It feels strange to
be sitting at my desk, next to Margaret’s.
I can’t really concentrate. Maybe
if I write about it will help.
I wondered what the library would be like today. Would everyone be as excited as my fellow worshippers
had been or would we be quiet, huddling together like a bereaved family?
Everyone came in quite soberly and sat down at their desks
without the usual good morning banter.
Every once in a while someone would walk past Margaret’s desk, look at her
chair, and then hurry on. I wondered if
they were thinking that they ought to say something to me, as if I had special
claim on Margaret since I sat next to her.
“Sorry, Charlie.” When I thought
of that, I started giggling. Ever since
those tuna commercials people have been saying “Sorry, Charlie” to me. Unfortunately, Bill Cleveland, the head
librarian, was walking by my desk at the time.
I must have looked guilty, because he patted me on the shoulder and
said, “Everyone grieves differently, Charlie.”
I just nodded.
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