Old Souls (Overture)

Q's life fell apart on him at the very zenith of his career, back when he was a professor of Renaissance studies and official archivist of alchemical esoterica; it was in the wake of what became known on campus as the "le scandale de Vive" - a fleeting tragi-comedy which involved a modicum of good intentions,  some garbled miscommunication involving a troubled young soul, a sordid yet false accusation, formal inquiry ending with official demotion and blighted reputation; this needless and easily avoidable cosmic mishap sent Q 's previous good fortune into a tailspin, derailing both his career and his marriage and severing him from his daughter's love forever, the tragic aftermath of it all precipitating his nervous breakdown which gave way to subsequent years of despondency and embitterment, of generally being out of commission - years marked by days at a time of squatting in public lounge areas, staring out of windows, having fits  alternating between anger and catatonia, walking aimlessly and dumpster diving - a shadow existence redeemed only by large doses of calming medication and prolonged blackouts of traumatic memories. But at last - those gray years of barren time of mindless duration leading through middle age elapsed and Q found himself within the latter stages of his existence - broaching his 60th year and feeling like a modern version of Epimetheus. By some miracle - a new routine was thrust upon him; he would wake feeling like he was in another universe - with slightly increased proportion of light -  sitting in the same weathered lounge chair of the mythical coffee shop day after day - down the street from the hospital where outpatient care was administered and the struggle to maintain composure and sanity was measured by the # of cups consumed and scones nibbled at; the inner rage, delirium and absolute disorientation of earlier times had subsided enough for a ghostly functioning shell of a man to emerge and there it was that Q found himself having again joined the realm of the living - welcomed into an odd eclectic mix of people passing in and out - workers, students and tech people who cared not at all that affliction had left its deep mark upon him. While at the hospital - he found himself part of a gaggle of aging septuagenarians; from their "positivity sessions" on Tuesday nights -  these clients were grouped together in little conversational groups by Doctor Rwan - and there it was that Q first met Synderman whose real name wasn't Synderman (was is really Pryzwara? who knows...) - but who distinguished himself primarily for Q by his unassailable good will and authentic good cheer for lack of a better word - and who had a near death experience that allowed him him to grieve the loss of both a wife and daughter. Q - could not help taking this as a sign of some destined friendship - and their conversations proved most fruitful .... During that interval of floating above the operating table - following his stroke - Synderman was obsessed about having met certain "celestial intelligences" he referred to as the intrepid ones - in part because of their paucity of emotion and their hyper-focused and unflagging work ethic. And - with Q's help - Synderman was in the midst of piecing together their disparate messages to him which were sometimes clarified to him within his dream and sometimes out of the blue by a random encounters with a stranger in the same coffee shop previously mentioned or at the hospital where Doctors Rwan, Edvard, Beatrix and Nurse Amanda presided. At those gatherings known as the "positivity circles" - where patients were brought into the "dolphin room" - a long and narrow interior with irregular windows and oceanic-themed paintings, Q often embarrassed himself with his ramblings about the aging process - his damned wrinkles, age spots and graying/thinning hair, the atrophy of muscles, the loss of bone density, his bad digestion, brain fog, joint pain, allergic reactions, general crankiness - blathering on and on until Nurse Amanda gestured for him to "tell us something positive..." The other patients often looked half-asleep or drugged up when it was their turn "on the mic" - most spoke about their beloved cats, or their cherubic grandchildren they had prized photos of or their own children who had neglected to visit them on a regular schedule. Q was often beleaguered as a result of these sessions while Snyderman was not. Already paranoid beyond all moderation - Q pondered the reason who bringing together such a disparate group of virtual strangers for purposes of spontaneous happy times - but he stuck it out for Snyderman's sake and also because of the presence of a brilliant former colleague who he was mortified to be half-recognized by - a demure yet imposing intellect who in her time had produced a most radical and enticing book on the origins of human society - speculating as to alternate histories which might have been traveled by the human race - a provocative thought experiment that even the normally cautious and security-clutching Q had read with intense pleasure upon its first publication - this saga of secret legacies of unexplored possibility - only to witness - as a sort of parallel to his own disastrous life-journey - this colleague's precipitous fall from grace and hounding from that academic perch upon the publishing of the second edition - all because of a cautionary note she had added somewhere within the preface - which her more radical colleagues noticed and regarded as unforgivable backsliding. Yes - it was sad that during the "sessions" such makeshift (and usually caustic) "pleasantries" as this woman could muster up on the spur of the moment - in such hushed and regal, slow-moving cadences ("I do like - those aquatic paintings  - which you have assembled - this room - with its air-conditioning - and music of Scarlotti...") always left Q on the verge of tears.