Chapter Twenty-Four

Mr. Richards died in the night. He went to sleep and just never woke up. My mother says it is the best way to die.

“Look at it this way,” she said. “He didn’t have to suffer at all. That is all anyone can ever ask. He had a good death, a happy death. That is what I call it. Don’t feel too bad.”

I had never heard of a happy death. It is a new idea and I am not sure I like it or don’t like it. I will have to think it over.

The funeral was just me and Al and my mother and the super. Al’s mother and my father had to work. There wasn’t anyone else there except a couple of old ladies who probably liked to go to funerals.

The super found an address in Mr. Richards’s room that we told him was probably Mr. Richards’s daughter’s. He wrote her a letter telling her about Mr. Richards’s death but he never heard from her.

We have a new assistant super now. He is fat and has practically no neck and he looks like he could shovel snow for three days straight. He is always shooing the little kids on their tricycles away from the laundry room and he sometimes uses foul language. I hate him and so does Al. The thing I can’t stand is what Mr. Richards’s kitchen floor must look like with that man living there.

It happened about a month ago, or more, maybe. Actually, it was five weeks and four days. I know because I marked the day Mr. Richards died on my calendar. I put a black circle around the day.

I must have started what Mr. Richards called growing into my bones. A boy asked me to a record hop at school. He is the creepiest boy in the whole class. But he asked me. I told him my mother wouldn’t let me go.

Al has lost about a hundred pounds. She looks great. Also, her mother took her to the place she gets her hair done and had the man wash and set Al’s hair and now she wears it long with a ribbon around it. It is very becoming, my mother says. She is right. But I miss Al’s pigtails. I wanted her to wear it this way but now that she does I’m kind of sorry She looks older and different, is all I know. Also her mother is going to take her on a trip at spring vacation. She is very excited about it.

I have tried skating around our kitchen floor once or twice when I was all alone in the apartment. Maybe it’s because the floor is the wrong shape. It is long and narrow. Or maybe it’s because I’m clumsy. But I can’t do it. I just can’t. The last time I tried I could almost hear Mr. Richards hollering, “Glide, glide!” and I started laughing when I remembered all the good times Al and I had with him.

That is one thing about knowing a person like Mr. Richards. You never forget. When I feel depressed I remember all the laughs we had and all the carrot sticks and the shooters of Coke, and I feel better.

My bookcase is hanging on my bedroom wall where I can see it when I wake up.

Maybe what Mr. Richards said about Al and me being stunners some day will come true. I only wish he could be around to see it happen. That’s the only thing I wish.