With age, a time comes when the sad dates of death in your circle become almost as frequent as the not-so-joyful birthdays. Sometimes, they even start to overlap. Life is a peculiar thing—it behaves boldly, unpredictably, and always spitefully. You live and don’t know when you will disappear from the face of the earth, from your circle of friends, from the memory of everyone who ever knew you, or if there will be a single soul left who remembers you.

Notice how even now you think about others, but you ought to think about yourself, having already realized that your life is far from eternal and can end at any moment. No one knows for sure what comes after death, so don’t listen to anyone about anything else. Everything others say means nothing at all in your life. Live! Yes, live! Start living! Stop thinking day after day. Were you waiting for the right moment? Congratulations, you’ve waited long enough! Time to begin!

New thoughts, for the first time in many years, visit Henry’s head, cluttered with trivialities. Sitting in the old city cemetery, he scrutinizes the gravestone of a complete stranger in the distant light of a streetlamp. It is impossible to say exactly whether the skeleton long buried in the ground was a human being from the standpoint of humanity. He walked the earth, perhaps flew in the sky on a plane, but did he live like a person?

We won’t know now; we are not part of the narrow circle of people who knew him in life and remember him after it. They may not exist at all. But we exist. And Henry exists. He sits near the cold, gray headstone of a certain Julius Odell and wonders if he himself is truly alive. Or if he is just an ordinary dead man, as cold and lifeless as Julius.

He sits quietly on the cold ground, damp with morning dew, and simply waits, not knowing what for. He has been waiting since yesterday. The south wind blew him here, catching him at the corner of Maryland Street and Ninth Work Avenue, where for thirty-seven years the starting point of his daily time count has invariably been located. Every day he wakes up at six fifteen in the morning, takes a shower, eats breakfast, puts on his old, worn clothes, gets ready, and involuntarily, out of habit, walks to work. He stopped thinking about it long ago; he just walks to the office.

Thirty-seven years ago, Henry moved to this district of a town unknown to anyone from Boston, where he grew up and left everything he had in life. Now, he realizes he left his whole life in the past. He received a promising position as an HR manager in a new branch of a large international corporation. He turns sixty years old, and he is still waiting for that bright prospect he came here for, filled with high hopes and dreams.

Henry waited, hoped, and tried his hardest to do his job better than anyone else possibly could, just to get a promotion. He waited until yesterday. Yesterday, at seven fifteen in the evening, he turned exactly sixty years old. He returned home after a heavy and confusing workday at the office. No one was nearby, only the empty, dark-green walls of the old cramped apartment, decorated with commendation letters “for dedication and responsibility in service,” which they gave out every five years. At work, they gave him a lavish and noisy send-off. His birthday coincided with his unexpected date of retirement. He never did get the coveted great promotion during those long thirty-seven exhausting, monotonous years filled with empty hopes.

All he could think to do yesterday after work was to buy a bottle of Scotch whiskey and an inexpensive chocolate bar from the store on the ground floor of his building and go to the cemetery. Actually, Henry wasn’t planning on the cemetery; he thinks it’s still a bit too early. He came here by chance, strolling through the evening city. His habitual life has come to an end. Now that he finds himself in the cemetery, he starts preparing for the ‘final’ straightaway. Having arrived here, he finally realizes everything that has happened to him over all these years. More accurately, he understands that after so many years, nothing good has ever happened.

It is a sad realization. In his childhood and youthful dreams of the future, everything was completely different. What he has now in life seems unreal. Not his life. For a second, he hopes he has been watching a sad, thirty-seven-year-long dream. He tries to wake up. It turns out he never fell asleep.

Not once has he closed his eyes with a smile and a peaceful heart, happy with the day gone by. Morning and evening passed in tension daily, and the workday was lived in a professional trance. The same words, the same monotonous movements. Now the moment has come to emerge from the long hypnosis. The promising young man has imperceptibly turned into a useless old man.

The young man always felt that old age was further from him than the end of the world, which the planet was threatened with so many times over his long life. Well, now they have met, and he has nothing to tell his older self. He sighs, pouring whiskey into the empty glass. He looks at the ‘stone’ Julius Odell, clinks his glass against the gravestone, and drinks to his health. It is a funny joke to make in a cemetery. Maybe it isn’t, but he laughs. It is just as funny as it is sad. He sits on the cold earth he will soon be in himself. He drinks with the one who has long been lying in it. A crazy old man.

He drinks enough to lie down. Where else can one rest like this but under the old willow in the cemetery? The thin branches reach out to him with their narrow leaves, and he lies motionless, wondering if his weeping friend will reach him. In a couple of years, Henry may become fertilizer for her roots. Now he is above the ground, soon he will be below the ground, and he won’t part with the willow. That’s what the drunk sixty-year-old Henry decides, closing his eyes for a minute. He becomes sad and feels so sorry for himself. There was so much he could have done, but he didn’t. Why did he live? If he lived at all. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to live. How to live. Why. He didn’t know before, and now he doesn’t even have prospects or options.

Henry does not open his whiskey-drugged eyes after the minute he had closed them, unaware that those sixty seconds would be his last. The Willow pulls the birthday boy underground with strong roots, leaving no trace of him. Henry was right about the connection to the Willow. He just hadn’t expected to meet it earlier than anticipated. Julius Odell gains a new neighbor, who was illegally laid to rest beside him a minute ago. No headstone with a name and dates of life means no identifying document. Try proving now that you existed and had a name.

The Willow carefully drives away the worms and beetles that instantly scent the smell of death. Experience and knowledge of the specific odor are passed down from the first days of evolution. Man does not know how he appeared, but the little gravediggers are certainly created by nature to devour flesh. They absolutely do not care who created and prepared the food for them. They do not think about anything at all. They do not need to. Hunger guides instinct. Essentially, all life is built around the desire to fill one’s belly. If they do not eat now, they will soon become food for their brethren. Then, along with them, their potential future offspring will also perish. Food plays a decisive role.

Henry no longer needs to sustain a body that was absorbing oxygen and alcohol with a cheap chocolate bar just a minute ago. Now he has only one concern. He must open his eyes. How does he do that if a layer of earth presses down from above? He did not foresee such an important moment. He should have died with his eyes open.

Now it is too late to regret an improper death. He does not want to lie for an eternity, staring through dead eyelids. He feels a slap. At first, he does not understand what it was. He guesses, but does not believe it. A second slap follows immediately after the first. Outraged by the third blow, Henry looks at the outright rogue who dares to be so familiar with him.

