Crenshaw

45

I waited for her to tell me I was nuts.

“Look.” Marisol knelt down to scratch Beans behind the ear. “We don’t know everything. I don’t know why my brothers feel the need to burp the alphabet. I don’t know why I like to build things. I don’t know why there are no rainbow M&M’s. Why do you have to understand everything, Jackson? I like not knowing everything. It makes things more interesting.”

“Science is about facts. Life is about facts. Crenshaw is not a fact.” I shrugged. “If you understand how something happens, then you can make it happen again. Or not happen.”

“You want Crenshaw to go away?”

“Yes,” I said loudly. Then, more softly: “No. I don’t know.”

She smiled. “I wish I could see him.”

“Black. White. Hairy,” I said. “Extremely tall.”

“What’s he doing right now?”

“One-handed push-ups.”

“You’re kidding me. I’d love to see that.”

I groaned. “Look, it’s okay. Go ahead and call a psychiatrist. Have me committed.”

Marisol punched me in the shoulder. Hard.

“Ow!” I cried. “Hey!”

“You’re annoying me,” she said. “Look, if I were worried about you, I’d tell you so. I’m your friend. But I don’t think you’re going crazy.”

“You think it’s normal to have a giant kitty taking bubble baths in your house?”

Marisol puckered her lips like she’d just chewed a lemon. “Remember in second grade when that magician came to the school fair?”

“He was so lame.”

“Remember how you went behind the stage and figured out how he was making that rabbit appear? And then you told everybody?”

I grinned. “Figured it right out.”

“But you took the magic away, Jackson. I liked thinking that little gray bunny appeared in a man’s hat. I liked believing it was magic.”

“But it wasn’t. He had a hole in the hat, and—”

Marisol covered her ears. “I didn’t care!” she cried, punching me again. “And I still don’t care!”

“Ow,” I said. “Again.”

“Jackson,” Marisol said, “just enjoy the magic while you can, okay?”

I didn’t answer. We walked in silence, following our usual route. Past the little park with the fountain. Past the bike path I’d ridden a zillion times, back when I had a bike. Past the place where I broke my arm popping a wheelie. Past the sign that said WELCOME TO SWANLAKE VILLAGE.

“I read that swans stay together for life,” Marisol said.

“Usually,” I said. “Not always.”

“You and I will be friends for life,” Marisol said. She stated it like any nature fact. Like she’d just said “The grass is green.”

“I don’t even know where my family’s going.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can send me postcards. You can e-mail me from the library. You’ll find a way.”

I kicked at a stone. “I’m glad I told you about Crenshaw,” I said. “Thank you for not laughing.”

“I can practically see him,” said Marisol. “He’s doing backflips on my front lawn.”

“Actually, he’s doing the splits on your driveway.”

“I said practically see him.” She smiled at me. “Fun fact, Jackson. You can’t see sound waves, but you can hear music.”