I’m really sorry about your wife and I know it’s hard for you to talk about so I’m giving you my book about death. Now you can read it and maybe it’ll help you.* It helped Mom. She read it to me like a kajillion times and I know it by heart. I think she was reading it for herself, anyway, because I didn’t even know my grandfather that well since he died the day I was born. I just know what he said about the universe being magic, and that he loved me, and to take care of Mom and Pookie. And maybe not to burn marshmallows but I’m still not 100 percent sure about that one.
The best page is the one that’s wrinkled because that’s where Mom always cried but she said she felt better afterward. Mom stopped reading the book to me years ago so she obviously doesn’t need it anymore. That’s because she TALKS to Granddad instead. Remember that it’s OK to talk to people who aren’t around because they’re here, really, just in another form. They never actually leave us, which is pretty magical when you think about it. They’re in the stars. So is Mrs. X. You really need to talk to her. If you don’t, she’s going to be awful lonely. She misses you.**
Your friend,
Julian***
*I bet you’re thinking, “What does a kid know about death, anyway?” but I do know how you feel, sort of. To me, talking about swimming is like talking about death. So let’s not talk about it. It’s OK, anyway, because I wear my life jacket all the time. Mom would freak if she knew the real reason. Even Joan would be worried. Joan acts like nothing bothers her but she worries about stuff, too. I know because she stress eats a LOT.
**Remember that she can see you so stop pinching your nose. It looks like you’re picking it.
***Isn’t it cool how your wife’s name, Julia, is almost the same as mine only you add an n ? Like the n factor in math? ****
****The n in math stands for something that’s variable, which means it can change. *****
*****Change can be hard but it’s also a good thing. Like making a new friend. Which would be really good for you right now. And for me.
I put the package at his front door in case it rains because the patio doesn’t have any covering. Now that I’ve taught Mr. X something, it’s time to work on my own family.
I spend all morning making custom star charts showing where in the sky the Dog Star is. If I can’t get my family to look through my telescope, I can at least give them each a cheat sheet. Maybe they’ll learn something before they even realize it. That’s what happened when Pookie went to The Martian movie because Matt Damon was in it. Now she thinks Mars is cool. Only Mars, she says, but it’s a start. Thanks, Matt Damon!
When I’m done, I fold over each chart and personalize the outsides. On Pookie’s, I write, “Important Fashion Information!” and on Joan’s, “New Paramedic Regulations!” and on Mom’s, “How to Beat the Winter Blues!”
This past February, I set up my telescope inside by the living room window so Mom wouldn’t have to go out in the cold. She loved it. And she had to admit I was right that the sky is beautiful no matter how gloomy the days are. She was amazed when she saw the Dog Star. I told her it was the brightest star in our galaxy and she smiled and said, “Just like you.”
That’s when I knew I wanted to be in the Dog Star forever so Mom could always see me even in the worst month with the darkest days, and be happy.
STAR STUFF
I’d like to find which star Mrs. X is in so I can tell Mr. X, but I need to learn more about her first. All I really know is that she died of cancer. So maybe she’s in the constellation Cancer? There are a lot of stars in Cancer, including two star clusters that are Messier Objects (M44 and M67). M44 is the only one I can pronounce because it’s in English: the Beehive Cluster. Cancer must be pretty full since that’s how a lot of people die. I hope they’re having a huge party up there with lots of marshmallows.
On the other hand, my grandfather died of a heart attack, which is how I almost died even though I was a baby because it was a heart condition not an old person’s kind of heart attack, but there’s no heart constellation I’ve heard of. I’m pretty sure he’s in the Wild Duck Cluster of stars because Mom says he liked ducks a LOT.
Once I name a comet I’ll be in all the science books and websites and everyone will remember me. If I don’t find a comet, which I will but even if I don’t, at least I’ll be in Sirius so I can watch over my family and they can see me, too. I just hope they read their star charts before then.
