Today we put my older brother’s desk at the curb. My older half-brother. He died in 2016. As far as I know, the desk was the last object of his in my house.
I remember after the funeral his father gave me all of his shoes, even though on the whole they were a half to one size too small. It was a kind gesture I think, and I always respected and liked my brother’s father, though I admit for much of my life I was a little afraid of him too. He and my brother had a contentious relationship, my father and I got along much better, as did my brother and my father. But I do like him, my brother’s father, and I know it must have been devastating for him to lose his only son. I wore some of my brother’s shoes, many of them, in fact. I tried to wear some out. Maybe I did. A pair, I think. And almost another. But there were eight or nine pairs, and ultimately too small, though some were very nice shoes.
It may be important to mention for posterity that when my family talks about his death they don’t talk about how he died.
We tell people it was heart failure.
We managed to keep the desk much longer than the shoes, my wife and I. My brother had this desk over a decade: I like to think those little cut lines were from when he used to live in bars and sell cocaine in his 20s and 30s. But this was his desk even after he started the insurance business. My wife also pointed out that it looked like exacto knife cuts, though I don’t know how she could prove they weren’t from a straight razor. We only kept the desk a little over half a decade. My wife used it the past couple years when she started working from home during the pandemic.
I’m not usually invested in objects either way, but I’m glad to be rid of this thing, my wife said about the desk. We had just each taken an end of it and walked it down our steep driveway. As we sat it at the curb, she added: I don’t think he was particularly happy at his job…
My wife, I think, is ultimately happy with her job. She’s a mid to high mid level public servant, educated. For someone so intelligent, she has a daunting amount of humility and an unfathomable ability to compromise.
I never took you for the superstitious type, I said, ribbing her a little.
She shrugged.
I stand, look at the desk. Brown and gray, it almost blends in with the asphalt and backdrop of fallen autumn leaves in the yard. For some reason, I wait until my wife is going back up the hill, then I take out my phone, snap a picture. I never took you for the superstitious type, I told her. But then I came upstairs and wrote this down.