“Well, how are you? Alive?” a contemporary with a bald spot and a mustache that flows into a beard whispers, smiling playfully.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Henry answers, bewildered, suppressing his indignation.

“You’re talking, so you’re alive!” the bearded man lifts the deceased birthday boy.

“Do we know each other?” Henry asks, trying to get a look at the insolent man who permitted himself to hit him in the face. Three times, no less.

“We’re practically friends already,” the stranger smiles contentedly.

“How so?” the recently deceased is surprised.

“Come on, you really don’t remember!” Henry feels a clap on his back. “We drank a bottle of whiskey together tonight, and you don’t recognize me? Must have really hit your brain,” he scrutinizes his new friend’s lost gaze.

“Julius Odell?” the birthday boy guesses uncertainly, struggling to recall the evening, not believing the reality of what is happening.

“Finally! You remembered!” Julius rejoices. “I only have one favor to ask you,” he whispers with a smile.

“What is it?” Henry asks, rubbing his sleepy and whiskey-dazed eyes.

“I’m not particularly fond of my name. Can you just call me Odell?”

“Of course, no problem,” Henry immediately agrees not to torment his new friend with his own name. He doesn’t like the name Henry much himself. He’s quite sick of it after sixty years. And he can’t change it now.

“Thank you! You’re a true friend!” Odell exclaims happily.

“Can I ask a question?” Henry asks tentatively.

“Ask away!” Julius reacts with interest.

“How did I end up here?” he slowly looks around, not giving in to panic.

“You died!” Odell answers cheerfully. “How else could you end up underground?” the bearded friend is surprised by the question.

“Died?” Henry utters the intensely dark word with difficulty.

“Well, yes,” Julius confirms simply.

“And why did I die?” the birthday boy clarifies all the circumstances, hoping to uncover a mistake in the situation.

“Why, you ask? You made a wish,” Odell explains with a smile.

“What wish?” Henry is surprised.

“Exactly at nineteen hundred hours, fifteen minutes, and zero seconds, you thought that life was over and you blew out the candles on the celebratory cake. So it ended.”

“But I didn’t mean it that way!” Henry exclaims in a panic.

“What difference does it make now?” Julius smiles. “Your wish came true and you can’t take it back.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Henry admits. Over so many years, he has learned to recognize and accept the irreversibility of words, thoughts, and time.

“Don’t worry so much, buddy,” Odell reassures him, patting his shoulder.

“I also have a small favor to ask you. Can you stop clapping me on the shoulder every time you say something?” Henry asks, a little irritated.

“Yes, of course,” Julius takes his hand off Henry’s shoulder. “Sorry, it’s a habit from life,” he smiles timidly.

“It’s nothing, it happens,” Henry calmly adjusts his jacket.

“This is so interesting,” Julius whispers mysteriously.

“What’s interesting to you?” the underground novice looks at him in surprise.

“You died on the day of my death. Just a few years later,” Odell explains cheerfully.

“I’m incredibly happy about that,” Henry says caustically. “Tell me instead, where are we?”

“In the ground, for now,” Julius answers without his former enthusiasm.

“And where should we be?” Henry is surprised that other options exist.

“Wherever we wish,” Julius offers a new smile.

“Then why are you here?” Henry is puzzled.

“Why, you ask? You came to visit me, how could I not stay with you for a bottle of whiskey.”

“What do you mean?” Henry clarifies.

“When people come to the grave of the deceased, the soul comes out to meet them.”

“But we weren’t acquainted.”

“I was surprised when I saw you, too. But I decided to stay to keep you company. Especially since you’re celebrating your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way!”

“Thank you,” the birthday boy smiles tensely.

“You’re not a bad guy,” Odell continues. “It was even interesting to be with you. And you brought good whiskey, but you could have gotten better chocolate,” he shakes his head with dissatisfaction.

“Sorry, I didn’t have any other kind,” Henry throws his hands up.

“It’s not bad, of course, but I prefer milk chocolate,” the bearded companion confesses in a childlike manner.

“Fine, the next time I come here to die at your place, I’ll bring a bar of milk chocolate. Just for you,” Henry sneers.

“I see you’re starting to settle in,” Odell barely restrains himself from clapping Henry on the shoulder. “Your sense of humor is waking up.”

“If I took this unexpected burial on my birthday seriously, I’d go crazy right now. Not even whiskey would help me keep my sanity,” the birthday boy describes his condition.

“That’s true. It didn’t help me,” Julius jokes, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe we should leave now, it’s kind of damp and uncomfortable,” Henry eyes the niche in the ground with suspicion.

“It’s high time to leave the basements of life,” Julius agrees.

“Wait,” Henry says heavily.

“What is it?” Odell turns around.

“Something’s holding me,” he tries to see what exactly.

“Ah, that’s the Willow,” he calmly examines his new friend. “She’s wrapped her roots around your body. She likes you. A strong woman never lets go of a man she likes for no reason, even if the feeling isn’t mutual,” Julius acknowledges with respect.

“Is there any point to that?” Henry is surprised.

“To what?” his new friend doesn’t understand.

“Holding onto someone who doesn’t want to stay?” he clarifies his thought for better understanding.

“Strength often clouds the mind while simultaneously intensifying desires. Then the desires become so strong that they seem to have come true. That’s how a strong person fancies a mutual feeling, and hence the overconfident actions.”

“And what should I do now?” Henry asks for advice, bewildered.

“Throw the sand of reality in her eyes,” Julius answers seriously and sadly.

Odell plunges his hand into the birthday boy’s chest and, with a sharp movement, pulls the living soul out of the dead body. The Willow stirs, creaking horribly. The sixty-year-old guys disappear from her into the depths of the earth, riddled with plant roots, carnivorous insects, and the graves of those who no longer care about anything. Right now, there is not a soul here.

Normal people do not visit cemeteries at night. It is not that Henry is somehow abnormal, it is just that few people would think of going for an evening walk in a cemetery and drinking whiskey with a headstone on their birthday. The tired man simply does not care, just like the local dead. You do not necessarily have to die to become indifferent to everything.

Two not-quite-normal spirits break free from the tenacious roots of the powerful woman Willow. What’s the point of dying and remaining tethered to a single place? The time has come to shake off the old roots. Odell and Henry make their way through the soil, passing between stones and rotten coffins. They could pass through them, but they find it a bit in poor taste. Henry isn’t ready to contemplate skeletons yet. Maybe he’ll come to terms with the idea when his body looks like all the others here, but that time hasn’t arrived yet.