I haven’t seen Mr. X for a few days. I hope he’s not mad at me for sending him the death letter. If he is I hope he gets over it soon because I miss having someone to talk to. I can’t talk to anyone in my family. They are super massively stressed. Even Joan. I think Joan asked to work extra hours on purpose. The only times she’s home is when I’m already asleep.
None of them say anything to me about their star charts.
Mom’s is in a pile of papers on her desk.
Joan’s is probably in her Outback because that’s where she puts a lot of her stuff so Mom doesn’t have to rant about how messy she is and Joan doesn’t have to hear it.
I find Pookie’s star chart crumpled up in the trash.
Ever since Pookie heard she can’t go to drama camp she has been making up for it by acting out her own drama camp right here. Mom is so tense she jumps when you say her name, even if you say it in the quiet yoga way and not the scream-y Pookie way.
This morning I told Mom she should be meditating regularly and she snapped at me, saying, “Are you meditating regularly?” and when I said yes she was even crankier.
I haven’t actually been meditating, but at least I’ve thought about it. I read that when you think about doing something your brain goes through the motions almost like you’re actually doing it so I was almost telling the truth when I said I’m meditating.
I look at Pookie down by the lake. She says the only saving grace about this deadwater is the lake and now that we’re poor and have to move she won’t even have the water part, just the dead.
I think it’s an excuse to lie on the dock, which is her new Moody Place, and not do any work. I wish Mom wouldn’t let her get away with it. If Joan were back from her thirty-six-hour shift at the station Pookie wouldn’t try this because Joan won’t put up with the princess crap, only she uses another word that means the same thing.
Mom and I work on house projects together, like painting the porch railings and fence, planting tomatoes out back, and planting flowers in front. It’s not exactly quality time. Even when I talk she’s not listening. When I ask her a question like when can I show her Sirius she says, I don’t know or, Later, or even, That’s nice. It’s like talking into the vacuum of deep space or to a thirteen-year-old. It’s the way Pookie acted after she left being normal (twelve) and before she became a galactic nightmare (fourteen).
Pookie comes in from the dock just as I’m finishing sweeping the porch and flops on one of the lounge chairs.
“Hey! You’re tracking sand! I already swept that part.”
“Get me my earbuds, squirt.”
“Why?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because I need them. Duh!”
Mom pushes the screen door open and sticks her head out. “Oh, there you are, Pookie.” She says it like she’s actually happy to see her. “Would you mind helping me with—”
“I have a headache!” Pookie yells and lies back on the lounge chair, groaning.
Mom sighs. “OK. Can I get you anything?”
“A strawberry kiwi smoothie. And,” she says, glaring at me, “I need my earbuds.”
Mom stays calm, which is pretty good for Mom. “Maybe later, when you’re feeling better, you can—”
“I can what? Do more work for you like an enslaved person? Jeez!”
Mom squishes her lips together and goes back inside.
“That’s all I am to them,” Pookie mutters, “an enslaved person.”
I’m not an expert on enslaved persons, but I’m pretty sure they don’t get to skip work just by faking a hea
dache, or lie on the porch while someone makes them a strawberry kiwi smoothie, or order someone to get their earbuds for them so they can listen to music on their phone.
She glares at her phone. “I don’t even have a data plan!”
She doesn’t have a data plan because Mom and Joan cut her off after she did something really bad on the Internet, and I don’t know what it was but it had to do with finding her dad. They said she couldn’t have Internet back until she can use it in a positive way. Basically, that means when she stops being the dark energy that’s sucking up the entire universe.
“Pookie, if you weren’t in such a bad mood—”
“This is not about me, stupid!” She sighs. “It’s never about me.”
What is she even talking about? It’s always about her! “How come you’re so mad all the time?”
She pulls her sunglasses down enough to glare at me. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re, like, from another planet. Maybe that’s why you love your telescope so much.”
