I was in the attic at the house today, sorting through boxes of stuff. I was looking at the boxes of camera equipment that are stacked up in one end, an area where Miles had a futon. He was in the attic a lot. He had his computer and a stereo up there. It was a a little oasis with instruments and a couch.
One of the boxes was out of place, like someone had gone through it looking for something. My first thought was, Miles was up here. Miles was looking for something. Of course, it was false. I stacked the boxes a few weeks after Miles died, in an attempt to organize some of his photography equipment. It was somebody else. Maybe it was me, and I just forgot about it.
A whole range of ideas ran through my mind very quickly: I keep all this stuff organized for when Miles can come and pick it up, when he is done with college and has his own place to live. He will be back soon.
It’s all false. I know it, but sometimes these thoughts leap immediately to mind.