The Incredible Magic of Being

by Kathryn Erskine

  And now I know why Mr. X made me think of Mimas.

  The next morning, Pookie wakes me up, which is not the best way to wake up.

  “Get down here, squirt! I’m not waiting all day. Next time, Mom can come watch her precious baby get down from the tree alive.”

  “So-rry,” I mutter, even though it’s not my fault Mom thinks I need a spotter just to climb down a ladder.

  “You have to try to catch our neighbor today,” she says.

  “I already did. I talked with him last night.”

  “And?”

  “He’s a little grump-ish but he’s OK.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I mean, what did he say about the addition?”

  “Oh. I forgot to ask him that.” I didn’t really forget. He felt too sad already and I didn’t want to make him sadder.

  “Jeez, Julian! Do I have to do everything around here?”

  “You don’t do anything around here.”

  “Shut up!”

  She marches over to his patio and bangs on the glass door so loudly it makes me cringe.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I wouldn’t, either.

  When we go in the kitchen, Mom tells her to change into something more presentable and Pookie narrows her eyes. She opens her mouth but then looks down at her boxers and faded World Wildlife T-shirt, turns, and stomps through the pantry up the back stairs. I think having sneaky back stairs is really cool, but Pookie probably isn’t even thinking about that. She’s probably still mad about drama camp.

  Mom looks stressed out so I play a game we used to play when I was little. “If you could pick one superpower what would it be?”

  She gives me a tired smile. “Boundless energy. How about you?”

  I grin and answer how I always do. “To go back in time, to fly, and to become invisible, even though that’s three.”

  “What would you do if you could go back in time?”

  This is where I have to give a different answer. I’ve already said stuff like see the dinosaurs or see Mom when she was a little girl, especially if she’s getting in trouble, or warn Hitler’s parents that they need to change their parenting style. “I’d go back and meet Mrs. X and see when Mr. X was happy.”

  “Who are Mr. and Mrs. X?”

  “Our neighbor. I call him Mr. X because of his funny last name and—”

  “Oh, like your music teacher. I remember.” She gives me a sad smile. “That’s very sweet of you, honey.”

  “I feel bad for him. I’d like to see him when he used to be happy.”

  She squeezes my hand and is quiet for a moment. “OK, how about flying?”

  I decide to plant a seed in her head. “I’d fly to the far edge of our Milky Way galaxy so I could see Sirius, the Dog Star, up close, instead of through my telescope.”

  Mom doesn’t pick up on the hint because she moves right on to the third superpower. “And let me guess, invisible so you could spy on Pookie?”

  “Sure,” I say, although I’d also spy on her and Joan, like when I heard them talking about me before we moved and Mom was worried that it was a long ambulance ride to the hospital and shouldn’t we live closer to a major medical facility and Joan said she should calm down or she’d pass her worry on to me so that’s how I know to act like nothing bothers me.

  I didn’t even have to be invisible for that one. Sometimes you just get lucky.

  “Julian, I’m looking for a pediatrician for you.”

  Asciugamano! I shouldn’t have thought about that medical conversation because I sent that idea straight from my brain to hers.

  Mom slams her mug down on the table and I jump. I think she’s mad at me for a second until I realize she’s looking past me. I turn around and see Pookie in the pantry doorway.

  She’s wearing a cropped T-shirt with a bra on the outside instead of the inside and her shorts that say EAST-ERN on the butt, which Mom hates, with the waistband rolled down so far you can see her underpants.

  Mom is clenching her teeth.

  Pookie smirks. “Isn’t it cool? And when we go to Italy for squirt to … do whatever it is he wants to go to Italy for—”

  “See the Leaning Tower of Pisa,” I remind her, “where Galileo—”

  “Then,” she cuts me off, “we can visit the fashion capitol, Milan.”

  “It’s not Milan,” I say, “it’s Milano.”

  “Milano is a cookie, stupid.”