Mom turns the blender on and I remember that she and Joan got me my telescope when Pookie went supernova and wouldn’t spend time with me anymore. And then I think of something—what if Pookie is jealous of my telescope? And how I don’t spend time with her anymore? I never thought of that!
“Do you want to look through it tonight?”
“No, I don’t want to look through your telescope.” She turns to me and even though the blender is pulsing I hear her loud and clear. “I’m not part of your universe anymore, and the sooner you accept that the better.”
“We used to be best friends, remember?”
“That’s over.”
“Why?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re so clueless.”
“Then tell me!” I yell over the blender noise. “Please?”
The blender stops and everything is still. For a second, Pookie looks like she’s going to talk to me the way she used to, but then she shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Yes, I would. I’m not stupid.”
She throws her head back and laughs.
I stare at her for a minute and when she finally looks at my face she stops laughing. “No offense, squirt, but—”
I yank the screen door open just in time for Mom to come through with her smoothie. “Thanks, honey.” She doesn’t even notice how mad I am, that my heart is practically pushing itself out of my chest and then there’ll be this empty hole in there where the nice Pookie used to be.
Mom follows me into the kitchen. “Can you get her earbuds, honey?”
“Really?” Pookie’s glare must be contagious, because I’m giving one to Mom.
She sighs. “Julian, I’m just trying to make her happy.”
“You can’t make people happy, Mom. They have to find the happiness in themselves.”
She smiles even though her eyes are drooping. “You are so smart.”
“Not really. We learned that in yoga class, remember?”
“Oh. Right. Honey, you’ve done enough work for today. Why don’t you take a break?” She sighs again. “I’ll get Pookie’s earbuds for her.”
I wish it were dark so I could see the cosmos now and calm down because I’m kind of annoyed. Instead, I ride my bike really fast and hard for seven miles, which is supposedly a lucky number but it doesn’t feel lucky, just sore legs on the outside and still annoyed on the inside. Why can’t my family even get their act together enough to look through a telescope? Asciugamano!
I go up to my tree room and fill in my chart of Messier Objects, including the Beehive Cluster (M44). I’ve found almost two-thirds of the Messier Objects now, although not necessarily in order. It helps calm me down a little bit to record them all.
I’m just writing down M74, a galaxy in the constellation Pisces, when I hear a splash, and even though I don’t like looking at the lake, I can’t help it. What’s weird is that a bunch of fish are jumping and splashing in the water. They dance from the middle of the lake to the other side. Why would they do that? And how come I’ve never noticed it before? And how come I only noticed it when I was writing down M74, Pisces, which means fish?
I stare across the lake and see the GROTTO WITH BVM gas station sign, just barely. An eagle flies past the sign, or I think it’s an eagle, anyway, which reminds me that I forgot to record M16, the Eagle Nebula. I fill it in, thinking how cool it is that I just saw an eagle when a butterfly lands right on my page. And guess where it lands? On M6. The Butterfly Cluster.
COINCIDENCE VERSUS MAGIC
People always say things are just a coincidence and it’s silly to believe it’s anything more than that. They even say if scientists can’t explain things, then they’re not real. But just because we can’t explain something doesn’t mean it’s not real. Maybe we just don’t understand it yet, and someday we will. And then we’ll understand how I know when my sister’s upset even though she’s somewhere else, or to get my family a flashlight before the electricity goes out, or that my grandfather told me he loves me even though I was just being born.
Whatever it is, you shouldn’t ignore stuff like that. It’s your brain trying to show you the magic. If you keep ignoring it, it’ll get tired of showing you the magic and you’ll end up not seeing it anymore, just like my family. And Mr. X.
What I notice next is not so magical. It’s Pookie. Back in the water. I guess her headache has miraculously gone away. She keeps bending down, picking up rocks from under the water, staring at them, and hurling them toward the house. Like the Oort Cloud flinging comets from the outer solar system toward Earth, trying to whack us.
