When You Reach Me

Things You Line Up

It turned out that Belle was the one who had reported Marcus to the police. She’d seen the whole thing from her store window and thought that Marcus had chased Sal into the street on purpose. So Mom was able to get things sorted out. She got a statement from Sal, who had to sign it with his left hand because of his cast, and one from me, and one from Belle, and by the following week, the police had dropped the whole thing and Mom had dressed like a grown-up for three days in a row.

“You know, you look darn good in a suit,” Richard told her.

I figured she would give him some kind of lecture, but Mom took his hand and said, “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you, Mr. Perfect.” She looked happy, and it seemed so obvious at that moment that they should get married. But she still hadn’t even given him a key.

And then Mom hung up her suit, and I put all your notes in the box under my bed and didn’t look at them anymore. Annemarie had her birthday party with two cakes, an awful one that Julia and I made for her and a really good one her dad made.

Time passed. Annemarie and Julia helped me install my playground on Main Street, and Julia’s UFO finally got approved by Jay Stringer. I became Alice Evans’s regular bathroom partner—we worked out a secret signal so that she wouldn’t have to do the Mexican hat dance anymore. Marcus and I waved hello to each other, and we sometimes talked a little, except when he didn’t notice I was there, which was about half the time. In early March, we started rehearsing songs for graduation. I kissed Colin a few more times, and I suspected that Jay Stringer was working up the nerve to kiss Annemarie. I don’t think anyone dared to kiss Julia.

Sal’s cast came off and he started playing basketball in the alley again. A couple of times I waved at him from the window, and once he yelled up to say hi and ask if I wanted to check out his three-point shot, which he lined up for about five minutes and then missed. I clapped anyway, and he took a bow.

I tried to forget about the laughing man. I mean, I tried to forget about you. But it didn’t work. There was something left over: the letter I was supposed to write.

This is the story I need you to tell.

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

Trying to forget really doesn’t work. In fact, it’s pretty much the same as remembering. But I tried to forget anyway, and to ignore the fact that I was remembering you all the time.

And then, three weeks ago, Mom’s postcard came from The $20,000 Pyramid.

April 27th: Studio TV-15. The last proof.

That’s when I officially gave up the forgetting and started doing all this thinking. I have the story laid out in my mind now, as straight as it’s ever going to be.

And now I’m wondering if I should just write the letter, even though you’re dead and most likely buried on that island. I wonder if I should write it anyway, if maybe then I’ll be able to stop thinking about you, once and for all.