ninanevermore

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It took more than two weeks before the box from Big Death arrived at my house. Not the one containing my dead brother in law – that one showed up the following Thursday. This Halloween I will have an honest-to-goodness dead guy in my living room. For once, Pete is not causing any problems and has behaved himself admirably since he showed up. He's on a book shelf by the mantle, looking benign in a simple white cardboard box that weighs a lot more than it looks like it should.

But the box I am talking about, the one I was anticipating so much, was the copy-paper box filled with the contents of my cubicle from when I worked at Big Death. I was hoping they remembered to pack my soul in it. I seem to recall in the new-hire paperwork I signed two years ago that upon leaving the company, I would have my soul returned to me unless I stayed for a decade or more, in which case my soul would be discarded since the ability to work there for that length of time would indicate that I didn't need a soul, anyway.

( A Shabby Little Spirit )

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A strange thing happened last night as Jeff and I sat outside and talked about his brother. Jeff's anger and my dislike of Pete sort of dissolved, and we found ourselves feeling something akin to sympathy.

"He wasn't a bad guy," Jeff said, "I mean, he wasn't a good guy, but any means, but he wasn't…" He stopped, and seemed search the sky for the right word.

"He wasn't evil," I suggested. "He was a schmoozer and grifter."

"He was a conman, but he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. He wasn't mean. He didn't take pleasure in hurting people, I think he just didn't realize the damage he did. It honestly didn't occur to him that what he did was wrong. It never did, from the time we were kids."

( You can only get by on charm for so long. )