Saturday Night Silliness -- Random Musings of a Writer Lady and Her Cat.

“Because you are a person or something? Free will and all of that?” “I’ve been dead for about twenty-five years and...the free will thing.” “You’re a ghost?” “I’m a memory. Your memory. I was a colleague of your father’s when you were just a little thing. Four, I think.” I study his face and try to remember. “It’s no use my dear. You were four.” “Why do I think of you warmly?” “I always wanted kids of my own— I never saw you or any of your siblings without gifts in hand. I needed you all to like me because I wanted to feel confident that I would be a good father some day. Being the youngest, you were my favorite. I am a little bit ashamed to admit that your gifts were just a little bit nicer than those of your siblings.” A silence falls between us. “Are you alright?” He asks. “I have another question. What about the others?” “The others?” “The men in my stories.” He...Hardy, for some reason I want to call him Hardy. Is it Hardy or Harvey? No...it’s Hardy.

...will give life to my insanity. It will confirm everything. Or it will scare him away. On the other hand, I can’t sit in this gazebo forever. I close my eyes and see the library with the French doors leading to the sunny garden just beyond. I watch the fire burning in the fireplace. If I concentrate, I can smell the burning wood, the brewed coffee on the side table, the food. Most clearly, I can see him . I watch in amazement as he looks for me, sees me standing in the entry, and smiles. Taking an unexplainable leap of faith, I close my eyes and describe it all to Earnest. “That’s good.” Earnest says. “Why are you standing in the entry?” “I’m always standing in the entry. I never go inside completely.” “Why?” “Because it’s not real.” “How do you know that it’s not real if you never go inside the room?” “It's beginning to sound like we’re both a little bit off our rockers.” Earnest smiles. “I’m not crazy and you’re not either.” He says. “Have you ever