Fooled Me Once

By Timothy Ayers

What does a former Gulf War Veteran have to do with nuclear blackmail? What does a kidnapping of the Secretary of Defense have to do with Fidel Castro? Meet Oggie, (pronounced doggie without the d) a Vet with determination, drive and a goal. Injured in the first Gulf War, he comes home and meets his destiny; life without the use of his legs. Never one to let life define him, he learns to ski, play competitive basketball, and gain his degree in finance.

Called to serve the President of the United States as head of the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Administration), he finds himself embroiled in a game of nuclear blackmail with the leaders of the United States, China, India, and Cuba.

How will Oggie exorcise himself from this International conspiracy? Using his skills learned from the first Gulf War, he finds a gift from the most unlikely characters.

Need more? Want it? Find out how he foils the maniacal designs of the worlds most recognized leaders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 29, 2009
• ISBN: 9781456752910

Book preview

Chapter 1

Late 1999

Augustus McKillion (Oggie) wheeled his chair around to face his adversary.

A lifetime of memories crossed his mind. Seconds passed…felt like hours.

Looking death in the face was a logical progression in the dispassionate review of his life, but was unlike anything he could ever have imagined.

Death comes with a look… a name… a voice…. Hey Oggie. It’s been a long time, my friend. His adversary holding the gun, stepped forward. A shaft of light shown on the illuminated crown of perfectly combed, perfectly cut, gray hair. An angelic glow surrounded Oggie’s assassin but for the eyes. They held a look of tormented power.

Oggie knew the grueling pain was only a formality. Death was certain. He was ready. Had been ready for days now. The forces he stirred, forces of life, became his own death knell. He bowed his head, not wanting to see the flash of fire explode from the gun.

He did not want to die… not yet.

His adversary was talking, but Oggie was not listening. He was remembering… discerning his life, contemplating his death.

Oggie’s mind flashed back three years earlier. He and his buddies were playing basketball wheeling down the floor; paraplegics playing basketball. Who would have thought I’d be here? Oh yea, having the use of my legs would have been great…but I was so short, I couldn’t have made any other team, he thought. But he was strong as a Kentucky Derby race horse… minus the legs. His upper body strength twice that of most men his age. Oggie knew he was better than most men with both legs. Not only did he think faster, he was faster. He could wheel his chair at better than fifteen miles per hour an hour. Sweating profusely, out of breath, yes, but winning was everything to Oggie, a man used to the mental and anatomical gymnastics he had in younger and more agile years. But mental quickness was now Oggie’s greatest strength.

Cutting in front of his opponent, almost reaching out of his chair, he stole the pass, put the basketball in his lap and screamed down the floor toward his goal. Two seconds left. He took the shot. The score! Dear gawd, nothing was better than beating the other team with sheer will and strength. Both teams were good, no… great. After all, this was the Paralympic Games. They had played many teams, lost a few but won the ones that really counted. Mental quickness was Oggies greatest asset in many of the games, but this game counted for the gold. They had won the Gold.

Not all his teammates had made an equal contribution, true, but they still came out to the games, gave it their all, physically, gave all the mental effort needed to win. The game was physical, a given, but the mental physique of most of the guys he played with was phenomenal. They needed the mental workout Oggie was a part of for several years prior. They needed Marty as a trainer.

Still gazing at the gun pointing at his head, the trigger finger tightening, he flashed back to another time five years earlier.



Workouts with guys at the gym were great. Marty was fun to tease…this weenie of a guy coming to the gym to work out. Marty gave it his all. Marty took workouts and weight lifting seriously, and as the year rolled by; he really grew. He buffed out, but was never muscle bound. Marty helped me put the fun back in my life, he remembered. One time we were lifting dead weights and Marty told me to get my own weights. Me, in a sports wheel chair, would have to roll over to the weight tree, pull off one weight, move to the other side of the tree, get the other weight, place them both on my lap and move to the bar. Putting the weights on the bar was not easy either. Had to lift one side, slide the weight down, move to the other side and perform the same task. It took me no less than five minutes to do what would have taken Marty thirty seconds to perform. But, Marty just stood there and looked at me. I called him a couple of choice names, expletives I prefer not to mention, and then I saw a glint in his eye; Oggie remembered. It was then I knew Marty was really a great guy, and could be trusted. Marty was a never-ending sense of humor and he never stopped to think whether what he was saying was the politically correct thing. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to get my own weights? Oggie recalled. I ain’t got no legs. Well that’s not really true, I’ve got useless appendages I used to call legs. My real appreciation for humor came from ol’ Marty. He taught me a lot about life. How to live, how to make do with what I have. How to laugh at myself. Marty gave me a sense of humor, Oggie remembered.

