Invisible Inkling

Destroy This Postcard

Later that day I get a postcard from Wainscotting.

Wolowitz!

Everyone here calls me Alexander. They do not know that in reality I am a secret agent named Wainscotting.

Do not tell them, okay?

DESTROY THIS POSTCARD!

Your friend forever,

AW

Getting the card makes me miss Wainscotting. A lot.

But then I realize: I haven’t been thinking about him that much. Not all the time. Not the way I used to.

I’ve been busy, I guess.

With Inkling. With Chin after school. With my family.

I write back, on one of Big Round Pumpkin’s publicity postcards.

Alexander!

(I call you that to keep your secret.)

I thought I could not survive fourth grade without you.

And.

It.

Has not.

Been.

Pretty.

But: I am still here.

Friends forever,

HW

I walk to the mailbox with Inkling on my back. He gobbled up the squash I bought him earlier, but my new cash flow didn’t convince him to stay. He’s still leaving for Land o’ Pumpkins first thing Monday morning on the train. He wants to be there for Halloween. Apparently they have something called a Pumpkin-Carving Extravaganza, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“I guess there won’t be any address where I can send you postcards,” I say. “Will there?”

“Nah,” says Inkling. “I don’t think so.”

“Can you send me a postcard?”

“Maybe one. To let you know I’m okay.”

“That’s it? Just one?”

“Stamps are hard to come by.”

“I just—”

I don’t know what to say. I know I can’t ask Inkling to stay.

“Aw, Wolowitz,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Don’t get mushy on me, now.”

But I do get mushy.

I mean, I cry a little.

“I wish you a great time,” I finally tell him. “And a lot of really yummy pumpkins.”