Henry was never all too popular.

He kept to himself. Why?

He was mocked. He was always mocked. Because of his father. Who was proud, so proud of what he did, driving for UPS, a stout and balding man of forty-five when Henry was sixteen. Henry's whole graduating class, since he was little, knew of him - he delivered for their families and was so self-satisfied that people couldn't help but think of it as something to make fun of.

They laughed at little Henry Tem for being who he was.

His closest friend at sixteen, "Angie" Jasper, was near him when talk of him was circulating. Angelina'd been almost popular, toting Henry around as a sort of pity garnering status symbol - but she knew this was the moment she'd have to abandon him.

"Ha - ferrety little mail boy."

"But... But aren't ferrets, er, cool? Sure, they might be a bit stinky, but-"

The classroom erupted into hysterics, all doubled over, laughing, laughing at Henry.

So he wanted revenge.

He'd do what he could, and what he could-

was steal.

See, as a ten year old, Henry was a crafty little tyke, even as his family crumbled. His mother wanted a divorce, and she got one, leaving Henry ferried between houses, his dad's townhouse and his mom's city apartment. He wanted to have things from both houses. So he did.

In a pocket of his backpack, he kept things, a pair of his mom's silver earrings, one of his dad's cufflinks, pencils, pens, paperweights, snacks, a stuffed teddy, all stolen from either of his households sometimes right under their noses.

Sixteen year old Henry Tem looked down at the closet he'd hid the old ratty backpack in which was by then stuffed with trinkets and paraphernelia and odds and ends, thinking about what- and how- to steal from his classmates.

He would start small. Pencils. All of them, in the whole classroom, and leave them all in the teacher's desk drawer so that she could look at every one of them with a scowl of disdain.

Then papers. Binders. Notebooks. Homework, then give it back so they'd have to turn it in late.

Maybe even go bigger. Pants from a gym locker, underwear if today was a particularly bad one. Steal a chair off a desk, hide it in a supply room. Innocuously smile, flash sad puppy-dog eyes at the teacher, I didn't do it, why would I?

And then the finishing touch.

Angelina's prom dress.

Two years later, Henry Tem, chubby, ferret-loving Henry Tem, forgotten and laughed at and forgotten again, held a cardboard box in his hands and made his getaway early in the bright, dewy morning and clambered into his father's van as if nothing was wrong at all whatsoever, which technically - yes - was true.

It had actually been easy to find Angelina's house - he passed it every day riding with his father delivering parcels. He'd even seen her come up to the door with a classmate in tow early in the morning one day, both rumpled and bedheaded.

So he'd scoped out the house dressed in mailman's attire.

He knew she'd bought the dress a week ago, when the halls were buzzing with pictures and snippets of video and Henry had peeked over a shoulder and seen Angelina twirling in a red gown and giggling to the lucky girl who'd accompanied her into the dressing room.

And he'd seen it glittering from her window - she'd hung it over the door of her walk in closet, and most likely displayed it to all who came over.

It was really almost too easy to blend into the crowd that filtered into her door one night, as she hosted a party, just another nobody. Walk in, find his way to her room, unfold a cardboard box, scoop the dress into it, hear two sets of footsteps, close the closet door behind him, wait - dear holy hackey sack, the sounds he'd heard kept him retching for weeks - yes, wait, and make his escape, leaving the box sealed, faux stickered, wrapped in a plastic bag, and hidden under a bush in Angelina's lawn.

He picked it up the next bright, dewy morning on his rounds, alone this time, nothing amiss save for the beautiful red dress.

What happened after that?

Not much.

Sure, he did all that, but he didn't... Do anything.

He just laid back and watched as his life passed by him.

It's been thirty-eight years and he still lives in the same house and drives the same mail truck.

And for the last few years, he's had a strange feeling that something big is about to change.