One Lifetime Is Not Enough

Coy lived with purpose and focus, with an overwhelming mission to complete whatever pushed him past his comfort zones. He had discreetly entered the Little Mora Cabin and now stood in silence at the center of the small kitchen area, instinctively knowing from past experience the way to his destination even in the shadow of darkness. However, even with familiarity in hand, he was still filled with consternation and contemplation. His acute self-awareness confirmed he did not have a clue what he was doing or why he was doing it. His inquiring mind and youthful exuberance could not and would not be stopped.

Coy felt irreverent, like one of those altar boys who had just smoked a joint in the john. Nevertheless, he continued moving through the kitchen into the bedroom area, making his way directly to where the old man's memoir book was not-so-carefully hidden. His innate presumption told him it must have been left there and hidden just well enough to be found. He pulled the chain on the lamp and turned on the meager light while reaching down and picking up the book with care, knowing it deserved to be treated like a treasured possession which surely stood the test of time.

Coy carefully unwrapped the tie band from the book, which kept the well-worn pages and loose notes from spilling out, and sat down on the edge of the bed near the nightstand. He opened book and set it down on his lap and decided to let God choose where and what was to be read this day. After a brief moment, he started to peruse briskly through the pages and notes of the treasured mystery book, hunting for clues and perhaps unforeseen pearls. He let his fingers, eyes, and mind go to the pre-ordained pages God wanted him to read. He browsed through familiar first few pages and arrived to about the one-third portion of the book. His leading forefinger stopped, and he paused to whisper a needed prayer. He was feeling a twinge of guilt, as if Jesus had taken a swing at him. The prayer calmed his mind. He continued to reflectively examine the words written by an older man and pondered and passionately desired to know the where, when, and how moments in life when the well-traveled timeless words would have been written.

Coy stopped reading every so often to look up and around while straining to hear something hidden in the silence. He listened carefully and looked around for any noise or anyone or anything, as if someone or something else wanted to be in his space.