonight at our house. You love that little porch room out back looking over the lake. In the morning, if you are gone. I will know. You can come back as an 18 year old, and I will be your friend. If your schedule holds true, I should at least know who you are for two more …two more…trips. It might help to have someone you know, know you.”
“You know, in all these years, decades and centuries, I have never thought of that. It would be a different to have someone know me, instead of hiding every leaving everyone behind every 22 years. Let me think about it.”
The next morning Darla came back to the breakfast room.
“Bill, you might want to check on Tom. I knocked, and called his name, but he never came to the door. He must be still sleeping.”
Bill did as he was told. The room was empty. The bed rumpled, but everything else neatly put away. Tom smiled.
Three days later, a gangly 18 year old boy, more than six feet tall, with a shocking amount of unruly red hair and green eyes walked up the driveway. Bill walked out the door before Darla could ask: “Who is that?”
As the young red head with the rippled body and giant shock of hair came towards Bill, he stuck out his hand.
“You must be Bill. “
“You must be…(The young red head took one of his giant iron spiked fingers and placed it over Bill’s lips, in the oldest gesture of silence known to man) “
“You can call me Shane. An old friend recommended I come see if you had a job opening. “
Shane winked.
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