“Yeah, HQ said very early on that he thought I’d be happy with you. We had quite a few  problems at the time so it was enormously supportive to have a vote of confidence. It was  quite a statement at the time, I think you will be happy with him.”

“He said that?”

“Yeah. He figured you liked to talk and tell stories and I can’t remember things so you could remind me and then I’d forget again and you could remind me and we’d both be happy like this,” I said, smiling.

“Are you happy?”

“Hell yes.”

“Me too. Why can’t you remember, P?”

“I can remember, I just remember differently.  I don’t remember specifics the way you do. We went skinny dipping. We went riding those slow horses. I have a mole on body. I don’t think of any of that stuff. What I remember is more like a painting with broad strokes.  I remember the emotion, vividly.”

He didn’t say anything.

“When  I thought of you over the years, I just had this thing like a painting and the painting was pure sizzle and passion. In my memory you were Latin, that’s how I saw you. Very hot and hot blooded.  Pure spice and I also saw you as a rugby player,” I said waving my hand sitting in the bath tub.

“Well I did play rugby.”

“Right. And I thought it was exotic. That was an exotic game to someone from the desert, all those filthy songs you guys would sing and it went along with the feelings that I had. It was like a painting of emotion with no hard edges. There are no actual facts that matter. What matters is the energy which I could always recall. You know when you look at a painting you not seeing anything exact. It is a rendering of something and this is how I remember love.   Broad dramatic strokes on a canvas with no edges anywhere. It’s a streak in the sky like a comet. Where is the edge of a comet? I had no memory whatsoever of drinking a nickel beer. Why would I? I remember my feelings, they are really all that matter to me. I felt something and in this case it was thrill and love and heat.”