The Man In The Box Blues
(Six Sentences, Twice)
All the clients are eager to go see the man in the box; fascinated by their old friend lying there, not smiling back at them, like he would, if he weren’t dead.
Everyone stands around outside the agency, waiting for their rides to the funeral home, and everyone talks about him as if they were his most special friend; as if–if he were standing there among them today–he’d be standing closest to them, telling one of those jokes nobody ever really got.
The Coordinator has no plans to attend either the wake or the funeral.
It was enough just to watch him die; would be asking too much to expect him to do more now.
The Agency Director has given him considerable shit about this, told him all about his responsibilities and all, but he’s chosen to ignore her.
He’s fully aware of what is and what is not required.
He lets her fume and bluster; does not bother to argue.
Nor does he advise her that he’s burning incense in his office at home, or that he’s already sent a card of condolences, or that he’s made a charitable donation in the guy’s name.
None of it’s any of her business, anyway.
Instead, from two to four he sits alone in the bookstore café and thinks about the man in the box.
He goes back to The Agency, back to his cubicle, and decides he may never come out.
He wonders: if he could call one single individual back from the dead, who would it be?
(You, too, can exorcise your demons at: Show My Face/Six Word Saturday)