The End of FUN (50 page)

“Here,” said Evie. “I think this is yours.”

She handed me something. A neon-green shoe. My long-lost Osmos
™
IV (YAY!).

The three of us started out across the brush.

It was a pretty good day for a funeral—by which I mean pretty miserable. Snow on the ground, gray sky overhead, dead birds here and there. At least we didn't need to dig a hole for her. There was already one there. At the edge of the hole under the Russian olive my dad set down his bundle and carefully unwrapped it. Bones. The wind picked up and blew a dusting of snow across her body.

Evie had brought along the yellow bag that said
BIOHAZARD
, and after Dad laid Bones in the hole she climbed down there, too, and I watched as she undid the twisty top and, one by one, removed the tiny gray bodies and nestled them next to their mother where they belonged.

Then Dad took the shovel and threw on that first scoop of dirt. It was just awful, the way it rained down on Bones and her puppies. After that, I couldn't even look. I just helped. It was a big hole, and it was going to take a long time to fill it in.

I don't know who started it—Evie, probably—but at some point someone threw a bird into the hole, and after that it became our task. We wandered across the brush, gathering corpses and tossing them into the hole. One final flight.

It was late by the time we finished. There was a little bit of earth left over—there always is—but the birds were gone and Bones was gone and her puppies were gone and the hole was gone…and it was all just gone. Even so, Dad kept scooping more dirt on top, and Evie pretty much had to pry the shovel from his hands to get him to stop. He walked around the earth, smoothing out the rough spots with the side of his shoe. He hadn't been wearing any gloves, and I caught a glimpse of his hands, palms all dark and bloody.

The three of us stood at the edge of the dirt to say good-bye.

“You were a good dog,” said Dad. “You were a good dog,” he said again. “And I—”

He kind of settled to his knees and stayed there.

“Dad?” said Evie.

It took me a second to figure out what was going on. He wasn't crying. More like weeping—whatever the quiet kind is. When Mom left, when we buried Grandpa—nothing. And now this. And I knew it wasn't just for Bones—it was for all of it, everything, all the sadness. I looked over and saw that Evie was pretty much weeping, too. And then me.

And so that's it.

That's pretty much my History, aka The Story of How I Got From There to Here. Somewhere along the way—I couldn't tell you exactly where—I came to a decision I'd been coming to for a long time. I didn't really want out of
FAIL
. I was ready to stop having FUN
®
altogether.

In order to do that, I had to apply for an Application for Termination, but in order to do
that
I had to get out of
FAIL
, and in order to do that I had to catch up on my YAY!s—which is why I decided to do the History part of my Application here in the YAY!log. It occurs to me now that I was probably a little more thorough than I needed to be. I bet you've never seen a History that long before.

Anyway, so here's my rundown again:

And I guess if anything I just want to also say that despite the parts that sucked, and despite all my griping, I have seen the light that is wonderful and holy. I can't even really explain it, and that doesn't matter, because it's not about explanation anyway. It's about everything. It was here before we got here and it will be here when we're gone. It's +10 magic super beautiful. It's a song that sings itself.

Telling my History has taken a little longer than I expected—and I know I rambled in places, and I apologize for that—but anyway I see I've fallen further behind on my FUN
®
, so I've got a bit of quick catching up to do: just a few more YAY!s and (with your approval) I can stop having FUN
®
.

So here we go:

YAY! for FUN
®
, and the newly released version 2.0.

YAY! for Evie, who made a trip to Reno to get chipped and lensed for FUN
®
before she left for New York. She was excited to go, all giddy like that time when she won the MathOlympics competition, which is a moment I will never forget: the way she stood there, just beaming up at the bleachers. As for me, I was slouched against the wall, pretending I didn't care. Why do I do stuff like that? Here I am, Evie. Over here. Waving like a madman. Can you see me? You're going to do awesome in New York, I just know it.

YAY! for my dad, who also started having FUN
®
so he could mindtalk
™
with Evie in NYC. Dad—I want you to know I know it wasn't your fault Mom left. I mean, I always kind of knew, I just didn't want to admit it. It was easier that way, but it wasn't fair. And overall I have to say you've been pretty cool with me, especially lately, what with the dropping out of school thing, and the Katie thing, and all of it. Know what I think? I think you should get a dog. Some kind of puppy. A little feisty one that will just chew the shit out of your shoes.

YAY! for Sam, who said he would never have FUN
®
and then did—I
told
him he would—and who is my brother, and who helped me out of the hole. Thanks for not murdering me when you found out about the thing with Shiloh.

YAY! for Shiloh aka shiloh_lilly and her 10 stars.

YAY! for Oso, who did not start having FUN
®
. He said he couldn't on account of his newfound sobriety. Also because of the terms of his probation. Also because he is El Oso.

YAY! for Anne Chicarelli. YAY! for her sister, and her horses.

YAY! for Homie
™
. You were almost my friend.

YAY! for the whole world, YAY! for all the creatures who inhabit it, real and unreal, on land, at sea, or in the sky. YAY! for the birds—what's left of them. They are a memory of how good we had it, how good it really was, and how good it could have been—but also how good it could still be. But not really. It won't ever be like it was when there were birds. Even so, YAY! for Animals of Wonder & Light
®
, the entire menagerie, from the Armadillodile
™
to the Shaarkvark
™
to the just-released Zebracuda
™
.

Which reminds me: YAY! for you, whoever you are. Thanks for the YAY!s. And if you BOO!ed me, that's cool, too. I won't hold it against you. YAY! for your mom, and YAY! for my mom, and YAY! for MOM Brands
®
cereal, maker of Apple Zings
™
, Coco Roos
™
, Fruity Dino-Bites
™
, and Creamy Hot Wheat Malt-O-Meal
™
. Mom, I haven't mentioned you much, but that's only because you weren't around—and it doesn't mean I don't think about you.

BOO! for the hole. BOO! for war. BOO! for hard lives and suffering and the Avis Mortem and sad days and absent parents and all the sucky parts. But OTOH also kind of YAY! for the BOO!s—which, now that I think about it, are sometimes how we learn to enjoy the YAY!s. That's how it worked for me anyway.

Finally, as we come to the end, YAY! for my grandpa, who I never really got to know, but sort of kind of did, and who made this whole thing possible. Just the other day I finally had your tombstone inscribed, just like you asked, in the biggest font that would fit:

IT COULDD

HAVE BEEN

WONDDERFUL

ANDD SOMETIMES

IT WAS

And I wanted to tell you, Grandpa, I finally got around to reading that book you gave me,
True Tales of Buried Treasure
by Edward Rowe Snow (YAY!). You were right. It's a pretty cool book. I wish I wouldn't have been so stubborn when you gave it to me, because it would've been nice to talk to you about it when you were still around. So far I've made it to chapter 15, “The Skull's Revelation.” I was right at the part on page 225 where Mabel is about to reveal the mystery of the skull and she's all:

“You've got to believe what I tell you, George. It will seem too fantastic at first, but remember—you've just got to believe…”

And just then there was a knock on the door.