I often disagreed with his positions on issues, but he always made me giggle with the almost maniacal fever of his assertions. How he always knew we'd find each other somehow. How he always thought about us me and my brother. He told me the stories about how he had tried and tried. He referred to himself as my' Pops', but I preferred 'Dad.' We always discussed things as equals. He never tried to step into a false role. We learned about each other in bits and pieces.
The weight of a non-existent past is surprisingly heavy.
And my adored little sister when she was 10.
One of those good people had enough one day, and gave me his phone number the next. A story that confirms that bit about all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. A multi-dimensional set of little islands of lies she might need in a future fabrication. She went as far as to give me her high school class ring - from a school she didn't attend.
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