Knowing his life was hitting the wall he continued thinking in flash memory.

Marty had been a special kind of ski instructor. He taught deaf kids, kids with mental disabilities, and kids with physical impairments like Oggie’s. He taught Oggie to ski. Yep, this was Marty. He challenged himself and others beyond what they thought they were capable of doing. Marty taught Oggie to ski hard and fast, in other words, to do the impossible for most skiers. Wow, standing at the top of Corbits Coular, Teton Village, near beautiful Jackson Hole. A thirty-foot drop, then a sixty percent grade of beautiful feathery powder snow between two sheer rock-walls of death. When he finally dropped into the trough between the two rock walls, it seemed to take minutes, not seconds, but it felt like he owned legs again. Like a bird just learning how to dive at full speed, approaching the earth at an incredible velocity pulling up with just inches to spare. Snatching its prey from the ground and screaming back to the sky. The puff of powder was something to behold; he felt he was falling, but not falling…more like a gentle push back to gravity. I am alive, he remembered screaming at the top of his lungs as he flew down Corbits’ snowy mountain chute.

Another time, Marty and Oggie were skiing the back bowls of Jackson Hole, Teton Village. Oggie was having difficulty keeping up with the bastard, Marty. The dude just kept going, down the bowl, through the chutes, between the trees, over rocks. It was all three-foot deep powder. Better than sex, were Marty’s words and Oggie was having difficulty remembering what sex and passion were like, but had to agree that the experience was exhilarating, and what if it made his loins feel something? That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?

Marty disappeared over a rock with Oggie fairly close behind. When Oggie went over the rock, Marty heaved a huge snowball at him and screamed Hey! It scared the daylights out of Oggie, and when he hit the snow on the other side of the six foot rock, he crashed and burned. Marty skied up to him, laughing so hard he fell in the snow, too, and couldn’t get up. Oggie was so livid he couldn’t see straight until he saw the ‘Marty humor’ in it all. Then both of them couldn’t stop laughing. Powder filled his goggles, was down his pants, in his boots and up his sleeves. Marty said he looked like a gimp snowman. They fell down laughing again. Cool, clear, clean. Only the deer and trees to hear the soul exchange.

Yes, this was Marty. It was life. The mountains were beauty beyond description. Beauty beyond human control. A lasting love affair aligned with the destructive forces of nature bound together for eternity. This wild, blemished, hardened beauty of the Grand Tetons taught Oggie how to live. Know no fear, became Oggie’s ingrained perspective. Hardships are rewarded with beauty, hardness, and force combined with knowledge. Knowledge won through hardship equals wisdom.

Soon, Oggie himself began to teach skiing. As Marty taught him to extend himself, so he taught others. Kenny, one of Oggie’s physically-handicapped students, was really difficult. He had been pampered the first twelve years of his life. After one particularly difficult ski run when Kenny fell more times than Oggie cared to count, he got furious with Oggie and told him he was just a stupid cripple. Show me your tin cup so I can toss you a dime. Oggie didn’t know this kid with a ‘tude’, a screwed-up self- absorbed thought process was also the son of the most powerful of senators in Washington D.C.. Oggie thought back to a time when he had been on the hospital bed, knowing he was not to walk again. He told Kenny he had two choices. You can quit, and be like the rest of the world or you can grab hold of the tin cup, just like me, and make this skiing thing work, make life work. He remembered. The kid looked at Oggie as if to say, You jerk didn’t you just hear what I said to you? Anger could not begin to describe the angst Kenny felt. Oggie gave Kenny his best ‘Well, Duh’ look and laughed.

The kid didn’t really get it until some time later, when Oggie took him to Corbits Coular. The kid screamed all the way down. It was the same treatment Marty gave to him years before. That ‘get your own weights’ lesson. Oggie was finally able to teach the kid, ‘Life ain’t fair, so get over it’. ‘Do what you want to do anyway. Get knowledge. It is the only channel we have to gain wisdom’.

They became close friends. Every time the family came out west, they would always ask Oggie to work with their special son. It was no longer just about skiing. It was about life. It was about a real, I’d do anything for you friendship. It was the commitment Marty gave to him, and now Oggie used that same kind of ability to retain a commitment with Kenny.

