I’m not famous, never wanted to be.

I can see into the future. That’s because I’ve trained my mind to see that way, or at least allowed it.

I can foresee the time of fame.

Not the cheap emotional satisfaction of notoriety, ego gratification, universal shallow adulation.

No. Real adulation for real reasons.

I’m not famous now.

Actually, that’s not quite true.

I’m not entirely unknown to people.

Some people.

A few people.

Even I have heard of me.

But when I project my mind into the future, I see myself.

I’m sitting on the porch.

Comfortably. In the sun.

People drive by. They honk and wave.

Then there are the tour busses.

Hollywood has expanded the range of its double decker sight-seeing guide to drive by movie stars’ homes. They’ve arranged with Pasadena, a power in itself, to include a drive down our main street, Colorado Boulevard, the path of the Rose Parade which the Whole World, billions of people, see every year on television. The bus drives along the route, the tourists shout and wave and pretend they’re in the parade. Anybody on the sidewalk downtown in Old Town can wave back like a crowd. If they want to.

The tour then comes up to Altadena, which is becoming a power itself.

That’s where I live.

They’ve come to see me. Apparently I’m like a movie star.

Yes, I can act and sing, have done so. I never thought to widespread notice or universal acclaim. Apparently I was wrong about that.

It can’t be that they’ve come to see me because I’m devastatingly handsome. That was years ago when I was younger.

They say Cary Grant got better looking the older he got. I’m not Cary Grant.
It must be for my writing. I write for people. Apparently people still read.
So the tour bus comes up my street. We’ve arranged for it to come by at 3 o’clock. That was the time for meeting in the movie I just saw, Sachertorte.
The bus stops in front of my house. People on the street have cleared the space. Nobody parks there in the afternoon. That’s because when the bus used to stop and there was a car parked, the bus blocked the street, people had to turn around and take the long way to get through or back home. The doctor across the street had to do some fancy driving to get in or out. Neighbors had to reschedule their lives.

When the space was clear in front of my house, the bus would pull over. The people would wave and cheer and then drive on by. I sat on the porch and waved back.

Then the tour, for an extra fee, would stop longer. People could get out and come up to the steps where I was sitting on the porch.

They would carry books, my books, my written attempt to make the world better, available for purchase, hoping I would autograph them, maybe even inscribe them if they were lucky. I kept my pen handy, with refills ready.
Sometimes we would exchange words. That made the extra fee worthwhile.

They would tell me their name, _____. I would write in the book, Dear _____. That made it personal. They could take it home and put it on an altar and light a candle to unfettered adulation.

I was very generous with inscriptions. I always seemed to have something personal to say, and wrote it down, unless my hand cramped from overuse. I would write meaningful messages, like “Have a nice day,” or “It was a pleasure meeting you,” or “Don’t give up.” You know, the usual.

I signed my name in different ways to keep it uniquely individual and personal. Gary Sterling, or Gary C. Sterling, or G.S., or G.C.S.
Sometimes I’d add an extra note, like, “This is an authentic signature. I’m authenticating myself.”

Fame made such demands on me. It’s exhausting, being famous.

That’s why I looked forward to the time in a calmer future when the busses thinned from several a day to just a few and then just one.

I looked forward to the relief of not having to think up comeback responses when people might say, acknowledging my fame, “You’re full of yourself, aren’t you?” and I might answer, “Who isn’t?”

I’m much too modest, shy, unselfaware, to take pleasure in that responsibility.

My awareness includes the knowledge that I’m not famous. I’m glad of it.

I never wanted to be famous.

I only want to save the world.