The Willow is much stronger than Julius thought. The roots pursue them across the entire cemetery. He wonders where she gets such long arms. A strong woman will reach you anywhere. They are learning this firsthand now. Odell moves ahead, dragging the inexperienced rookie behind him. In some cases, sixty years of experience isn’t worth one day in new circumstances. At such a high speed underground, even an experienced departed soul has trouble coordinating movement.

They pass through several coffins in a row. Henry had hoped that he wouldn’t see the skeletons in the dark. He was wrong. A spirit’s vision penetrates like sunlight, and everything is visible as if it were day. Now, he has three skeletons in their finest attire on his tally. A woman in a black dress with a bouquet of dried flowers and two men in black suits and white shirts with ties. He wonders why the dead need ties.

“Where are we running?” Henry asks, not waiting for the outcome of the chase.

“We’re almost there,” Odell answers in a rush.

“Distract me with conversation so I don’t pay attention to all this,” the rookie asks, covering his eyes as he runs.

“What would you like to chat about at such an opportune moment?” Julius laughs, confidently pushing forward.

“Just tell me where we’re running, at least?”

“Did you see the cross?”

“What cross?”

“An ordinary, Christian one, with a crucifix,” Odell reminds him.

“Yes, I did!”

“Did you see what’s under Jesus’s feet?”

“Yes!” Henry recalls what he saw in church while he was alive.

“What’s there?”

“A skull and crossbones,” Henry answers, remembering.

“That’s what we’re running towards,” Odell smiles.

“But there are thousands of bones here!”

“Those skull and crossbones are special. There aren’t many of them here,” Julius assures him.

“In what way? What’s special about them?”

“Souls leave this world through the eyes of the skull, and the bones close the door behind them, like the spears of guards at the entrance to a king’s chambers.”

“And where do we look for them?” Henry clarifies, so he knows where to run.

“They’re always at the farthest southern point of any cemetery. We don’t need to look for them; I know where we need to run. We just need to get there faster.”

“Why is it taking us so long to get to them?”

“Are you even aware that this is the biggest and oldest cemetery in the state?” Julius asks pointedly, turning to Henry. “Besides, I had to weave a little among the coffins to tangle the roots among our silent helpers, escaping your admirer.”

“This is my first time here!” the birthday boy reminds him.

“Now it makes sense,” Odell smirks. “Get ready!”

“For what?” Henry tenses up.

“For this!”

Julius runs even faster. By the skull glowing for ghosts, he shoves Henry into the left eye and then dives into the right one himself. The bones cross behind them, severing the persistent Willow’s roots. The chase ends with the spirits’ victory. The pursued are saved. In the distance, the creaking and groans of the abandoned woman can be heard.

Calming down, Odell and Henry rise from the wooden floor in the house as old as they are. Everything here breathes antiquity. The house still holds up, doesn’t surrender under the weight of time—it lives. Its soul is ever younger. Only now does Henry take a good look at Julius. At the cemetery, he was an old man; here, he’s a young man, just as Henry was when he arrived in a hopeless pursuit of a bright future.

The newcomer finds the only mirror in the house. He wipes away the cobwebs, cleans off the dust. He looks into the mirror. No one. He looks at Julius. The experienced ghost instills confidence with his mere presence. Henry looks into the mirror again. Before him is the very same twenty-three-year-old man. A sparkle of hopes and dreams shines in his eyes, and his body is full of vital energy.

The power from the seen transformation surges through him. Odell approaches. He, too, peers into the dusty mirror. Sixty-year-old dead men become young handsome guys. It’s impossible to believe, but Julius knows for certain that it is so. In time, Henry will also accept the joyful fact. He simply has no choice.

Odell watches with a smile as Henry feels and pulls at the young skin on his face and hands. The experienced ghost tries not to laugh so he doesn’t embarrass Henry. Composure is hard to maintain. Julius takes the birthday boy by the arm, and they step out onto the porch. The young men stand on the threshold of the wooden house, on the shore of a lake surrounded by high mountains covered with dense forest and snow on their peaks. Henry forgets about his face. Now he can’t believe he’s in a place like this. He occasionally glances at the smiling Odell.

“Am I the only one seeing this?” Henry asks, not believing his eyes.

“Well, why would you be? You think you’re the only one lucky enough to die?” Julius answers with a smile.

“Does everyone see this?” the newcomer wonders.

“Only those who want to,” Odell calmly explains.

“Didn’t anyone else want to see this beauty?”

“Lots of people want to.”

“Then why aren’t they here?”

“Well, just imagine what that would be like,” Julius says seriously.

“I can imagine,” Henry whispers, in slight shock at the thought of the imagined crowd.

“Everyone has their own copy of their desired places.”

“A copy?” the newcomer clarifies.

“Yeah, a copy,” Julius repeats. “Let’s say everyone wanted to be in this house and look at the lake. There’s only one house, but many who desire it. If we let everyone in at once, there’d be no room to stand on one foot. You could wait for a second death before your turn came. But this way, all the places are copied. Everyone has their own set of copies of desired places. Admit it, you always wanted to be here. You’re here. This is one of the copies in your set.”

“And what else is in my set?” Henry asks.

“That’s only known to you,” Julius says, looking at him with a smile.

“How did you get here if this is my copy?”

“You wanted to see me here,” Odell explains proudly.

“So, can people we want to see be near us?”

“Let me clarify. Not people, but essences of people. Only those who are no longer in the world of the living.”

“I see,” Henry says, slightly saddened. Then he brightens up, remembering that most of the people he knew, who were close to him, had long departed the world of the living. Especially considering that he could count those loved ones on the fingers of one hand.

“That’s better,” Julius smirks, looking at the newcomer’s cheerful face.

“I like it here already,” Henry says contentedly.

“Why wouldn’t you like it in your desired place? Who do you want to see?”

“No one right now. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“I’ve already been to all my copies. I’m quite tired of them after all these years. I can stroll through the copies with you.”

“I understand. So, you’ll stay with me a little longer?” Henry is delighted. He needs the support right now until he fully adjusts to the new life. Or death. It doesn’t matter.

“Of course! We’re best friends now.”

“Right, that’s true,” the birthday boy remembers the celebration of his birthday and death in the cemetery with whiskey and chocolate. Odell also smiles, remembering that evening as he looks through Henry’s thoughts and perception.