  “It was a city first.”

  Mom has unclenched her teeth because she’s talking now. Loudly. “You are not wearing that outfit in public!”

  “If he can wear a life jacket and British pants, I can express myself, too!”

  “That’s different! Your outfit is indecent!”

  “My dad would let me wear this!”

  After that, the argument gets louder but I block my ears and quietly get up from the table and go out the kitchen door.

  I’m about to climb up to my room when Mom comes running outside. “Julian! Remember to always tell someone when you’re using the ladder.”

  Pookie stands in the kitchen doorway, rolling her eyes. “He wears that stupid life jacket all the time. He’d probably bounce.”

  “He would not bounce!”

  “Seriously, Mom, why don’t you put a helmet on him and wrap him in sofa cushions and be done with it?”

  “Don’t start on that—”

  I’m up in my room now so I can cover my ears and not have to hear any more. My stomach acid is already churning like a mini tsunami.

  When Mom and Pookie go back inside I uncover my ears but I can still hear them, so I decide to pedal my stationary bike because it makes its own noise until I hear Pookie slam her Jill door, several times, and I know the arguing is over, for now.

  I go back up to my tree room and I guess since I was awake a lot last night I actually fall asleep. I wake up kind of groggy. From my room I can see that Pookie is lying on the dock, Mom’s car is gone, and so is Joan’s, so she must still be at the station.

  And I see Mr. X sitting on his patio. I go down the ladder, run over to him, and sit on the glider chair. “Hi, it’s me again.”

  “Hi, you again.”

  He’s not smiling. It doesn’t feel like he’s mad, just sad. So I tell him what he needs to hear. “My mom talks to my grandfather all the time and he’s dead. Death cannot stop true love. That’s what Westley says in The Princess Bride, remember?”

  “What’s The Princess Bride?”

  “Only the best movie of all time! It was a book first, but in this case the movie is as good as the book.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Inconceivable! That’s a line from the movie. Inconceivable means something is so unbelievable it couldn’t possibly happen but actually the guy who says it is wrong because it does happen.”

  Mr. X stares at me.

  I shrug. “Sometimes things seems impossible but actually they’re not.”

  He still looks confused.

  “We have it on DVD, so you can watch it with me.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not a princess movie kind of guy.”

  “It’s not a princess movie. It’s a swashbuckling adventure. You’ll see. And it has a grandfather in it, too. I think he’s a lot like mine was.”

  Mr. X clears his throat. “Look, I’m sorry about your grandfather, kid, but I—”

  “Me too. I only got to see him once. When I was born. But I remember him.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “No, really. I almost died when I was born so I think we passed each other, only I came back and he didn’t. I think it’s how I got uni-sensory perception.”

  He doesn’t ask me what uni-sensory perception is, which most people do, but he’s probably wondering so I tell him.

  “Uni-sensory perception is sensing the universe. It’s not exactly hearing or seeing or feeling, it’s more like getting a sense of something, not in the regular way but a magical way. It’s like picking up on nonverbal cue
s. For example, right now you’re kind of annoyed with me even though you’re not saying it.”

  Mr. X makes his grumbly sound.

  “Anyway, my grandfather told me three things when we passed each other: the world is a magical place, he loves me very much, and take care of my mom and sister. That was before Joan came along, but I’m sure he would’ve said to take care of her, too, even though Joan is pretty good at taking care of herself.”

  Mr. X is staring at me.

  “I think he told me one more thing as he passed but I’m not sure. I think it was, Never burn your marshmallows.”

  Mr. X squints his eyes at me like he can’t quite believe I’m real.

  “It could be true because once when we were making s’mores I burned my marshmallow and I said, Sorry, Granddad, and Mom just about went orbital because she said the one thing he couldn’t stand was the smell of burned marshmallows.”

  Mr. X still doesn’t say anything so I have to fill the black hole of silence.

