Page 213 - Wake Up and do Your Thing

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
!I do now.” I took a deep breath. !You made me weep.”
She leaned toward me slightly. !I brought you a message,” she said, !the night Benfica won.” Then she straightened up again. !And you lost it.” A slight twist of her lips and that same look in her eyes, like she could see right through me.
!You were what? Five years old? And you remember that?”
!I was six,” she said. !Are you impressed?”
I nodded.
My sense of excitement and joy was palpable. I marveled at the skill and creativity of the artist who managed to capture such a sense of fun and whimsy in their work.
A professional looking young man in his early twenties in a Take Five T shirt and chinos appeared from behind another panel pushing a wheelchair. In it was a tall skinny man wearing a richly embroidered middle eastern hat.
!Nicko, my boy. Splendid to see you. Sorry I can"t get up.” It was Thomas. He looked old but sounded as radiant as ever.
!Jeepers, I thought you were dying,” I said. A range of intense shock, relief and gratitude shuddered through me.
!So did I. Fell out of a hot air balloon.”
He still had his larger-than-life rich theatrical delivery.
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