“What do you want?” Julius asks. “Where do you wish to go?”

“Can we just sit on the porch?” he asks quietly, wanting to relax a bit.

“Of course. Would a rocking chair be okay?”

“I’ve always wanted to ride in one,” Henry says enthusiastically, looking at the chair to the left.

“Now’s the perfect time to try it,” Odell encourages him.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sixty years old, after all. It’s time,” the young spirit laughs.

“Didn’t you see what the mirror showed you?”

“I did. But that’s not true, is it?” Henry is disappointed.

“Why do you say that?” Julius is slightly indignant.

“I know I’m sixty, not twenty-three,” Henry says sadly, settling into the chair. He rocks back and forth like an old man.

“Mirrors never lie,” Odell declares seriously, sitting in the chair next to him. “They always show the true state of a person’s soul.”

“I don’t feel like that.”

“Then your soul stopped aging at that age. You locked it in that time when you felt alive. Only the body continued to age.”

“So, I abandoned my soul and went on without it?” Henry asks guiltily.

“Yes. As you can see, it was for the best. The soul hasn’t worn out one bit,” Odell encourages him.

“Did the same thing happen to you?”

“No,” Julius drawls, smirking.

“Then why are you just as young?”

“I realized at this age that it was the best time of my life and I wanted never to grow old. I never paid attention to my aging and wrinkling body, as if we weren’t acquainted. I even tried not to look in mirrors. As you can see, I managed to remain young at heart.”

“Is everyone here this young?”

“Are you kidding me! No, of course not!” Odell practically laughs.

“Then what are they like?” Henry asks, in case he meets anyone.

“Mostly, they’re just old men and women here,” the experienced ghost grimaces.

“Why? Did everyone die old?”

“You still don’t get it,” Julius sighs, smiling. “You and I remained young at heart. But for most, it wasn’t just their bodies that wore out. Their souls became just as old and frail. A person is as old as they feel and how they treat themselves. An important factor in this special matter is one’s attitude towards the world. If a person treats everything like a grumpy old man, that’s what he becomes.”

“Are there no young souls at all?”

“There are plenty of young ones. They’re just much fewer in number. They are rare.”

“How do you even see each other if everyone is in their own copies?”

“It’s like a lottery. You want to talk to a ghost your age, like us,” Odell points a finger at himself and Henry, “and you send out a thought. On its way, it becomes a desire, and the desire is fulfilled. A peer appears in your copy.”

“Do desires come true right away like that?”

“It depends on how much you want it. There’s something like a desire rating here. Its own unique queue.”

“How does that work?” Henry asks, slightly confused by the new conditions.

“The strongest desires are fulfilled first, and then the weaker ones,” Odell calmly explains. He didn’t understand everything immediately either.

“And what if new, supremely strong desires keep coming in?” the newcomer posits.

“Then the weaker ones will be fulfilled even later.”

“What about the weak desires then?”

“If they’re weak, it means they’re not real. Such thoughts rarely become genuine desires and never come true,” Odell explains seriously.

“Then why even wish for something if you want it so weakly?” Henry doesn’t quite understand.

“Something to do. Souls need to occupy their thoughts with something. So, they think about nonsense,” Julius smirks.

“Why not want something stronger?” Henry is surprised. “They’re desires; they’re meant to be intensely desired.”

“In most cases, souls have time to become disillusioned with life where desires don’t come true because they’re just as weak. So, they don’t want anything. It’s a habit.”

“Wait,” Henry stops his chair.

“Something unclear?” Julius continues to rock.

“Is everything possible in these copies? And all you need to do is want it intensely?”

“It’s like that everywhere!” Odell smiles. “No one takes the main condition seriously. No one believes in such simple truths.”

“Yeah, ghosts are strange,” Henry continues to rock.

“People are even stranger,” Julius laughs.

The young souls look at the water surface, rocking in the chairs like the old men they were when they died. Mountains and forests are everywhere, reflected in the lake and standing in their proper places. The wooden floor creaks under the chairs. The sound echoes through the picturesque surroundings. Odell looks at the beauty before him with the smile of an old man content with his life.

Henry’s face freezes in thought. Maybe it’s his imagination, but he hears the voices of other ghosts roaming the mountaintops. He looks closer. No one is visible, but the voices are audible. He looks at Julius questioningly. The young old man has learned to ignore everything. A good skill. The birthday boy also relaxes.

“Are you two in the wrong place?” a wrinkled spirit asks, coming out to them.

“No, we’re in our copy,” Julius answers confidently.

“Did you look at the walls?” the old man clarifies.

“What’s there?” Henry asks, turning toward the house and the stranger.

“My family photos, not yours,” the old spirit says with displeasure.

“Excuse me,” Henry stops and stands up from the chair.

“Wait,” Julius also gets up from his chair. “This can’t be.”

“Why not?” the old ghost wonders calmly.

“I know for a fact we’re in this guy’s copy,” Odell says, pointing confidently at Henry, who doesn’t know what to think or say and just stays silent.

“Let’s go see,” the old man enters the house. The guys follow him.

A lot has changed inside. Carpets now cover the wooden floor. The oval mirror has become square, and the dust and cobwebs have disappeared from it. The small dining table has lengthened and widened. Clean silverware has appeared, neatly laid out on the tablecloth. Napkins are folded into swans. The number of chairs has visibly increased. Everything looks as if a family dinner will soon take place.

Garlands cut from paper by children’s hands are hung around the house. Henry used to make things like that himself. There is a lot of delicious food in large dishes. Everything is so beautiful and smells so strongly that the guys’ mouths water. A roasted turkey stands in the middle of the table. Odell looks at the changes with composure, as if it had always been this way, showing no emotion, though he manages to doubt the correctness of his actions.

“Well, are you convinced, boys?” the old man addresses them.

“Yes, we apologize, sir,” Julius apologizes. “Some ridiculous mistake happened.”

“Looks like it,” the unexpectedly appearing ghost smiles knowingly, pleased that the dispute has been resolved in his favor. “If you don’t mind, my whole family is coming over soon,” he opens the door for them. “I don’t want to have to explain on a day like this who these two young men are who snuck into my house uninvited,” the old man is clearly hinting at them.

“Yes, we understand, please forgive us,” Henry apologizes, heading for the exit.

“Sorry again,” Julius passes the newcomer.

“It’s nothing, boys,” the old man smiles. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thank you, sir, and you, too,” the guys respond. They each have their own holidays in their copies.

