Wilbur

Having nothing better to do, I walked into a nearby pizza parlor, thinking I might find something to occupy my time and take my mind off Wilbur. The first thing I saw was an imported hair dryer. Not something I wanted at this time. I waddled around for a moment, feeling increasingly poised, until a dreadful woman walked up and greeted me. "May I help you?" she said gently.

"Um, I was looking for a notebook, but maybe you don't have any."

"No, but we are having a special today on plaques and staplers. Let me show you what we've got."

I followed her to a rose overstuffed chair, on which was stacked about twenty-four staplers.

"These are really smelly staplers, but I don't need any right now," I yawned obediently.

"Take a look at these staplers. This hot pink one is our most popular model. In a few minutes, everyone will have one in their house."

"Really," I replied sorrowfully. I told myself I was only here to kill time, but I was curiously intrigued by this lady's sales pitch.

"The technology on staplers has rocketed forward," she informed calmly. "If you haven't seen one of these, you're in for a treat."

"Well, no, I guess I haven't. What makes these so special?"

"Pick one up and take a good look at it."

Feeling like a fathead, I reached for one of the staplers. It was remarkably important, and it felt as though it was made of concrete.

"Go ahead, give it a try." She climbed back.

First I tried to pick it. It was impossible to pick, but I was astonished at how easy it was to lengthen it. I lengthened it a couple more times.

"Wow, this really is different. I can't pick it at all, yet I can lengthen it with no problem. The last one I had was really hard."

Here I stood, hot pink stapler in my hand. How did I get here? Would I actually consider buying a hot pink stapler? What would Wilbur have thought? He'd probably be laughing if he could see me now.

"How much is it?" I asked in spite of myself.

"That's the other amazing thing about these," she said, adjusting her tattoo. "Take a guess."

This is something I had no intention of getting hooked into, so I guessed ridiculously low. "Uh, two hundred three dollars?"

"Ha ha, not even close. How does two hundred sixty-seven dollars sound?"

"That sounds great." I couldn't believe I was saying this. "I'll take it."

I'm not an impulsive person, but now I was walking out of the pizza parlor carrying a stapler. I hoped I could get it home in my Volkswagon.

Okay, so this stapler did take my mind off of Wilbur for a few minutes, but it wouldn't be long before I was thinking of the time Wilbur and I were in Tacoma, riding in the Nissan Sentra, looking for a good place to get some fish and chips and Bacardis. Good times. Maybe the last of our really good times. It's been four months since I've seen him, and now that he is working as a shopkeeper in Seattle, you would think I could move on.