“Oh.”
—
Mom pulled two J’aime Montreal T-shirts from her purse and tossed them at me and Izzy, poured herself a glass of wine and walked around the kitchen telling us about her plane rides and hotel room and the people she’d met. She thought we should all go to Montreal some time. “I learned a lot and I was only there for two days,” she said. “It’s Canada, but it’s not like here. The same but different—you know?”
She grabbed my chin and turned my head.
“What happened, honey? Looks like somebody hit you. Did you get in another fight?”
I shook my head.
“Accident,” I said.
“With a human fist?”
“Dragon tail.”
“Well, I guess it’s okay if you can make a joke about it. But seriously, you’re not in trouble, are you? Fred? Are you?”
“Seriously, no.”
—
My clock said 2:15. I got up and went next door.
“Izzy,” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
“You awake?”
“Yeah.”
The streetlight shone through her window. Her face looked pale and blotchy, and her eyes were extra dark.
“I had a nightmare,” I whispered.
“Me too.”
“Or maybe it wasn’t a nightmare. But I felt bad when I woke up. Dad was alive. He was okay. He smiled and waved at me. And—and then he was gone.”
Izzy wore her Bart Simpson nightie. I had a T-shirt and sweatpants with a rip up one leg that Mom wouldn’t let me wear outside. I sat on her bed. She scooted over to make room for me.
“Maybe it was all a dream,” she said.
“Huh? What?”
“The whole day. Or a story, you know? Something we told each other. A dream we both had.”
I thought about that. I thought about it all being a story, happy and sad, fun and not fun, the way stories are. Freddie and Casey and the basketball game. The trucker lady from the Windy City. Stumbler the dragon. Dad calling me Buddy.
“What if—”
I stopped.
“Yeah?”
“What if it isn’t a story. What if it’s real, that world down there. But only because of us up here.”
“You and me? Elvira was there too.”
“Anyone can get there. It’s a real world, but you have to will it into life. We found Dad, because we miss him. He’s alive because of us. Anyone can get to this world if they miss someone enough. And that’s why,” I was talking louder now, “that’s why we were so tired. Willpower is hard. Concentrating on something tires you out. What did Elvira say—she felt she had the weight of the world on her.”
“He’s still dead,” Izzy said.
She’d known all along, while I was still hung up about Casey. She was smarter than me. Or braver.
“What is it, Fred?”
I shook my head. She sat up and put her arms around me. I was crying. I tried to tell her, but the words stuck. And then she was crying too. We sat on her bed in the middle of the night and held each other and cried for the longest damn time.
“When I was seeing Dr. Nussbaum,” Izzy said, “he told me to—”
“I didn’t know you saw him.”
“Sure. Mom did too. Anyway, he said one way to get my feelings out and connect with Daddy was to write him a letter. You know, Dear Daddy, I miss you so much. Every day I wake up thinking I will see you, and then I remember that I will not see you today, or tomorrow, or ever again…that kind of thing.”
I wiped my face. “Did you do it?”
“Uh-huh. I showed it to the doctor, and we put it in an envelope addressed just Daddy, and he stuck a stamp on it and we walked to the mailbox and mailed it off.”
I was frowning by now. “It didn’t get to him.”
“Duh.”
Lights flashed across the ceiling as a car drove down Wright Avenue. Izzy’s window was open a little, so we could hear the sound of the tires on the wet street.
“Dad’s dead up here,” I said. “But not down there.”
“But—so what? If the world is only in our mind—”
“And Elvira’s. And who knows how many others. It’s real. The bruise on my face—Mom noticed. The green hoodie is not mine, it’s Freddie’s.”
“Are you sure? It looks like something you’d—”
“And people die down there. Don’t forget the dragons.”
I sat up straight and made fists.
“Think about that world, Izzy. No one worries there—the dragon comes and takes them away and no one cries or fights. We care up here. That place exists in our imaginations, in our willpower. That’s the link.”
“And the dragons break the link.”
“Yeah. I mean, maybe.”
“Yeah. They take you away when it’s your time. When no one thinks about you anymore. When no one misses you.”
I thought about the dragons hovering over the volcano. I could imagine not missing a piano or a swing set anymore. But a dragon had dropped that old man in. Because no one missed him?
“Ewww,” I said.
“Maybe not,” said Izzy. “I don’t know.”
“So let’s not break the link with Dad,” I said.
We both laughed but it was kind of a sob too. Whatever you call that.
“Daddy was going to die down there,” Izzy whispered a minute later.
“Right. He’s alive because we saved him.”
“I drove the car. I pushed him onto the dragon’s back.”
There was a huge gob of saliva inside me. I choked and swallowed and choked some more. Izzy leaned forward and wiped my face with her sleeve.
“He called us his kids,” she said. “Remember? He knew where we were from and he still called us his kids. He’s down there, but he really is our dad.”
—
Izzy pulled the spread to cover me and gave me one of her pillows. We lay quiet while our breathing slowed down. I remembered Dr. Nussbaum asking if there was someone I wanted to write to. Okay then, what would I put in a letter?
Dear Dad. That was as far as I got. It didn’t make me feel any closer to him. Izzy was asleep. She rolled toward me and put a warm hand on my shoulder That helped. My thoughts started to go all drifty, like soap bubbles floating around the bathtub. Velma on the classroom floor. Lisa on the telephone. Frogs in the toilet tank. Toes on the front bumper. I smiled. That last one was from Linda Mae, the trucker.
I decided not to bother with a long letter to Dad. I’d just give him the trucker’s farewell.
All the good numbers.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Trust your key readers. It’s your story, but they see things you don’t. The first one to see a draft of this was Miriam Toews, who was so enthusiastic I persevered even when the going got sticky. Gayle Friesen was encouraging and candid, and wants to put a dragon in her next book. Thanks to Hilary McMahon for reading positively and selling hard. Huge thanks to Tara Walker for reading generously and critically. And passing the manuscript on to Lara Hinchberger, who was as thorough and careful as a lottery player with a maybe winning ticket. I trusted you all, and the story is better for it.
RICHARD SCRIMGER is the award-winning author of twenty books for children and adults. His works have been translated into many languages and have been critically acclaimed around the world. His first children’s novel, The Nose from Jupiter, won the 10th Annual Mr. Christie’s Book Award. His novel From Charlie’s Point of View was a CLA Honour Book and was chosen as one of the Chicago Public Library “Best of the Best.” Richard’s latest, Viminy Crowe’s Comic Book, was listed as a Top Shelf Honoree by VOYA magazine. His books Ink Me and The Wolf and Me are part of the Seven series with six other well-known authors. He lives in Toronto, Ontario. Visit him at scrimger.ca
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