“Hold onto me tightly,” Julius says quietly, stepping out the door.

“Okay,” Henry grabs his elbow.

“Not that tightly,” Odell smiles.

“Sorry,” Henry says guiltily, slightly loosening his grip.

“Better.”

The young ancients leave the cozy home of the family man awaiting his relatives for the holiday. In an instant, they find themselves on a forest path. Julius walks ahead. Henry tries to keep pace with him but cannot match his friend’s nervous stride. Odell is tense beyond recognition, though a minute ago he had looked cheerful, calm, and all-knowing. The contented smile gives way to perplexity. Henry catches up to his peer. He wants to ask immediately. He hesitates, looking at his new friend’s serious face. He plucks up the courage.

“Why are you so nervous? Nothing bad happened, did it?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Julius answers seriously, stepping off the path.

“And how do you look at it?” Henry inquires.

“That was your copy,” Julius says seriously, in the voice of someone defending a friend’s rights.

“The old man said we had dropped by his place,” the newcomer reminds him.

“You saw yourself, the house changed a lot inside when he showed up. And the holiday.”

“Maybe it was an accident,” the newcomer suggests naïvely.

“There are no accidents here,” Odell replies firmly. “I’m sure we stepped into your copy. There can be no mistake.”

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know. The copies got mixed up,” the experienced ghost suggests what he considers impossible.

“When we were there, I heard voices on the mountaintops,” Henry recalls.

“I thought I imagined it,” Odell looks at his new friend even more intensely.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

“No. Most likely, something went wrong,” Julius guesses.

“And what could that be?” Henry starts to feel uneasy, especially looking at his friend’s expression.

“I don’t know. We need to find out before anything worse happens.”

“Could something bad happen?” Henry becomes alarmed.

“’Horrible’ is a better word,” Odell looks around anxiously.

“And how can we find out what happened?”

“I have an idea,” Julius thinks mysteriously.

“What is it?” the newcomer asks, intrigued. He cannot imagine a single possibility.

“You’ll see soon.”

“And where are we now?” Henry looks around.

“This is my copy,” Julius answers with a smile. “For now,” he adds, looking at Henry. “We often used to go camping here as teenagers,” they step out into a clearing. “We brought tents, food,” Odell sits down on one of the four logs surrounding a fire pit. He looks wistfully at the cold coals in the gray ash.

“Don’t you go camping here with your friends now?”

“No. There hasn’t been a fire here for over forty years. And no friends of mine either,” he adds in a heavy voice.

“And where are they, your friends?”

“They burned up,” Odell answers with an empty gaze.

“In what sense?” Henry asks, surprised, looking at the ashes.

“In the literal sense. They burned in the hellish flames. Every single one of them. Not even dust remained,” he throws a stone, lifting the dry and light ashes from the former fire.

“Why did that happen?” Henry understands this is personal. At the same time, everything is personal now.

“My friends joined the local gang. I was the only one who didn’t dare. I was afraid, I guess. They were all killed in one of the gang fights.”

“How old were they?” Henry asks sympathetically.

“They didn’t have time to finish school,” Julius answers sadly, looking at the remnants of the fire.

“Why didn’t their souls end up here?”

“The guys defiled their souls with the blood of those they killed. No one could forgive that, absolutely. Even in Hell, it’s considered too much. Dangerous souls are destroyed immediately, with no right to pardon.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry moves closer.

“Thanks. Over forty years have passed. It feels like it happened yesterday,” Odell muses. “Would you like me to show you something?”

“Of course,” Henry replies, interested. They get up from the log and approach the foot of the mountain. Odell pushes aside the bushes in front of a cave entrance. “It’s dark in there even for ghosts,” Julius smiles. “We aren’t going in there.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Henry agrees with a smile.

“Look what’s here,” Odell carefully digs up an iron box with a scratched drawing near the entrance.

“What’s drawn on it?” Henry asks, peering closer.

“A squad of warriors,” Julius replies, wiping the box clean. “’the Nine Warriors’, that’s what we called ourselves. And then just ’the Warriors’.”

“And what’s inside it?” Henry becomes increasingly curious.

“Let’s see now. I don’t even remember myself anymore. The box has been lying here even longer. We were ten years old, some were eleven,” Odell recalls nostalgically.

They return to the log. Julius doesn’t open the box right away. First, he looks at the fire pit, at the cave, and inhales the scent of the forest. He looks at the pine and deciduous branches, at the ground covered with needles and leaves. Everything is vivid in his memory and looks exactly as it did back then. Henry remains silent, realizing how important this is to Julius. He looks seriously at the box. Julius undoes the latch. Slowly and carefully, he cracks open the lid. Various small objects are mixed together. A tin soldier, an eagle feather, a rabbit’s foot, a dart, a bear carved from wood, an old coin, a rusty bolt, a black stone.

“Which of these is yours?” Henry asks, examining the contents closely.

“This one,” Julius pulls a string. A round bronze medallion with eight equal sections appears from the box. A circle unites them in the middle.

“Are you in the center?” Henry asks, looking closely at the medallion.

“Yes,” Julius replies with nostalgia. “And these are our guys,” he runs his finger over the circle, not missing a single section.

“And what do these objects mean?” the newcomer peers into the box again.

“The symbols of each of us. They all correspond to nicknames. ’Soldier’ really wanted to be a military man; he trained more than people in the army. ‘Flight’ was interested in aviation technology. ‘Luck’ always found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and, by some miracle, was always lucky enough to get out of trouble safe and sound. ’Sniper’ could hit any target with a dart blindfolded. ‘Bear’ was the healthiest of us, even though he was the youngest; they fed him well at home,” Odell smiles, holding the carved figure in his hands. “He worked wonders with wood. He carved this handsome guy during the hike, specifically to put in the box. ‘Coin’ collected old coins, as you’ve already guessed. ‘Mechanic’ could assemble a bicycle from junk; we all had bikes from scrap metal from the local dump. ‘Rock’ was always gloomy and serious; no one could persuade him of anything until he decided what was right for himself,” Julius holds the smooth black stone in his hands and puts it back.

“And what about the medallion? Were you the leader?”

“The council decided that,” Odell answers calmly. “I didn’t volunteer. I always believed we were equal.”

“Maybe that’s why they chose you, to maintain fairness and equality?” Henry suggests.

“Possibly,” Julius allows.

“What did the others call you?”

“’Leader’,” Odell smiles, remembering how his friends addressed him.

