Shit, what a mess. Was I supposed to do some big Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe game? Stake out my mailbox? Wait for someone to confess rather than accuse the wrong person?
It wouldn’t have bothered me so badly if someone hadn’t gone through Big to do this. Big wasn’t exactly my diary, but some of the things were personal. They were definitely things I should have the choice to share or withhold—like the Sharpie stuff.
These messages, regardless of their intent, were a tour of memories from a different life.
That part was almost nice.
Almost.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Some Emails to Max in El Salvador From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Date: January 3
Subject: Big Explanations
Max,
I’m sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for them to call my name. I probably have plenty of time to finish how I started putting stuff into Big.
Part One: Obtaining Big.
I would never have started if your brother hadn’t decided to win the world’s ugliest stuffed animal as a gift for my twelfth birthday. He pointed to it behind the counter of the arcade. “That one. That blue ostrich there beside the green pig. That’s the one we’re all going to win you, Sadie May.”
It cost 1,800 tickets. I repeat, 1,800 tickets.
Gray added the stipulation that we must win all the tickets playing Skee-Ball. What a ruckus. You would have thought we were competing in the World Series with the way we jumped around and screamed. By the time we hit 1,500 tickets, the ticket-counter guy was in on it with us. It was a slow night, and we were the best action he’d had. I can’t remember which of the guys starting calling the bird Big, but it stuck immediately.
Gray wanted to be the one who won the final tickets, so Gina and I stopped playing and watched as the final total rose to 1,800. In the excitement, Gray picked me up and kissed my cheek. I turned pink, as if he’d slipped me some tongue. But we weren’t there yet. He was thirteen; I was twelve. Kissing was ascending Everest.
In light of how I’ve felt lately, I can look back and understand what made it an Everest sort of moment. I felt wanted. You know what I mean? That peck on the cheek wasn’t a peck; it was a declaration that he wanted to kiss me.
Anyway, we walked out of the Family Fun Center five minutes after 8:00 with the world’s ugliest Big.
Part Two: Stuffing Big.
Mom took us to a Chinese buffet and we grubbed up and told her all about Big. She pointed out that my new prize had a tiny hole in his belly. In her opinion, we’d spent, like, eighty dollars on something that wasn’t worth anything.
As soon as I stopped smiling, Trent took the fortune out of his cookie, rolled it up, and stuck it inside the hole.
“Now, you know there’s good stuff in there,” he said.
God, he always had goofy ideas, didn’t he?
Everyone else shoved in fortunes as Gina and Mom sang “Happy Birthday.”
That’s how it started.
Sadie
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Date: January 12
Subject: Stuck on a feeling
Max,
No, Big’s not full yet. The papers are mostly small, and I don’t write everything down. Just little memories and things I’m afraid I’ll forget.
Fletcher says I tell Big the things I should tell friends—that my stuffed animal has become a defense mechanism. He suggested that Big allows me to withdraw and that the memories in him are uniquely tied to me, Gray, Trent, and Gina.
He wants me to either (a) make up with Gray and Gina, or (b) find an activity that introduces me to new people. And he thinks I need to get rid of Big.
I don’t want new friends. I want my old friends to act like my old friends.
Which is a double standard.
I’d have to act like the old me again, and I don’t think I can.
Sadie
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE