My heart cracked, too. It was so good to be there.
I never wanted
to be gone.
90.
now
The plastic letters that go up on the marquee are bigger than you’d think. They’re larger than your hand, like eight inches tall. Ours are covered in fine scratches that are hard to see unless you’re up close. The box they came in disappeared long ago, so we keep them in a plastic storage bin, where they slide and scatter around. Every now and then someone tries to organize them. But it would all become a mess again.
It drove Alex nuts.
There’s the bin I want.Marqueeis written on the outside in thick black Sharpie that is starting to fade.
I open the bin.
Crap.
The letters are all gone.
Of course they are.
I start to laugh. “It’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got it now.”
Wherever you might be hiding.
Whoever you might be.
However many of you there might be.
I’ve gotyounow.
91.
Today was my birthday. For it I got:
–A bike (from Mom and Dad)
–A box of my favorite cereal (from Dad) (he does this every year) (my favorite is Apple Jacks but you’re allowed to change it if you want to) (next year I might pick Cocoa Puffs)
–A book (from Mom)
–A scooter (from Grammy and Papa)
–A bag of Skittles (from Jack)
And this is the best part of all. I saved it until the end.
I also got:
–a cat.
—Journal entry by July Fielding, age nine.
92.
now
