Steve's grandfather died, as expected. He's sad, of course. We're going to stay here a few more days through the funeral, then go back to campus.
There's no reason for me to be here whatever, except I rode out here with the Kellys in order to help them deal with the stress of travel, and now I'm waiting until it's time to ride back with them. It's an awkward position, as most people here don't really understand who I am or what my role is, given that I never met the deceased and can't quite remember his name (Edwin? Edward? Edgar? Ed-something). I don't really know how to talk to people under these circumstances. But I am here, and here is where I want to be.
I remember how, when I first joined the school, how blown away I was to be given my own little stainless-steel cup. We all got one to carry clipped to our uniform belts in case we got thirsty and wanted a drink in class or something.--we don't used bottled water or disposable cups. Just something about being given my own cup felt very welcoming, very generous. Since then I've seen other, more dramatic, acts of generosity. There was when Andy arrived and the masters got him into treatment for his various ills--a man they didn't even know, yet. There was Kit taking Hawk out clothing shopping, Hawk's first real public appearances as a woman. There was my own wedding, which took over much of campus for the better part of a day and a night, just as if it were a community holiday.
Now, this.
The funny thing is, it doesn't seem extravagantly generous, what I'm doing. It just seems normal. It seems right. Steve and his family needed something, I'm available, so here I am.
The weird thing about magic is it doesn't always feel like magic when you do it.
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