Normally, I don't talk about it

Few people catch me sitting at any of the desks on the main floor, I’m usually only there if there is a problem with on of the computers. I was there this time because I was taking a phone call from the owner; she called as I was walking out the door.

While I was on the phone a friend of the owner’s mother came in. She was there looking for her friend and also to say hello. I was the only one she knew but then other than her there were only two of us.

After I hung up the phone and made introductions, she started some small talk. I forget what proceeded it but she said matter of factly “You can put that in the book you’re going to some day write.”

I smiled. “You know there is this organization that has people write a book in a month. I actually tried it last November but I didn’t finish it. They basically only care whether or not it’s fifty thousand words. They say don’t worry about the plot or spelling just get fifty thousand words.”

“What was it about?”

“Well, I don’t know much so there was a lot of me in it but it was fiction, but then I started to develop the characters and then I thought they deserved a better story.”

“You should just write and things will come. I keep a journal, I have for a long time and I’ll just start to write and the words just come.”

I smiled. “I sort of keep a journal too but I do it on the internet. I figure it’s easier to hide on the web than a notebook is.”

“People ask me where I keep mine and it’s right in my nightstand drawer. I’ll want my children to read it when I’m gone. I’ve no regrets for anything I’ve written.”

I was thinking who I would like to find my journal after I’m gone and not coming up with any names when she changed the subject.

“I thought Marie would be here at least. Is Marie still around?”

“Yep. She was here Friday. I know that because Clara called me about something she found in my office and she said that it scared both her and Marie.”

“Should she have been scared?”

I grinned as I said “Maybe, I’ll get it.” I returned from my upstairs office with a small paper bag. “When we used to go to Vermont we would bring the cats and they would drop off little animals from time to time-“

“I imagine”

“Yeah, and when my father was a live he used to mention this book he read where this boy skinned mice and things and tired to sell the furs back in the olden days. Well, anyway, I dared him to skin one and he did.”

“And Clara found the skin?”

“Well not the one my father did. It sort of fell to me to skin one.”

“And she found that one.”

“Yes.” I then pulled out from the lunch bad the pelt of a mole and a vole.

“And what did you learn from doing that?”

I was surprised by her question because mainly I was just being a goofball at the time but I did actually learn something.

“I learned that I could never be a butcher. I actually didn’t want to eat meat for awhile after that.”