He suspected his friendship with Kenny was behind a phone call he received while skiing in Vail, Colorado.



A cold blustery light winter wind swept down the mountain to form perfect weather for Vail, a beautiful little mountain town built to look like a Swiss village within its own perfect setting. Mountain passes and 11,000 foot peaks. Nestled between the rest of the world and heaven, the town planners had done a great job, for the town acquired a character all its own. Vail was a place where one could sit for hours in one of the many ski bars, watch the skiing, and never budge. The bar stools were worn as if they were carved out of time. They would creak under the shifted weight, but no one noticed. It was just one of the noises which made you feel at home, settled in, and rested.

Oggie had been there many a time and it seemed to be the same bar-keeper serving. Not that the bar seemed like home to Oggie, but the atmosphere and the smell of wet snow, ski boots thrumming on the oak hard wood floor, laughter. It gave Oggie a sense of welcome, acceptance and the exercise of placing mental wagers on who might do a face-plant in the snow.

The bar-keep was great. They were all great, but this one made the absolute perfect B&B; slightly warmed glass served over a small flame. The deep red liquor refracted the light, soothing the soul even before being sipped. The beverage washed over his tongue, the vapors rose through his nostrils calming the aches of the days’ hard skiing and relieving any tensions left over from the world of work.

This bartender served every customer like he believed they were his own family. He stood behind the hand-carved, hand-polished, and well-worn bar, smiling at all as they watched his every move. He lived to serve all who wanted or needed an adult beverage.

There was just the right stool for everyone. Even for Oggie. He’d just roll in; lift himself out of the chair and onto the stool. He’d sometimes sit there and shoot the bull for hours. Most of the time he’d just watch people talk of skiing and wait for the establishment to close. The ski videos they played with the sound turned down made it possible to relax, and watch others do what you had already done that day.

Vail was also a place one could cash in on all the great restaurants. The food always tasted better in the mountains after a hard day of skiing. The steaks were always done just right, served sizzling, smelling of earth and fire. Mushrooms, if you wanted them. They were cooked in garlic butter, wine, a hint of honey, thyme, basil and other earthy seasonings. No one ever completely figured out the recipe of Chef Jay McCarthy at the Vail Chophouse. Some figured that they were lightly sautéed and served in their own juices as were the vegetables, but they couldn’t figure out the rest. Done to perfection with just a hint of seasoning. Not too much, not too little.

The secret must have been Chef McCarthy’s care in the preparation of the charbroiled steaks. They were near charred on the outside, juicy on the inside. If ordered, the steaks were cooked over hickory and were always so tender, one could eat them with a fork, even if one never did.

The steak knife was part of the ambiance. It took time to pick up the knife and use it. People from the world over would come there; all would use the steak knife. Gnarled wooden handles, sharp blades; a lesson in life, the lesson of time. Time; steaks done to perfection and the perfect wine. Wine served from a bottle, poured gently into the crystal glass, refracting the light. Red or white, it didn’t matter as the refracted light told the same story. Gentle lighting, food, wine, and the company of others; a perfect addition to the setting of a hard day of skiing, beautiful mountains and the fresh Rocky Mountain air. It was the ultimate dining experience. Oggie always went to the same place for dinner, Chophouse.

Throughout Oggie’s skiing career, the work with the special needs kids and the time skiing in Colorado, he continually prepared for the Paralympics downhill trials and finally the Paralympic Games in Vail.

Vail was the perfect place to hold the Paralympic Games for the World Skiing Championships. The ski run would have been perfect even if he hadn’t pulled out all the stops at the last instant and won the Gold Medal. Now he had two Golds: one for Basketball, and one for Alpine Skiing. Tonight was a night to celebrate. It was one for the books and one for the records. Yes, he had made it! His mental toughness paid off. He was king of the hill and king of the court. But the trade-offs were high.

The trade-off was Oggie.

Oggie snapped back to reality in time to see the explosion of fire erupt from the gun. The sound of the gun’s sharp crack echoed. How strange, thought Oggie as darkness came quickly - relief sudden.

Chapter 2

Oggie flipped his cell phone open at the bottom of the hill, a little embarrassed, but it was ringing. What was he supposed to do?

Hello?

Hello, would this be Mr. McKillion? the voice asked in a slight southern drawl.

