My best friend George S knows me far better than Stephen; I believe I know him far better than his wife, no surprise there, she’s a woman.  I should be cast into a lesbian snake pit for that remark, but I won’t take it back.

Once upon a time, on an aircraft yet, Geo set about convincing me that I was dead and that he was the cosmic messenger.  Of course, it was one of those nerdesque Twilight Zone kinds of exchanges at the start, but with a combination of theatrical prowess and a skilled hand on the conversation rheostat, he had me within a micron of going for it.

Apparently, something in my eyes signaled that it was time for him to bail out and say just kidding, but maybe [‘just maybe…’] it was too painful for even a cosmic messenger and he was backing out.  [Cue the theremin]

Yesterday we drove two hours to a museum we’d never visited before to see a show by one of Stephen’s friends, fellow artist Andy Nasisse.

While there in the gallery, we encountered the museum director and she and Stephen immediately engaged each other over the exhibit and Mr Nasisse in general.  A couple of times before quickly giving up, I tried to interject a remark, only to be completely ignored.

The two of them just rattled-on, and I reflected on my ghost-hood, 50 years after that conversation at 35,000 feet.