Excerpt from Tally: An Intuitive Life, the story of Paul Johnston (PJ), a Village artist and writer, and his young friend Erin Yes, All Things That Matter Press 2013
We argued over this, and finally he said, “It’s a good thing our friendship doesn’t depend on mutual agreement.”
Finally, I was able to go about his place freely, pick up anything, move it, throw it away, read it or take it home with me. I put his papers in files I had set up in his garret.
He insisted we were together in love, in amiable affection, as we worked on a piece of graphic art for one of his booklets.
“In the gloaming,” PJ sang, “oh my darling, when the lights are dim and low.”
I shook my head, confused at the note of happiness in his voice, on guard against any dip into despair. “In the gloaming, oh, my darling. Think not bitterly of me.”
Before I left to visit my parents for Christmas, I stopped by PJ’s. He was smiling broadly, and after a cup of hot cider and cookies, he handed me an envelope. I opened it and there was five dollars.
“I had gone to the hospital to try to get some relief,” he told me. “And on the way back, turning onto Greenwich Avenue, there she was, walking toward me, arms outstretched. The old man tried to see her, but could not clearly, except to see a form tall and plain with an eager expression on her face. May I offer you some Christmas cheer? Oh yes, the old man said, of course, I need it and am grateful.”
“Are you giving me all of it? You need it, too.”
“The Third Party, God or whatever it is that arranges things,” he said, “sent this gift to me to give to you. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was a Christmas present for you.”
And of course he had to write a letter with it, only one page with his monogram on it. Across the top he had typed, “Vanish gloom and melancholy, Tra lala, la, lala la la …” At the end he concluded, “The old man is strictly a catalyst in this deal. Last Christmas he did not know you. This Christmas he was grateful that he has met you. Thank you, Third Party.”