When You Reach Me

Difficult Things

That night, Richard stayed with me while Mom kept Louisa company at the hospital. Sal had a broken arm and three broken ribs, and he had to spend the night for observation.

Richard ordered a pizza. “Do you feel like talking?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “Maybe later.”

He nodded. “Just let me know.”

After dinner, I closed my door and sat on my bed with your notes spread out in front of me. “Think,” my brain said. “Think, think, think.” I got out my ropes, tied some knots, and tried to start at the beginning.

The trip is a difficult one. I will not be myself when I reach you.

The trip is a difficult one, and I must ask my favors while my mind is sound.

And then there was the strangest line of all: The trip is a difficult one; I can carry nothing, and a man can only hold so much paper in his mouth.

I fingered the notes, so small and brittle. Had you carried them in your mouth?

The trip is a difficult one.

Difficult enough to scramble a persons mind and leave him raving on a street corner? What kind of a trip did that to someone? Who would deliberately take a trip like that?

My mind began a little chant: “And why? Why, why, why?”

To save Sal. That’s why you stood on our corner day after day. That’s why you were always doing those kicks into the street—you were practicing. It was all to save Sal. Because, somehow, you knew.

Time travel is possible, Marcus said. In theory.

I am coming to save your friend’s life, and my own.

“Well,” I said out loud to no one, “you saved Sal’s life, but you failed miserably with goal number two.”

Richard knocked on the door, and I jumped.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you might want to come out and have some grapes.”

Richard had brought me grapes. We watched some TV and ate a giant bowl of the most perfect tart green grapes in the world. They were definitely not from Belle’s.

It was nice, just sitting there watching TV together. My brain stopped asking me questions. I saw Richard glance over at me a couple of times, but he didn’t ask me any questions either. And that was nice, too.

When I fell asleep on the couch, Richard turned the TV off and said I should go to bed. But once everything was quiet, I couldn’t sleep. Your words were swimming in my head.

Please deliver your letter by hand. You know where to find me.

Louisa had told me that some of her old people died with nothing and no one. She said they were buried on an island somewhere north of Manhattan. I figured that was where you would be soon.

I was still worrying and feeling a little frozen when my bedroom door opened and Mom came over and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Sal is going to be fine,” she whispered, putting one arm around me. “The tests are done. He’ll probably be home in the morning.”

I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that if I spoke, I would tell her too much—I would tell her about the notes, Richard’s shoes, the two-dollar bills, everything. And I thought that if I did tell her, somehow Sal might not be okay anymore. So instead I just held on to Mom’s arm, and she stayed right there until I fell asleep.