Imagine the idea that a man can live to 200 years. Timothy Brooks always imagined this unlikely event and the day when it happened shook him to his knees. Tucked inside the paper he found a small article about Bernie Morano. Reported to be 200 years old in March. Timothy stood staring at his worn face in the mirror. He picked at the grays in his small beard and the hair that peeked from his ears and wondered about the aging process. How is it possible to live so long when others die? Is it luck? He thought then disappeared from the restroom. John F. Kennedy airport was busy. Different ages walked, ran or limped. Some were obviously old and others were obviously young but others dealt with age very well. “What was the make up of this man?” He thought as walked past.
Bernie Morano was born in Conyers, GA and the article hinted at an address. Timothy had booked a flight South. He handed the teller his ticket and disappeared into the tunnel.
Conyers is twenty-four miles East of Atlanta. The city was first settled in 1816 by John Holcomb. Bernie Morano stood to be an original settler within, what was first called, Rockdale. The thought of interviewing a city settler was exciting. Timothy had interviewed many celebrities. He was a popular newscaster within New York city. It was a tough job.
The Atlanta airport buzzed with activity. Timothy walked quickly through the exit and caught the first cab he could get too. It would take about thirty to forty minutes to reach Mr. Morano’s home. The ride was quiet. The cab driver drove silently through the populous city of Atlanta. He left the city and began west on I-20 toward Conyers. After nearly ten minutes Timothy could not take the silence any more.
“Have you heard of Bernie Morano?” He nearly shouted. The driver jumped in his seat. The small man looked back with a sore face and Timothy grimaced. The driver looked ahead then spoke. “Mr. Morano is a local celebrity but if your looking for an immortal you will be so disappointed.” The cabby chuckled. “I’ve never seen a man who aged so badly.” Timothy leaned forward, “Interesting, why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. I’m just a cabby,” the man shot back. He then returned to silence. After the trip Timothy paid the man and checked into his hotel. He stayed the night with the hope of meeting Bernie Morano in the morning.
———————— Part 2 ————————————-
“Top of the morning, to you.”
Timothy woke up abruptly. He expected to see a short Irish man but above him was a very tall thin brunette-haired man with a humongous smile. “Hi, my name is Aaron. How is your morning?” Aaron screamed happiness and morning sunshine. Timothy was not so happy. “I was sleeping. How did you get in my room?”
“Bernie, sent me.”
Timothy pushed his legs from the bed. He sat up as Aaron stepped back. “Bernie Morano sent you. I thought I was meeting him?”
“Bernie’s schedule changed and he will now meet you in Johnson Park, Field One. I will be your driver.”
Timothy looked at the room door and saw that it was closed and the door was locked. He sighed and added. “Let me get dressed. I will meet you in the lobby in 20 min.”
“Sure,” Aaron said, turned and headed to the room door. He unlocked the door and left.
———————— Part 3 ————————————-
Timothy dressed and stepped from the room. He walked down the hall slowly. He told Bernie he was coming down from New York City but he didn’t tell anyone where he was staying. Conyers was not large. Last time he looked it was a little over 15,000 people. “Maybe that was why?” He thought and disappeared into the hotel elevator.
Aaron stood in the hotel lobby. His demeanor continued to be overly happy. He greeted Timothy and both men disappeared out the door. The Georgia air was warm. The summer air wrapped around him. He followed Aaron who walked toward a small yellow cab. “A cab?” Timothy asks and Aaron just smiled. “That’s why you near where I was.”