In the dusty light of the attic, Harmon sat cross-legged, which he really shouldn’t have been doing on account of his knees. Tear after tear made their slow courses down his face, a face no longer young but not quite what one might call old. Tanya found him there, clutching a ragged piece of paper amidst boxes from his childhood.

“Harmon,” she asked softly, “What is it, hon?”

He shrugged and proffered the paper, “I found my list.”

Though she took it she didn’t read, keeping her eyes on her husband, “What is it, dear?”

Again the shoulders rose and fell before he said out of a sigh, “My bucket list…from when I was a kid.”

“Stuff you wanted to do, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Feeling emboldened, probably on account of the wine she’d just had, Tanya suggested in her most encouraging voice, “Let’s pick one and and do it.”

“Can’t,” came the glum reply.

Rather than press or ask for an explanation, she began to read the list to herself, “#1: Become super hero. #2: Learn to breath underwater. #3: Meet an alien…”