Well, who would you think? he asked, feeling a little cocky. After all, he just won the Gold less than an hour before. He guessed it was a friend.

This is the number my staff was able to get for me, the unidentified voice said.

You calling to congratulate me? Still thinking it was a friend trying to sound like a southern hick. Probably Marty. It was something he would do.

Well, in fact, I did. This is the President, and I wanted to call and congratulate you on your Gold Medal for the downhill.

Ya, and I am Michael Jordan. Stop jerkin’ me, Marty. He laughed, You almost got me goin.

Oggie, I am now in Air Force One over the Indian Ocean, I don’t think I was supposed to say it though, the President of the United States said, betraying his ego and power over the ‘little people’. Anyway, I have been watching your career for some time now, and I wish to invite you to the White House for an Honors Dinner. The usual heads of state will be there, including a certain Senator. It seems you really did wonders for his son. I believe you know Kenny, He said in a matter of fact tone. I hope you believe me now.

Oggie’s stomach dropped about a foot, jaw dropped, and for the first time in many years, Oggie was dumbstruck. Jonnie, my personal secretary will call you in about three minutes after I hang up to confirm your presence at the dinner. The President went on. Oh, by the way Oggie, could you forgive me for being so blunt, but is it true you beat the world record by one point three seconds? I have never seen anything so amazing; and you don’t have the use of either leg?

By this time he calmed down enough to answer. Mr. President, it is truly an honor. Thank you for all you have done for this team. This is truly an honor. Oops, I think I already said that. Oggie was starting to stutter. Grab hold of yourself, this is the President, he thought.

Oggie, there is one other thing I wanted to discuss with you, he chuckled. Would you consider being the National Spokesperson for the disabled? He asked with the confidence which comes with the office. Just think about it for a couple of days, and my secretary will be in touch with you later about this, too.

He said some other things which Oggie really didn’t remember. Still in amazed shock he happened to look down at his wrist and noticed the time. It was 12:31 p.m.

At precisely 12:34 p.m.., his cell phone rang again. A pleasant voice identifying itself as Jonnie, confirmed the President’s invitation to the White House dinner. The appropriate sizes of clothing would be prepared for him, so he needn’t be concerned with packing formal wear. He later thought she was a little apprehensive about asking if his shirts were really a 20 and ½ neck. So what I heard is true? she asked with more than a hint of appreciation. Oggie thought he could almost hear her blush.

A paperless first-class air ticket would be waiting for him at the Denver International Airport, and a limo would be awaiting his arrival in Washington, DC. Could you be prepared to leave tomorrow? knowing the ‘bash’ might be an inconvenience she hesitated. He really does want to meet you and talk with you. Saying she was looking forward to meeting Oggie, she signed off.

The weights paid off again, but he failed to appreciate the absolute truth of this thought.



Vail was never clearer, never more alive. Never had so many people talked to him. The news had spread quickly.

Marty called later in the night and kidded Oggie about his instant fortune, and fame. Marty joked with him about his politics and asked, could you really work with him? I mean he is about to leave office. He may not be as anxious about this as you think.

It was just Marty joking around as usual, Oggie thought, but then Marty lowered his tone and spoke so softly Oggie strained to hear him, Oggie, if you need anything, anything at all, just call.

What a strange thing to say, he thought. Oh well, it is just his way of trying to share in some of my good fortune. As he was closing his phone, he thought he heard a faint beep. Battery must be dead. He shrugged his shoulders and gripped the wheels of the chair. Turning around was one fluid movement for Oggie. Nearly rolling over someone, he came face to face with a tall, gray haired man, looking intently not only at Oggie but at his phone.

Excuse me, said the older gentleman.

It was too practiced a movement, Oggie thought. He just stepped aside as though he was prepared or was anticipating Oggie’s next move. This man was not window-shopping like all the others.

No, sorry, it was my fault. I should have been looking where I was going, Oggie apologized, but carried on. It must be the excitement of the day, adding a few more seconds, trying to look the man in the eye, but the street lights were not cooperating. Something seemed familiar. May I help you find something? Oggie asked, trying to place the face. The street was not well-lit and he couldn’t clearly see the man standing in front of him, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

No, I must apologize to you, young man. I wasn’t watching my step, either, he said with a British accent. Oggie thought he had heard it before but wasn’t sure. Do carry on friend, the man continued. Oggie was sure now. He had heard the voice somewhere before. His mind was racing.