  “I also remember what my grandfather looked like. Pookie says I only know because I’ve seen pictures of him, but she’s wrong. I knew what he looked like before that. I uni-sensed him. Nobody except Mom believes me, and I’m not even sure she really believes me. She just wants to believe me. But it’s true.”

  Mr. X pinches his nose. That’s what grown-ups do when they want to pick their nose but they’re in public. “Uh-huh, so your grandfather talked to you as you were being born.” He definitely sounds like he doesn’t believe me.

  “Actually, he didn’t talk to me. It’s uni-sensing. Like a Vulcan mind meld on Star Trek.”

  He makes his rumbly grumbling sound.

  “I know. Star Trek is just a movie, but it was a TV show before it was a movie, and in this case the books came after. But stuff that seemed impossible on Star Trek when it first came out is now real, like tricorders and talking computers and even the holodeck. Maybe even tractor beams. So just because we don’t understand something now doesn’t mean it’s not true or real. It only means we’re too stupid at the moment. Anyway, the point is Mrs. X can still—”

  “Julian.”

  I stop because he’s actually saying my name instead of kid. “What?”

  “No more talking about my wife.”

  “But if you—”

  “None. Understand?”

  “Not really. I understand you’re upset, but if you’d just listen—”

  He makes that grumbling sound in his throat. Really loud. Like a space shuttle taking off.

  “OK. I guess that’s enough for today. I’ll be back, though.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  I shake my head. “It took physicists forty-eight years to find the Higgs boson—that’s a tiny, tiny particle, smaller than an atom or quarks even—but they knew it had to exist so they kept looking until they found it. That’s how come I’m not giving up on finding a comet. I believe it’s there. I believe my grandfather is out there, too, even though I can’t see him now. And I believe that your … the lady I’m not supposed to mention who used to live in this house … is still around, too.”

  Mr. X pinches his nose again and makes his throaty grumbly sound so I leave, but after a few steps I turn back again.

  “I know I can be annoying sometimes but it’s for a good cause.”

  He looks confused, like he doesn’t know what the good cause is.

  It’s him! It’s to show him the magic of the universe again. He thinks all the magic went out of life when his wife died. I have to show him that’s not true.

  Mr. X may not realize he needs me, but I do. I can always uni-sense when people need me.

  * * *

  That night, I’m staring up at the full moon and noticing how it lights up everything and I think about how I don’t need my flashlight but my family does so I decide to bring it to them. Someone’s still awake because there’s a light on in the kitchen. Probably Joan. I know it seems weird to bring my family a flashlight when there’s already a light on in the kitchen, but I’ve learned not to question my uni-sensing even if I don’t understand it right away.

  When I get to the kitchen door I see it’s Pookie making chocolate milk, not Joan eating peanut butter. I can see through the window part of the door that she has a glass of milk and is looking in the fridge for the syrup.

  I open the door and Pookie whirls around.

  “Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

  “I wasn’t. I’m just bringing you guys a flashlight.”

  “We don’t need a flash—”

  Right then, the lights go out.

  Pookie doesn’t say anything, but once our eyes adjust to the dark I can see she’s glaring at me.

  Part of me wants to say, Told ya, but I’m not stupid. I just say it with my eyes, which annoys her even more. I know because when she grabs the flashlight out of my hand she makes a really loud orangutan noise, even though she uses the flashlight to find the chocolate syrup because otherwise she wouldn’t be able to see. I’m still standing there when she stomps through the pantry with her milk, goes up the stairs, and slams her Jill door.

  UNI-SENSING

  Pookie used to think it was cool that I was a uni-sensor, like knowing her bus broke down and making Mom pick her up even though Mom kept staring at me and asking me how I knew. Or checking out three books at the library that weren’t even on comets (they were on costumes through the ages) even though Mom looked at them funny, and I did, too, but it turns out Pookie needed them for a report that was due the next day. Or feeling that Pookie was having a really bad day and fixing two glasses of chocolate milk, pulling out her Matt Damon DVDs, and dragging the stuffed kiddie sofa in front of the TV and when she got home she said I was the best brother in the whole universe.

