divine intervention

I was six the first time I met him. My mom had tucked me in bed after making me sit in a tub of ice water to get my temperature down - as my Aunt Mabel had recommended. We weren't ones to go to the doctor in those days.

I was falling asleep, snuggling with my favorite teddy bear, Buster. Apparently, my temperature had barely dropped despite the ice bath and was still hovering around 105. I could hear my mom on the phone whispering outside my door. Sounded like she was crying a little, too.

Then I saw him. He was standing next to my bed, just watching me. For some reason, I wasn't afraid. I just said, "Hi."

"Hi, little one."

"That robe is too big for you."

"It's comfortable."

"Hmm, my purple jammies are comfy, too. So soft. Like Buster," I whispered, pressing my nose into Buster's belly.

"I thought I might take you on a trip."

"Mommy wouldn't like that."

"No, she wouldn't. Fortunately, it seems that an error was made. It happens sometimes. Live well, little one. Be seeing you."

Now, eighty-two years later, he's back.

No mistake; I'll be traveling with him this time.