I could not decide which inspired me moreexpensive cheesecake in a hotel too fancy even for dreams, or a speech that was not supposed to be a pep talk, yet was.
My grandfather once told me a story about inspiration in the oddest places. He insisted that he had met Elvis Presley in the Bahamas. He had taken my grandmother there for an anniversary get-away, and it was not going well. It was rainy, my grandmother was sick, and my grandfather was a little annoyed with it all. He was dabbling his feet in the hotel pool, not sure whether he felt like swimming or running away. He was trying to get away from his frustrations, when this man, whom he swore was Elvis Presley, asked, "Where's your pretty wife? If I could be with mine, I would for every moment I could. You can't get those minutes back once they're gone."
My grandfather chatted with him for a few minutes. His words of wisdom made my grandfather think, and he decided to surprise my grandmother with some flowers and a few kind words. When my grandfather came back, the man was gone.
I insisted that it couldn't have been Elvis. After all, Elvis had died long before this event had happened. I explained that there were plenty of look-alikes.
However, my grandfather would not be persuaded. So, it has always been called the "How my grandfather thinks he met Elvis" story.
In much the same vein, no one who knows me would ever believe I got inspiration from my best friend's favorite television star.
Once back home, I did the unthinkable: I called Colleen's ex. Not the safest thing to do, as I might hurt Colleen in the process, I realized, hating to think of that possibility. I would never hurt her, and I really hoped that my phone call wouldn't have that effect. It is strange how when you are friends with someone, their significant other becomes like a conditional friend. As soon as they break up, it's almost as if you have to break up with the other person too, just in a smaller way.
I was nervous about calling him. While I was afraid of maybe betraying Colleen by this call, I had a feeling that perhaps he could remember something useful for my house history search.
Tom was receptive, and after I told him the names of the owners, he remarked, "I know his brother!"
"Him? Who?"
"That guy..." He remarked, making note of the last owner.
Tom went on to explain that his father, a lawyer, had helped the man with his will. As a promising law student, he had put some time in at the office, trying to learn as much as he could. He told me he would think about it and call me back in an hour with more information. He kept his word.