  After that she left our universe, but I’m still uni-sensing her and everyone else.

  It’s how I know Granddad and Mrs. X are up there in the stars. And Granddad has Mom to talk to him, but no one is talking to Mrs. X. She needs Mr. X. She’s probably scared and feeling all alone. When I figure out what star she’s in I’m going to tell her that I’ll get Mr. X to start talking to her really soon.

  I wake up and it’s still dark but I can see just fine like there’s a really bright streetlamp next to my tree room lighting up the house and yard and lake. It’s the moon. I can’t believe how bright it is! And the stars are popping like LEDs! It seems like a dream only it’s not. It’s like an out-of-body experience and it’s very exciting and awesome and if this is what it’s like to live in the stars I think it’ll be OK. I lie back down and look at Orion as if I’m seeing it from Sirius and it looks pretty cool from there, too.

  I walk in the kitchen for breakfast and Mom practically drops her coffee mug. “Joan!”

  “What?” Joan says, without looking up from the papers that are spread across the table.

  “It was your turn to see that Julian got down from that tree safely!”

  “Oh, look,” says Joan, her voice deadpan, “he’s down safely.”

  “But—”

  “Whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop,” Joan says. “The kiddo is—”

  “I’m not being helicopter-ish, Joan, I’m concerned—”

  “Michelle, he’s almost ten. The platform is less than ten feet off the ground. And he’s wearing a life jacket. He’d probably bounce.”

  I hear Pookie snort from the back stairs.

  Mom glares at Joan.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I say quickly. “Did you know that if you do too much for children it robs them of their self-esteem? You’re sending the message that they can’t cope and they start internalizing it.”

  Mom glares at me now. “Have you been reading my parenting books again?”

  “Well, they’re about me, aren’t they?”

  Joan smirks.

  “How do you know they’re not about me?” Pookie says, strutting into the kitchen and turning her head back and forth so we can see that she shaved the back except for
the gelled piece that sticks out like a spike.

  “Whoa! Cool! You look anime, Pookie!”

  She actually smiles. “What do you think, Joan?”

  “Fine by me,” Joan says, looking back at her papers.

  Pookie’s teeth clench. “Mom?”

  I notice Joan’s eyes slide sideways to look at Mom. Mom notices, too.

  “It’s … fine, honey, if … that’s what you want.”

  Pookie frowns. “I’m also thinking of getting my nose and tongue pierced. And a tattoo.”

  Nobody says anything. Probably because we all know that Pookie can’t stand needles, and the only thing she can’t stand more than needles is any kind of pain.

  She makes her orangutan noise and stomps into the pantry, yelling, “Nobody in this family cares about me!”

  Mom looks up at the ceiling. “Oh, Dad, I wish you were still here.”

  I think it’s cool that Mom talks to Granddad. I wish Mr. X would talk with Mrs. X so he could feel better. And so would she. That’s when it hits me. Like a comet piercing the sky. I know just what Mr. X needs.

  I run through the pantry to go to my room, not my tree room but the upstairs room, Jack. I almost trip over Pookie, who’s sitting at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry!”

  “Watch it, squirt! Where are you going, anyway?”

  “To Jack!”

  “Oh, jeez, are you back to imaginary friends again?” she yells.

  “Leave him alone,” Mom calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with talking things out with someone, even if that someone is imaginary.”

  “Jack, the room,” I call down the stairs, but I don’t know if they hear me. I don’t care, anyway, I’m on a mission. For a real friend.

  Hi, Mr. X,

  It’s me. Julian. From next door.

  I’m writing to you because some subjects are easier to write since it’s too awkward to talk about unless you’re in a car and the grown-up has to look at the road and you can look out the side window and no one has to see anyone’s face.