Badiah Sinclair did not, to my knowledge, have any additional serious affairs of the heart for some years after our rainy midnight journey. Not that he was saving that place in his soul for her any longer – he found what he considered a more appropriate use of his passion and energy.
Truth be known, I think his personal secretary, Marilyn Ferne, had a “thing” for him, and I believe they shared a deep friendship that went no farther than an occasional drink or meal after work. In that sense Badi was more ethical than his old childhood friend who consorted with one of his students – only one, ever, and only the one who attached herself to my heart for a lifetime, but I do recognize the dilemma I walked myself into.
No, Badi had no time for such diversions as finding the other half of his soul. He was too busy fighting for an independent and free Sirius 4 – or, as it turned out, at least an independent world.
The night before he left to take his place as the newly elected youngest senator ever to take a place in the Sirius 4 Senate – well, actually it was very early in the morning before he left – there was a soft knock on my door.
“Ray? You awake?” I heard from the other side. Recognizing Badi Sinclair’s voice, I got up and opened the door.
“I couldn’t sleep, either,” I admitted, stepping aside to wave him into the apartment. “Coffee or beer?”
“Coffee is probably more appropriate, I’m taking an oath of office in six hours,” he said. I tossed a couple clumps of ImagPro into the meal machine, pressed the buttons and pulled out a couple of cups of hazelnut-flavored comfort.
“What’s up, kid senator?” handing him his cup.
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my last couple of hours as a normal human being with.”
I snorted. “You stopped being a normal human being when you tossed yourself into the great campaign meat grinder, Badi.”
“Good point,” he said. “But you know what I mean. We’re both finished being apprentices together, and now it’s time to go off and slay dragons in our separate forests. This is the watershed moment.”
“Guess it is,” I reflected. “Although I have some apprenticing to do yet at the university starting in a few weeks. But it’s not going to be the same from today onward, old friend.”
That set something off behind his eyes.
“This will be the same – this,” he said, touching his heart, pointing at me and himself, and waving between us to indicate the friendship.
One of us would usually say something light to make such a moment less intense. I couldn’t come up with any response along those lines, so I just let the silence linger.
Then we just talked about the previous few years of growing through adolescence together. Inevitably we touched on the battle of the cookies – he did not seem to recall that I thoroughly thrashed him in my first and only foray into raging violence – the long night drive, our encounters with the opposite sex (successful and hysterically unsuccessful), nostalgic arguments over favorite films and books and songs.
The meal machine kept us soothingly caffeinated and then provided a decent breakfast. And then there was a hint of dawn through the window, and Badi rose to become a senator officially.
“Good luck, sir,” I said, holding out my hand and feeling a bit of a lump in my throat.
He looked me in the eye and said, “I love you, Ray.” Foregoing the handshake, he threw his arms around me and hugged with all his might – and, I must say, he had more might than he did when I’d beaten him senseless over a few cookies.
“Me, too,” was all I managed to say in return. That damn lump. We nodded at each other, and he walked off to become a historic figure.
Entry 46. Happily ever after
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