The Knights of Columbus Hall was mercifully close to the freeway.
Bryon Wright did a quick idiot check of his surroundings.
Oops, his blue Sharpie was still on the folding table.
The lettering on the title of his book was blue and a surprising amount of readers wanted their book signed in the same color.
He had been late today, lost leaving Napierville yesterday, GPS off, Warren Zevon playing on his Bluetooth.
A frail old man in a brown sweater and matching orthopedic shoes stood by the door.
Bryon wasn’t sure if the man was a skeptic who wanted one last word, a superfan with his own spin, or just a guy so aged he was having trouble exiting in a timely fashion.
The man took a halting step toward Bryon. He wasn’t leaving.
“Did you need a book signed?” Bryon asked.
The man shook his head.
“I own the book, but I never get books signed or altered in any way. Might seem strange, but…”
Bryon smiled. He had just lectured for an hour on a topic most people felt to be beyond strange.
His Twitter account was forty percent negative.
A professor at Southern Illinois was rumored to be writing a book debunking Bryon’s.
“You don’t remember me. I wouldn’t expect you to,” the old man said.
Bryon looked closer at the man. He didn’t remember him. He had zero context. It was only his second time in Springfield and the first time he had just driven through.
“I’m sorry,” Bryon began.
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. Approaching forty years.”
Bryon looked puzzled, ran his hand through his own thinning hair.
“I’m Father Konroyd, the man offered. “You guys called me Father Mike in freshman year science.”
Bryon looked again. He never would have recognized the man, just the name.
“That was in Michigan, Father, but wow, great to see you ag-”
The old priest waved off the pleasantries.
“ The Jesuits moved me down here after I had one too many bouts with the Rye Flu. But that’s long ago. I know you’re a busy man, and I’m proud of you for that. I just have one question for you, as a man of faith, and as an educator, generally.”
Bryon moved toward the old priest. The closer he got, the frailer the man looked.
Bryon had a few stock responses for readers, skeptics, fans who wanted to discuss his theories after the Q&A was over. But this was different. Bryon remembered the bunsen burners more than he remembered the old “Jebbie”, but he certainly wasn’t going to be rude to a man who had taught him as a cynical, pot smoking young know it all.
“Certainly, Father. Anything. Ask me.”
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