A flash of anger in his eyes. “You don’t need to understand. Just meet me at the head of the Mill Creek Trail at twelve noon, ten years from today. And bring a good calculator, a good HP scientific.”

    “If there’s a war, how do you know I will be alive to be there?”

    “You’ve already been there. That’s why I’m able to be here.”

    “And if I don’t show?”

    “Then I die there, and not here.” He gestures at the bed, and his body is no longer there. Then he disappears and is replaced with the diseased version of himself. Fading in and out of my vision. “You can’t bury me,” coughs, “this way, son.”

    “Fuck. Fine.”

    The old one goes to the bed and lies down, closes his eyes and stops breathing. The other comes back. “Don’t forget.”

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