I really want to talk with Mr. X again. I peek in from his patio but he’s not there, so I walk around his house just in case he’s out front. I even ring his doorbell and knock on the front door, which I normally never do because, like I said, it reminds me of Halloween, not in a good way but a scary way. Even nice people dress up and try to scare kids on Halloween, and every time I press a doorbell I think of our neighbor in DC who was nice except on Halloween when he wore this creepy mask and jumped at you, screaming. I don’t know why kids thought it was funny. Well, not all of them. If you were under six, or me, then you were scared.
There’s no answer at his door so I walk down his front stairs and that’s when I notice his garage. It’s like a little house with double doors and windows too high for me to see through. There’s something shut doors or closed boxes or sealed envelopes do to me: They make me want to open them. It’s like a magnetic attraction and I can’t stop myself. I know I shouldn’t open them but I have a heightened sense of responsibility most of the time so sometimes it’s OK to let myself be a regular kid.
When I open Mr. X’s garage door and look inside, my stomach gets instantly queasy. There’s no car in the garage. Instead, it’s a boat.
I stare at it without getting close to it. Why would he have a boat? I mean, I know he lives by a lake, but isn’t he too old to go in the lake? What if he drowned? It’s too dangerous.
“What do you think?” Mr. X asks, and I whirl around to see him.
“I don’t like boats. They make me seasick.”
“This is just a little thing. Touch it.”
“No, thanks.”
“It won’t make you sick if you touch it. But don’t bang on it or you might break it.”
Now he’s just teasing me and I glare at him.
“I’m serious. It’s made of Styrofoam.” He points to some big chunks of Styrofoam and a box that says FIBERGLASS CLOTH next to the boat. “I made it myself.”
“A boat? Made out of Styrofoam? Who would use something like that? In the water? That’s crazy!”
“It’s seaworthy. It’s covered in fiberglass cloth, but you still don’t want to gouge it. It’s so lightweight you could drag it to the water yourself and row across—”
“No way!”
“It’s easy to row a boat.”
“I know how to row. I used the rowing machine at Joan’s old firehou
se a kajillion times.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, like you know how to ride a bike.”
I stare at him. “I do ride a bike.”
He snorts. “A stationary bike.”
“So?”
“Tight leash,” he mutters, which is what Joan always says.
They can say what they want, but a stationary bike you can ride in the middle of the night or with your eyes closed, so it’s even better than a real bike. Just like a rowing machine is better than a real boat. Then you don’t have to get in the water.
“Maybe I’ll get you out in it some day.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing. I wouldn’t be caught alive in it, either.”
I shouldn’t have said dead because now he looks all sad again. He pinches his nose and stares at the boat so I look at it, too. And that’s when I see it, on the side of the boat. BEEHIVE. It must be Mrs. X! He must’ve named this boat after her because that’s what people do with boats.
“Beehive!” I can’t help saying it out loud. I even touch the boat and feel the fiberglass coating. And lift it a little bit because I’m curious that way. It really is light. I turn to Mr. X. “Did you seriously call her Beehive?”
He shrugs. “It was a nickname. The first time I saw her she had a beehive hairdo.”
He looks over at a framed photo on the wall that I guess is Mrs. X when she was a LOT younger. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a giant bun and someone drew little bees buzzing around it and wrote across the top, “My Beehive.”
“Do you know what’s amazing?” I ask him. “I was looking at the Beehive Cluster of stars just last night!”
“Why is that amazing?”
“Because I was thinking about Mrs. X! I’m pretty sure that’s where she is now!”
He sighs, but more in a sad way than a mad way. “Look, kid—”
“And you really need to talk to her so she won’t be lonely. She misses you.”
He swallows several times and I’m afraid he’s going to cry so I say something silly. “Remember, she can always see you so make sure you’re not doing anything gross like picking your nose.” I grin.
The Incredible Magic of Being Page 6
