My parents were divorced, and when I was younger we had visitation at my fathers once a week. In his spare bedroom, he had a make shift office. Across the counter were assorted office supplies one would keep on their desk. Cup full of pens, stapler, tape dispenser, and a metal partitioned stand for organizing bills and papers.
We were told we were not allowed to touch any of these things.
He would know if we did.
I would sneak in the room when he was outside mowing the lawn or talking to a neighbor.
Popping in quickly, I’d just poke the stapler with my little finger, and run away.
Never picked it up or shifted it.
Just a quick touch.
He never said anything about it. I am confident that I got away with it.
As I got older, the relationship was complicated. Eventually I chose to not spend anymore time with him. I didn’t agree with some life choices he was making. I expected better of him. He let me down. My mom said it was my choice and she would back me.
5 years later, I was ready. We saw each other a handful of times.
Then he moved away.
15 years passed before I saw him one final time.
12 years later he passed away.
His stapler is on my desk.