One of the police officers swore, but the other one said, “Might as well. We aren’t getting anything done standing in this hallway.” And they all walked away.
“Thank God.” The dentist let out a long breath. Marcus stood up, but the dentist said, “Sit down. She hasn’t gotten rid of them yet.”
Another fifteen minutes went by while Marcus looked at the floor, the dentist paced, and I stared out the window. Finally we heard Mom coming back down the hall.
“They’re gone,” she called, “open up.” I yanked the door open, and there she was with her hair pulled back, wearing a gray wool skirt and a matching blazer.
I flew at her and grabbed her around her tiny middle, almost knocking her down.
I felt her hand on my head. “Let’s try to figure this mess out. Who wants to talk first?”
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.
The $20,000 Pyramid
Richard, Louisa, and Sal are coming with us to ABC Studio TV-15 on West Fifty-eighth Street to see Mom try to win twenty thousand dollars.
“Miranda, can you get me my sweater with the little buttons?” Mom asks. She’s nervous, and her voice sounds too high. “If it’s chilly in there I won’t be able to concentrate.”
“Mom, it’s seventy degrees out,” I say.
“Exactly. They might have the air-conditioning on. I’m always too cold in air-conditioning.”
I get the sweater and check myself out again in Mom’s closet mirror. I have on new jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with flowers embroidered on the sleeves that I borrowed from Julia. Richard has even polished my shoes for me with his special shoe brush. I try to fluff my hair, but my brain says, “What in the world are you fluffing your hair for? You know your hair doesn’t fluff!” and I stop.
Richard buzzes from the lobby. Mom rushes to the intercom and yells, “We’ll be right down! And happy birthday!” We walk downstairs and stop at Sal and Louisa’s door, which flies open as if they’ve been standing right inside waiting for us.
“The big day!” Louisa says. “Big day, big day, big day!” She seems even more nervous than Mom.
I look at Sal, and he shrugs and says, “She’s been like this all morning.”
We are very quiet on the subway.
There are people in red blazers by the studio doors.
“Contestants to the left,” one of them says. “Audience to the right.” And suddenly I realize it’s time to say goodbye to Mom. She’s standing there looking terrified and holding on to her bag with her sweater and her extra clothes and her barrettes. I go over and hug her while Richard gives her a kiss and Louisa says “We love you” and Sal looks at the floor and says good luck.
“You’re going to win,” I say. “I know it.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Mom says, and then we watch her disappear behind a door.
We walk into the studio, which is like a theater with all the $20,000 Pyramid stuff up on the stage: Dick Clark’s podium is there, and the word screens that swivel back and forth during the speed round, and two empty chairs facing each other in the Winner’s Circle. Everything looks artificial and kind of gloomy in the dim light. I’m thinking that one good shove could probably knock the whole thing over.
There are a lot of people in the theater already, and we get seats about halfway back. They are red velvety seats, the kind you have to fold down before you sit on them.
A guy with headphones comes out and talks to the audience about when to clap and when to be quiet. He points to these metal boxes attached to the ceiling that light up like exit signs, only they say Applause instead of Exit. He explains that the signs will blink on and off to help us remember when to clap and when to stop. We have to practice with him: Clap, stop. Clap, clap, stop. It’s a little silly, but Louisa and Richard are taking it very seriously. Sal and I laugh and dare each other to clap at the wrong time.
The stage lights come on, and suddenly the whole set is glowing like July at the beach. Much more cheerful. Richard takes my hand. Dick Clark comes out and says hi to the audience and Louisa starts talking about how she has always liked Dick Clark, how he has always seemed like one of the nicest people on television, and how now that she’s seen him, she thinks she likes him even more. Isn’t it amazing, she asks, how he never seems to age? He looks just the same today as he did back in 1956. She says she might ask him for some autographs after the show for the old people at her nursing home, because she’s sure they would get a big kick out of that. Louisa is talking even faster than Mrs. Bindocker at the monthly tenant meeting. And then suddenly she is quiet. I look at her and see that she’s biting her lips.