“A fitting nickname. Were you the one who united everyone and held them together?” Henry guesses the meaning of the medallion.

“I thought so. But when we were offered to join the gang, they decided by a majority. No one listened to me. There was never another meeting here after that,” Julius taps his finger on the inner middle of the box. The bottom cover falls off.

“A false bottom in a simple box?” Henry asks, surprised.

“We didn’t know what it was called back then,” Odell smiles.

“What’s in there?” the newcomer wants to look down into the box.

“The Nine Warriors,” Julius carefully takes out an old, worn photograph. He looks closely at each person. “Long time no see, friends,” he whispers with a smile.

“And where are you here?” Henry looks closely.

“Here I am,” Odell smiles, pointing to the center.

“In the middle. A true leader,” Henry observes.

“Hardly,” Julius snorts. “No matter how you look at it, the squad is more important than the commander.”

“Without a commander, there’s no squad.”

“Sometimes the squad is lost even with a commander,” Odell grows quite sad, looking at the photo.

“That was their personal decision. You’re not to blame, you know that,” Henry encourages him.

“I know,” Julius answers sadly, not entirely believing it yet.

“At least you didn’t die then,” Henry keeps trying to support his new friend.

“That’s a dubious argument in proof of my happiness,” Julius jests lightly.

“Sorry, I’d better be quiet,” the newcomer realizes he’s intruding, especially on something so personal.

“Don’t be offended, friend. You’re the only one I have now,” Odell looks at him with a sad smile, happy that he has anyone at all.

“We’ve only known each other for a few hours,” Henry reminds him.

“And you’ve already become my best friend,” Julius can’t help himself; he claps him on the shoulder, despite the request. This time, Henry doesn’t mind.

“What are you going to do with this?” the newcomer indicates the box with his gaze.

“Nothing, I’ll bury it back,” Odell looks over the picture one more time. He hides it back in the false bottom of the box. He looks at the symbols of the nine warriors. He closes the box, takes it to the cave. He carefully buries it, covers it with leaves, and straightens the branches of the bushes so no one can find it. He returns to his new best friend. “Now only the two of us know this secret,” he winks conspiratorially.

“This secret will go with me to the grave,” Henry says seriously. It turns into a real joke. They both laugh.

“Well, let’s go; we’ve lingered in the past too long.”

“Where are we going?”

“Into the future,” Julius answers seriously.

“Is that possible?” Henry asks, surprised, pondering the question.

“We are going into the future of this past,” Odell points to the camping spot.

“Now I get it,” Henry prepares for the transfer.

“Hold on,” Odell takes the newcomer by the arm again.

“Can I ask a question before we go?”

“Go for it,” Julius anticipates every question with interest.

“Why do you hold my arm every time?”

“If you don’t keep contact with the copy’s owner during the movement, you’ll never be able to enter his copy of your own free will, even if you know exactly where it is. We’ll get lost if I let you go,” Julius explains.

“And can we find each other afterward?” Henry clarifies, to understand how serious the transfers are.

“To be honest, I’m not strong in math. So I can only guess. If you have about a hundred desired places and I have about the same. That means we have ten thousand possibilities where we might end up at the same moment. You can guess what the probability is of finding each other afterward among two hundred copies if a mental wish doesn’t help to draw us together.”

“I can imagine, but vaguely,” Henry smiles distractedly.

“It’s better not to imagine it at all. Think about something good. The lighter the thoughts, the easier the travel,” Julius advises.

“Okay,” the newcomer sifts through his thoughts, searching for bright and light ones.

“Well, let’s go!” Odell sets off, leading the newcomer with him.

Henry feels a slight itch all over his body. His head spins, and he feels a little sick. It’s like being on a swing. Swings always made him carsick. Here, most likely, it’s a reaction due to a lack of familiarity. All the thoughts in the sixty-year-old guy’s head are scrambled; now he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking about. He wishes his brain would just switch off at moments like these. This time, the trip took a bit longer. He thinks they’ve arrived. It’s dark. He doesn’t hear Julius’s footsteps. He’s scared, of course, especially after the graveyard. He cautiously feels out the darkness. Odell is silent. And Henry doesn’t rush to speak; no telling where they’ve ended up.

A thin string settles in his hand. He’s terribly afraid. Not knowing kills you in difficult moments. The inexperienced ghost doesn’t know what to do. Now, he faces a simple choice: to pull the string or not to pull it. He inhales deeply. Not for oxygen, but to calm down, a habit from his life. He takes a risk. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls the string. Something clicks. The fear that made him close his eyes now forces them open. Two sticks poke him in the face. He looks closer.

They are just ordinary white skis with red stripes. Old belongings lie nearby. A leather rugby ball with white lacing facing out, a walnut-colored guitar missing three strings, a boomerang, bamboo fishing rods, leather boxing gloves, a blue scooter. Each thing has its own story. Happiness, joy, peace, pain, delight, speed. Every object changes life, influencing it according to its direct and indirect purpose.

Any boy would feel like he was in a treasury here. For Henry, it’s something more. These are his things, the ones the boy dreamed of his entire childhood. His parents gave him some for birthdays and Christmas. He bought the rest with honestly earned money. Tools for fixing anything that could break hang on the shelves and dusty tables. The racks are covered with various parts, unfinished figurines, and intricate mechanisms. Children’s drawings hang from the ceiling on strings. Henry hasn’t seen all this in a long time. They lived in this house until he was twelve. They moved when his father—just like he would later—was offered a promising job. The promotion never happened. They stayed in Boston.

The next promising offer was for Henry. He moved and stayed. How similar the fates of children and parents sometimes are. Only his father had a family, and he doesn’t. From this, one can conclude that you should accept promising offers if you have a family. Because when the prospect doesn’t materialize, you still have your family. But if it turns out like Henry’s, you can die a sixty-year-old man no one needs.

Though, who knows what’s right. After all, if you don’t accept any offers until you start your own family, you could miss the one true offer for success and happiness. And you could remain a sixty-year-old loser in your dead-end town. You can never guess the right thing to do. That’s the whole point of risk. Henry took a risk in his time. He didn’t guess right, what can you do.

Wait. Where is Julius? They should’ve ended up together in one of Odell’s life moments. Why did he cross over into his own memory alone? He needs to find his friend. He looks around the basement. He’s definitely not here. Following an old, unforgettable habit, he turns off the light before leaving. He climbs the creaking stairs. Everything in the house is just as it was then, fifty years ago.

