His desk stayed empty all Monday. Coffee mug still there, a dried ring at the bottom. A bookmark from the bookstore that closed ten years ago, pressed into a paperback.
He'd lent me his spare key once, for a weekend he asked me to watch his dog. I meant to return it. Just never did.
I emptied his locker after the service. Found a pair of boots he'd let me borrow once, too. I'd forgotten I still had them.
The fire-drill afternoon last spring, we stood in the parking lot and he told me about the woman he was seeing. He was nervous, happy, kept rubbing his thumb over his knuckle.
I still have that key on my ring. It doesn't open anything anymore. But I can't bring myself to take it off.
Some things you keep because they still fit, even when the door is gone.