Letter To The Dead

Folding your hands neatly in our lap as if you had made a detailed plan of it, you would smile and ask "how have you been?"

I don't mean to, but I have to think "what do you care? You're paid to ask that."

It made me feel bad to think that of a kind man like you, but what else was I supposed to think?

I would bite the inside of my lip, desperate not to answer, and continue staring at the wall.

By now, I expect you to give up.

What's the point?

You can't help the hopeless.

But you don't.

Instead, you put on the same warm smile, uncross your legs, and check your wristwatch.

"That's all the time we have for today. I'll see you next week, Harley."

Harley Jameson's dad is dead. What else is there to say?

(THIS IS A REMAKE OF ANOTHER BOOK ON ONE OF MY OTHER ACCOUNTS)