The James family recognised early that there was no need to be exceptional, just consistent.

 Despite an incomplete life waiting for a direction, Michael James had lived consistently – until

spilled from a motorbike on a Far Eastern road crazy with oncoming traffic. He was, at last, being

what he pleased. But for how long?  Eyes open, mind clear, his entire existence contained within his

fastened crash helmet, he wondered, ‘Do I die now?’ He hoped that who or what was directing the

traffic might be benevolent and would save him for a purpose.