Chapter 3

Four Years Earlier

1995

It was a beautiful winter day in Basseterre, Saint Kitts but then who would know? The islands were beautiful this and every time of year. Eighty-degree average and the highs and lows didn’t vary much. Oggie was moving at quite a pace, looking for one of his favorite things to eat. Food, any kind of food. It was always a joke with his friends that wherever Og went, ya better have food and plenty of it. He heard of a small restaurant down one of the alleys off the main street in Basseterre. He finally found the place and rolled in. The establishment was one of those off the beaten-path places where the food was always good, served with a smile, and always plenty from which to choose. Oggie’s kind of establishment. He noticed the small copper engraved sign out front, est. 1623 . The owner-operator-chef-waiter and cashier of Fisherman’s Wharf saw him come in and approached him, waiving his arms in a welcoming manner. Hello, my young mate, he said with a thick accent. Welcome to this fine establishment.

Whatever, just bring me the food, Oggie thought. He eased himself through the restaurant, out onto the patio overlooking the ocean, and moved from his chair into a well-worn wrap around, wicker chair. His weight caused the chair to stretch, the creak of wicker. It was one of those chairs that allow you to lean back, settle in, and enjoy the smells and sounds of relaxation, conforming to the very essence of one’s soul; the sigh of relief, the chair squeaks slightly, the movement of comfort. The chair lets you know it is ok to ‘get comfortable and let me hold you for a while’. Sitting out on the deck, looking out over the wildly blue, diamond crystal ocean, basking in the gentle warmth of the ocean breeze. The sights and the smells were a slice of heaven. The owner eased the chair forward for Oggie with a slight grunt as if he had done this many times before but wasn’t expecting the weight. Oggie reached for the menu and selected several items, all the while breathing deeply the fresh air and loving the ‘program’ allowing him to be here.

He had fought hard for the Board of the Paralympic Games to send him here. He was here to practice and to learn. Part of the program was to study at the same bank where Alexander Hamilton had made his lasting impression, not only on the banking community in St. Kitts, but on the United States as the first Secretary of the Treasury.

What better way to impress upon our young minds, not only the history of our country, but to learn from those who taught one of our forefathers. To be in the same atmosphere as one who helped form and shape our country with the Federalist Papers? Oggie argued to the panel for Americans with Disabilities. He was convincing enough. Here he was, eating in a place to which he was quickly accustomed, enjoying the beauty of his surroundings, and of course, enjoying the food.

He was just finishing the last crumb of the most incredible slice of key lime pie when he heard someone enter the restaurant and request a seat out on the deck. As the crowd had grown some since Oggie was seated, there were no seats left. Oggie waved to the gray-haired gentleman and offered to let the stranger sit with him. Oggie was nearly ready to leave anyway.

The gentleman gratefully sat down and introduced himself. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of sitting here, he said with a heavy but refined British accent. Actually, this is my favorite place, and my favorite seat. Excuse me, but I have not properly introduced myself, he said extending his somewhat weathered and arthritic hand. My name is John, Col. John Masters. I holiday here often and have not the pleasure of meeting you.

Oggie took the unusual man’s hand with some apprehension, not wanting to crush it. "Hello, Mr. Masters. My name is Oggie McKillion. I am here working on my degree in banking, and doing a little sightseeing. Are you the Colonel John Masters, the former Colonel of the United Kingdom? The protégé of Margaret Thatcher?" Oggie asked with quite some amazement and just a little apprehension.

I’m afraid so, the former military man sighed. It was quite a run, and more than just a little fun, I might add. He smiled at Oggie and took his hand back, wincing slightly, while gently sitting down. The wicker seat creaked and stretched to accommodate his aging but slim body. It was the muted sound which added to the ambiance of the establishment, and comforted the aging man’s soul. Noticing Oggie’s wheel chair, he went on for some time about the changes in life since his close and intimate friend was resigned to the ‘wheelie’. Then Masters asked about Oggie’s heritage and whether he was familiar with the homeland, Northern Ireland.

Actually, Oggie said with a somber face, I really appreciate the work you did with the IRA, in negotiating the peace. It was an angry land for more years than I care to think. I do have relatives there and have visited a couple of times, but it is not so friendly to those with handicaps. He pointed to the wheel chair. The roads are too worn and narrow and it is difficult to get around there. Not a whole lot of room between the buildings and the pavement in the rural townships, but I love it just the same. Northern Ireland is a beautiful place and well worth the trouble of getting around.

