Shadows Cannot Be Stolen

They took everything. The flat screen television, the DVD player, the stereo, the computer. They took the camera equipment, the binoculars, the CD collection, and all the DVDs except the musicals. They took both guitars and they took the violin that had belonged to his grandfather.

He'd come back from the wake and found their...his...no, their apartment had been burgled. "Theives read the obituaries," the police officer told him. "That lets them know when the viewing and funeral are held. They know you'll be out of the house then."

It took a while for him to fall asleep that night. He slept until the sun woke him. He laid in bed, alone in bed, thinking that he'd forgotten again to set the coffee machine so the coffee would be ready when he awoke. That had always been Philip's chore; it was his coffee machine. His television and DVD player that had been stolen. His computer. Their apartment.

In a few hours he'd get up, find the strength to shower, put on his dark suit, and go watch Philip's casket lowered into the ground. Later he'd call the insurance company to file a theft claim.

But for now it was enough to lay in bed and watch the shadow of the plant outside the window sway in the wind. He'd lost Philip. They'd taken his possessions. But that shadow would be there in the morning. Not everything in the world is as permanent as shadows.

posted by greg @ 2:48 PM