To the right is the cozy kitchen, to the left, the spacious living room. A large dining table, panoramic windows curtained with light white drapes featuring bamboo stalks. Why bamboo? He never understood his mother’s choice. A vase of candies sits on the table. He takes one. It’s a chocolate with a creamy filling, his favorite. The taste is not at all different from the one in his memory. Just in case, he checks the restroom; Odell isn’t there either.

He goes up to the second floor, where his parents’ bedroom was. Henry’s room is opposite. He first enters his parents’ bedroom. He only came here as a child. When thunder scared the boy, he would run to hide under the covers with his parents. That’s where he spent the night. There was no safer place in the house. The bed is made, and there are no clothes on the chairs. Everyone used to have their own chair. His father would carelessly toss his clothes. His mother would fold hers first, and then his father’s wrinkled pants and shirts. None of that is here anymore, and his parents aren’t here. He looks at the room and remembers their smiling faces.

It turned out strangely. The promising offer his father accepted pushed Henry to accept his own promising offer. When the family moved to Boston for his father’s career growth, the prospect turned into the death of both parents and the collapse of the family. The boy left for his bright future as a complete orphan. He wishes he could see them now. As he leaves the room, he hears the distinctive sound of the lacquered doors of the wardrobe opening—the one his mother used for her evening outfits. She and his father rarely went out anywhere, but that didn’t stop her from walking around the house looking glamorous.

Henry turns around. His mother stands by the wardrobe. Just as she was on the day before they moved. She’s choosing a dress. This was always important to her. Her son stands silently, not wanting to bother or distract her. She chooses a green dress with white gores. The guy goes out to wait outside while she gets dressed. She steps out of the room happily in her new, bright dress. She bought it especially for the move. It looks excellent with a pearl necklace and earrings. Of course, the pearls aren’t real. For real jewels and a better life, his parents made the decision to move.

They bump into each other in the hallway. He wants to say hello, to tell her how much he missed her, and he prepares for a hug, but his mother walks right past, not noticing her son. His father arrives in a new suit. In a minute, they will go to the banquet celebrating his transfer to the new position. The branch manager personally oversaw the paperwork and organized the celebration in his father’s honor.

If they’re leaving, then he must be in his room. He cautiously opens the door. He doesn’t want to shock his younger self, what if he sees him? He peeks in. No one, it seems. Oh, right, he went out for a walk with friends. What a memory the old man has. He totally forgot. There are posters on the walls. Most are from comics; he loved reading them. He was never interested in regular books. They reminded him of the school curriculum and caused an aversion. Not much has changed in forty-eight years. Strange, Odell isn’t here either. Did he lose his new best friend? He sits on the bed. He remembers the stash under the mattress.

He takes out a photograph from a small pocket sewn to the bottom—a picture of the girl he liked since the second grade. He wasn’t interested in the first grade at all, but romantic life began in the second. Flirting, tugging on pigtails, snatching her backpack, throwing a pen at her. Everything changed with age. And the flirting became completely different, but not on his part.

Now the girl is dating a guy two years older. You can’t argue with cruel fate here. Or reality, he doesn’t even know what it is. Weakness, more like. He just gave up the girl he loved. Or maybe not just like that. Or maybe she wasn’t the one he loved. Who knows. If he gave her up, then he didn’t love her. Ah, forget her. He hides the photograph back in the stash.

He lies on the bed, putting his hands under his head. A large poster of his dream car is glued to the ceiling. That love never faded over the decades. And even now, he wants that four-wheeled beauty. He smiles sadly, imagining how he could be driving it around the city now if things had gone differently. He wonders, if he wishes really hard, will it appear? He’ll have to ask Julius. Julius! Right! He forgot about his friend again. He still hasn’t gotten used to him. He gets up from the bed and looks around. He’s definitely not in the room. He didn’t find him anywhere in the house. What if...

He looks out the window. Yes, he’s here. He’s lying peacefully on the soft, lush lawn, as green as his mother’s dress. He’s basking in the spring sun. He even seems to be sleeping. What a rogue; here the guy is searching everywhere, worrying. Henry leaves the room and goes downstairs.

His parents haven’t left yet. They are happily hugging in the kitchen, kissing, professing their love for each other. He never saw them like this. And then he never saw them at all. He tries not to get upset looking at the happiness that’s gone. He sighs heavily and walks out into the spring street. Julius lies like a star with his eyes closed, smiling. Henry looks at the sky. The sun is pleasant today. He lies down beside him. It’s warm, it’s nice.

“Odell?” Henry asks.

“Yes, Henry,” Julius replies, without turning.

“Why didn’t my parents notice me?”

“You saw them?” Odell calmly guesses.

“Yes,” Henry admits, a little confused.

“Did you think about them before you arrived?”

“Probably,” there’s uncertainty in his voice. “I had a lot of thoughts during the transfer.”

“They didn’t pay any attention to you?”

“They didn’t notice me at all,” Henry is almost indignant. “You said you could think about who you wanted to see and talk to them.”

“I’m not taking back my words,” Odell answers calmly. “How did they die?”

“No one knows. They say it was an accident.”

“An accident,” Julius repeats with a smirk.

“That’s what they say,” Henry reminds him, unsure.

“That’s what they lie about,” Odell smirks.

“Why do you think that?”

“You can’t talk to those who burned in the hellfire here, like suicides, for example. Or those who died a violent death.”

“Why is that?” Henry asks, startled and surprised.

“With hellfire, you understand, you can’t argue.”

“I understand,” the novice agrees.

“Suicides are considered murderers. And they also burn in the flames of Hell,” Julius explains seriously.

“Why is that?” Henry asks for clarification.

“Life is given to them for temporary use, not as a gift. It is the most expensive thing this world can give to that world. A suicide kills what doesn’t belong to them. And that is two sins at once. Against the Creator and against life itself.”

“And what about violent death?” This option interests the guy more.

“The slain don’t enter this world.”

“Do they also burn in the flames?”

“No, of course not. They have completely different conditions. The poor souls are sent for long-term soul recovery in places better than these. There’s nothing from the past that could hurt them, no hint of the future that could wound them, and no ties to loved ones and family, because their death might have happened because of them.”

“Don’t they know here how they died?”

“In the case of the slain, they know that death occurred. How exactly, no one knows. The soul is blocked and keeps everything to itself. That’s why recovery is needed, just like with humans.”