Masters blushed just slightly and corrected Oggie, I didn’t really negotiate peace; it was more or less a cease fire. Thankfully, it came to peace, at least for now, and hopefully, for many a year to come.

A special bond was building between the two men. Something was just right. The gray-haired gentleman and the young man sat for hours talking of things political and of things personal, forgetting the essence of time. The sun set and the moon in full splendor filled the sky and darkened the water. The glow from the moon, the reflection off the water and the candle caressed the men in peaceful communication.

Oggie was uninhibited with thought and idea. Like Col. John Masters, he presented clear and concise arguments for his philosophies on life; but Masters, with the added years and experience, controlled the end result of the conversation.

What if, conjectured Masters, I was to tell you there are those few in the world who would rather the rest of us think they are saying one thing, when in actuality, they are saying something totally different? A classic shell game, ‘look over here at this, while I move something over there’. For instance, suppose I was to tell you I think the water is beautiful. You would look out at the Caribbean and say, ‘yes it is’. When in reality, I was not referring to this body of water at all. Instead, I was focusing on the water I saw in a small water-fall just this evening.

I could tell you that I am going to kill you. You may take some evasive action and turn to run, when in reality, in my own words, I meant I was conjecturing, the possibility of making you laugh so hard, in your vernacular, I would slay you with humor, he went on.

As a good friend and scholar once explained to me, once the word leaves your mouth, once the word was written, once a great painting was painted, or tune played, it becomes the perception of the receivers’ interpolation of the word, painting or tune. It is all ‘up for grabs’, as you call it.

The former Colonel was on a roll. Suppose I say to you, ‘I have a green pen’, he said as he took a drink of his wine. The signs I have referred to are quite clear, and the referents to you are clear, according to your immediate perception. The meaning is non-fixed as an entity unto itself. John looked at Oggie with a glint in his eyes, "however, you may have pictured a pen colored green on the outside, or perhaps a pen with green ink, when all along, I was in fact, talking about the new green wire fence I put up to keep my pigs contained. In this way I do not lie to you. You will only think you have misunderstood me. You, of course, could be wrong. It is just that you perceived inaccurately. He was having the effect he wanted. In Deconstructionist philosophy, there are no lies, just an annoyance that you are not on the same intellectual plane as am I. John continued, Be careful, my friend, there are those who would like to take advantage of the ignorance of the masses, and you, my young friend, will be in the position one day to see that those in power are not playing by the same linguistic rules as does the rest of society. They will look at you with mild amusement when you misinterpret, thinking you the intellectual inferior."

Oggie sat amazed at the intellect of this gentleman. Then, Col. Masters threw in another philosophical tidbit for the road. Oggie, have you read much of the Bible? he questioned intently.

Yes.

Then tell me, in the Bible, the Book of John, chapter one, verse one, it states, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God; and the Word was God.’ What does this mean?

Oggie stared for a moment, and then slowly began to answer. According to the Bible, it means that before the creation of the world, Jesus and God were, and are, concurrently One, but more than this. If I understand what you are saying…and correct me if I’m wrong, when God spoke light into being, ‘and God said, let there be light and there was light’, the words have meaning. The tree is a tree, and words are significant to our existence. Furthermore, again, correct me if I am wrong, if we are to exist as a human race, we need to be careful with our words, for they carry significant meaning to all. They require an adherence to a specific definition, and to cultural significance. Otherwise our own and every other culture and religion ceases to exist as we know it to exist. We must never use our language in a devious way for personal, political, religious or cultural gain. Otherwise we will cease to exist.

Masters smiled. Even though you and I both know language is as fluid as the society, we must be careful of the words we use, as you said. Mr. Masters thought Oggie was not only bright, but intellectually deep. He will work out just fine. My ‘friends’ will be pleased, he mused.

It was one of those rare moments of life. A bond between two men, as blood brothers might have. Each knew there would be another time, another place for continued conversation, for the friendship to deepen.

Finally, nearing three in the morning, Oggie wheeled out of the restaurant and back to his cabana feeling as though his spirit was lifted, carried to another plane of thought and being. ‘I think, therefore I am,’ kept coming to mind as an irrelevant and inconsequential theorem. To Oggie, Mr. Masters confused college understanding of truth with the determination there may be more to the soul than perception. "There may be a deeper relegation of feeling,