Jim gave a wry smile. “I see a little problem with your idea, Mary.” he said playfully.

“And what would that be, sir?” Mary asked with exaggerated care.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Jim was gone in a flash, laughing and running.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mary lunged after him, giggling, but Jim was already far ahead.

They chased each other about the grounds as the shadows grew long and the light golden, either ignoring the pall that hung over the next few days or willfully disregarding it.

Harry gnawed meditatively on the end of a pencil, leaving deep tooth marks.

“That’s a bad habit,” I reminded him, as I always did.

“And you have a bad habit of reminding me that it’s a bad habit,” came the standard reply.

Everyone has a nervous habit, and Harry simply preferred pencil-chewing. He claimed it was cheaper than smoking, and better for the environment to boot. In front of the bank of computer monitors in his apartment, there was always a fresh batch of pencils in a little jar. I once got a good laugh by replacing one with a yellow pen, which burst and gave Harry a blue mouth for a week.

Don’t get me wrong–I want to be sad about what happened. But how can I be, when every memory I have of Harry is so much fun?