“Now I understand,” Henry understands, but only vaguely grasps. “So, those weren’t my parents I saw?”

“Those weren’t their souls; those were your memories.”

“Then they were murdered?” Henry realizes, disheartened.

“It seems so,” Odell replies sympathetically. “Most likely,” he adds quietly.

“How can I find out?” the guy asks decisively.

“I doubt it’s possible. You heard me, access to them is forbidden,” Julius reminds him seriously.

“Yes, I heard,” Henry looks up at the sky.

“Don’t worry, we’ll think of something,” Julius encourages him. “Let’s lie here a bit, and we’ll definitely come up with something.”

“What can we come up with?” Henry isn’t calmed, vividly recalling the feeling of losing his parents.

“We could try to delve deeper into your memories,” Odell suggests. “To see how everything happened, and then come back here.”

“Then let’s do it!” Henry agrees enthusiastically.

“That’s only in theory. I’ve never done that,” Julius doubts.

“Let’s try. Please. I have to know this.”

“Fine. Ready?”

“Yes, let’s go!”

Julius touches Henry. They transport to a Boston street. Henry’s parents carry their belongings into the new apartment the company rented for them. Henry helps with the boxes. It is too early. They transport further ahead. This is the first workday for Phil, Henry’s father. They receive him warmly. Richard, Henry’s future adoptive father, also starts work for the first time that same day. This is the only time Henry sees both of his fathers at once. The new employees quickly settle in and find common ground. They are assigned to the same office. They become friends. Everything goes perfectly. They need to look further ahead. They transport one month forward.

Phil drives up to Tammy. He picks up Henry’s mother from work. Together, they drive to a restaurant to celebrate their first month on the job. Their son stays home. It is late. They pull up to the restaurant, and Phil parks. He helps Tammy out. Police sirens sound in the distance. The couple pays no attention. It is a usual occurrence for a big city, as Phil has been told at work. The sirens grow closer.

Curiosity keeps Henry’s parents in the street. They have never seen a real police chase. The restaurant is nearby, on the street corner. The criminals’ car speeds through a red light and crashes into vehicles driving lawfully. At that speed, the impact is immense. The trunk flies up into the air. The car flips over near Phil and Tammy. Even this does not make them take cover in the restaurant. Spectacles always attract and captivate viewers.

The criminals scramble out through the side windows of the car. The police arrive. A shootout begins. One of the bandits has an automatic rifle. Instead of neutralizing him, a police officer shoots him in the leg. The falling criminal fires a burst of rounds as the barrel moves. It is not difficult to guess who the victims of the stray bullets will be. Henry’s parents are the only ones standing in the street. The trusting family people from a small town do not know that this is how it will all end. They are accustomed to watching such things on television but do not think it happens in real life. The bullets of reality kill living naivety and innocence. At that moment, Henry becomes an orphan.

The police neutralize the criminals. The city is safe again. More police and ambulances arrive. It is too late; there is no one left to help. Phil and Tammy die on the spot. The wounded criminals are arrested. The police inform Richard of the incident because Phil’s notebook lists his name first with his phone number.

The coworker immediately arrives at the scene. A police officer recounts everything in detail. They ask him to identify the victims. Richard is severely distressed. They had just begun to be friends as families. He tells the police about Henry. The boy has a choice: guardians or social services. Richard then makes an important decision for everyone: he takes the boy in.

They are together at Henry’s parents’ funeral. It is difficult to be at any funeral, but the hardest are the funerals of one’s parents, especially at an age where one doesn’t even have time to consider their possible death. Only a few people gather. Just the coworkers from the new office. Few people from their hometown can travel such a long distance, especially on a weekday. Everyone has things to do, work.

The boy endures the ritual stoically. The priest says something, but Henry does not understand a word. Words now mean the least to him. When everyone disperses, the boy stays for a short time with his birth parents. He wants to talk to them one last time. But, it turns out, he has nothing to say. The profound pain of loss cannot be conveyed so simply; it can only be felt.

He watches his parents in silence for the last few minutes. Four men slowly lower two lacquered, reddish-brown coffins with golden railings to the bottom of the graves. The bouquets of flowers lying on the lids of the last homes disappear somewhere down below. Henry’s strong character does not allow him to cry in front of everyone, but this moment forces him to realize that his parents are leaving forever; he cannot get them back. He lost them too early. Parental support is what he needs the most now.

Richard approaches. They stand for another minute and leave before the graves start to be filled. It is the hardest moment. A child definitely shouldn’t see something like that. It may seem to some that at twelve years old, a person is already grown up and ready for anything, able to endure everything. Maybe that is so. But it is better not to leave such memories in a child’s soul. Near their parents, children will always be children, no matter their age.

The guy is raised for ten years by the family of the man who was supposed to work and be friends with Phil. Henry quickly settles into the familiar family. They always treat him well. He tries to be home less often so as not to bother his new family; therefore, he lives essentially on his own. Be that as it may, the guy is genuinely grateful to the kind people who saved him from family loneliness. He thanks them for being there when he needed them most.

Upon reaching adulthood, he immediately leaves his adoptive family. Not because he dislikes it there—on the contrary, Richard’s family becomes a real family to him. Henry simply does not want to be a burden anymore. He goes to work. He changes many places. Interviews become so frequent and familiar that the guy eventually becomes interested not in getting a job but in the technology of recruitment. He reads books on human resource management and talks in interviews not to get a job but to learn new things from HR managers.

Not everyone agrees to spend their time on the guy. Sometimes, he finds true managers who gladly talk about their work and the main principles of communicating with people. Books contain many important things, but nothing can replace live communication in the human sphere. The profession of Human Resources Manager so permeates Henry’s mind that he now sees no other life for himself.

Having gained valuable knowledge and experience from others, he decides to try his hand at the profession. He wants to gain his own experience. He goes through many interviews again. Without a professional degree, no one wants to hire the guy. He goes to college not just for the diploma, as is often the case. He wants to deepen his knowledge. He graduates with honors.

Upon a professor’s recommendation, he gets into a huge firm. Personal connections determine his future destiny. It is this corporation that offers Henry career advancement in the form of a transfer to a promising position in a new branch, where the guy works for the next thirty-seven years.

Even though it may seem that the years passed almost in vain, he at least did what he loved. A youthful interest eventually becomes his life’s work. Be that as it may, Henry now regrets nothing. It could have turned out much worse. After looking at this pivotal period in his life, he nods to Julius. They transport back to the lawn near the house.