My boss, Annette, knocked once and entered my office. She found me slumped on my desk, staring into space forlornly. Even more than usual. I was listening to a recording of an angry man's voice. You're an irredeemable piece of shit, he said, or words to that effect. Everybody hates you. Except me. I don't hate you because I never even think about you, anymore, and I'm happy now. You're dead to me and I have no feelings at all about you. Moreover, Dad was right: you're probably on drugs. And mentally ill. You're an unemployable loser and—
Now Annette, too, looked forlorn. "What exactly am I listening to?"
"Oh. You're listening to my speakerphone, which is playing my voice-mail, which contains a message from my sister, who held her phone up to her answering machine and then played a message our brother left for her. Which is what you're hearing. She decided to share."
"And this seems normal to you?"
"Normal depends on your frame of reference."
Annette has since invited me to holidays with her family. They're amazing people. They adore one another. They actually root for, not against, one another's success.
The wonder.