One Week

Prickles and I were talking the other night. We have both been convinced by past experience that someone larger than we know had a hand in orchestrating the dizzying puzzles that our lives seem to play through, but he expressed the view that this piece didn't make sense.

"Why would I meet someone, talk with them, get to know them, and within three months they'd be gone again?" Paraphrased.

Why indeed. Prickles and I met because we were sitting in roughly the same section of the sanctuary once. At ARC, you would have to be sitting in the same section, or possibly the neighboring one, as any one of your friends in order to know that they were there. The next step up from the sanctuary size will probably be an arena. Since that first time, Prickles and I have never found ourselves sitting anywhere near each other.

He was looking rather dejected after the service, and I came up and asked if I could pray for him. He said yes, so, in typical camp-style, we did right there. And then he asked for my name - I had forgotten that he did not know me. Over the next few months, we saw each other once or twice a week.

Why did I run into Prickles? Among other things, he was one of the chief reasons that I would be at Bible Study every week - to hear what he had to say and engage with him. Not that Prickles usually talked much - he's a solid listener.

Why did he run into me? Because he'd just gotten some rather nasty news that threatened his home world, and had never encountered anyone quite so brazenly cheerful. More to it, but anyone would see that.

Two weeks ago, I met someone else in the cafe. We are close in age, he works at Mayo, and is apparently on a mission to try every dish at every cafe in the downtown area before leaving Mayo for more challenging pastures. So, we agreed to have lunch together. I told him he looked like Faramir. He found me playing piano in the Charlton. He showed me what he could do on guitar - he's self-taught, and remarkable. I told him he needed to give Dire Straits a chance.

We clicked so swiftly - the last time I clicked that easily with someone unexpected (camp staff are another matter) was four years ago. We were both saxes. But we only have a week for any time together. I do not understand this. I want to have another three months at least, so there might be a chance to build a strong enough friendship to stay in contact over the following months. Why are we given the combination of a strong bond and a short time?

In retrospect, that would be all any of our bonds have. I have this thing about making peace with my death every night. Last night, I could not sleep, because I had to apologize (such a mild term) to a friend, and make sure that he knew the truth about me. If I died without him knowing the truth, I would die as something of a hero, and the label was undeserved. Every friendship, we understand that it could end a day later; we just refuse to think about it. We hope.

If you knew that you only had a week, what would you do with it?