of animals all over them that you were supposed to color in with these broken crayons. I remember that.”
“You almost died, my dad said.”
“Yeah, everyone says that. But I don’t remember it.”
Now Sherm stacked sugar packets on the tabletop, carefully shaking each one first to make it lie flat. “My grandparents went to the hospital,” he said. “That first night. They sat in the lobby.”
“Really?” That was strange to think about.
Sherm looked at her. “A bunch of people were there, my dad said.”
“Who?”
“Just people. From the neighborhood, I guess. The next day my grandmother wanted me to pray with her, but I ran out of her room.” His eyes flicked to Bridge’s, then back to his sugar tower. “I feel weirdly bad about that.”
“That’s okay.” Bridge got an achy feeling at the bottom of her throat and took a sip of her water. “You were just a little kid. It wouldn’t have made a difference. I mean, I’m fine!” She reached her arms up over her head and wiggled her fingers as if this were universal proof of being fine.
Sherm smiled. “Yeah.”
“Actually,” she said, “I lied before. I don’t ever forget about the accident.”
He nodded, unsurprised.
Bridge hesitated. “After the accident, this nurse at the hospital told me that I’m here for a reason.”
“Here?”
Bridge nodded. “She said that’s why I didn’t die. It kind of weirds me out, actually.”
He was the first person she’d ever told. She hadn’t planned to tell him—she hardly knew him. It had something to do with how he had tucked that little piece of paper back into that cruddy wallet. The way he seemed to meet her thoughts wherever they went. The look on his face.
Sherm said, “My grandfather used to say that everyone alive has already beaten the craziest odds, just being born. Like one in a trillion. Your parents could have had a million different kids, but they had you. And before that could happen, your parents had to be born themselves, and their parents had to be born.” He picked up his shake and used the straw to vacuum the bottom of the glass. “I mean, think about it. It goes all the way back.”
Bridge laughed. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“Maybe it should just make you feel lucky. Yeah, you were really lucky you didn’t die after the accident. But you were a lot luckier to be born in the first place. So if you’re here for a reason, maybe we all are.”
“I guess. Yeah.”
“You never told me the answer to that riddle.”
“Oh,” Bridge said. Then she laughed again. “You know what? I can’t remember.”
SHERM
October 24
Dear Nonno Gio,
Nonna made lasagna and you’re pretty sad you missed it, even if you don’t know it.
I tried cinnamon toast today and it was great. Do you think people are born for a special purpose? I don’t. I think it’s just something that happens.
Sherm
P.S. Three months, twenty-one days until your birthday.
VALENTINE’S DAY
You have to tell your mom you aren’t in a ditch. That’s kind of weighing on you. There’s a copy shop on Broadway, near the university, where you think you can get online. You’ll send her an email.
You turn north, pull your hood up again, and play hot lava all the way there.
—
The copy place is busy: there are college kids sitting at computer terminals, two men with a stroller at the counter, and people waiting for the copiers. You get in line behind the couple with the baby and watch a woman struggle with a color copier. She keeps hitting the big green button, but nothing is happening. A man in a down jacket is using the paper cutter near the door, trimming a stack of pale blue cards. Invitations, you think. He pauses. Walks over to the woman at the copier. “Not working?” he says.
She gives him a frustrated smile.
After the apocalypse, they’ll have three kids, you decide. The middle kid will turn out to be some kind of genius. The younger one will be an artist.
“You almost died, my dad said.”
“Yeah, everyone says that. But I don’t remember it.”
Now Sherm stacked sugar packets on the tabletop, carefully shaking each one first to make it lie flat. “My grandparents went to the hospital,” he said. “That first night. They sat in the lobby.”
“Really?” That was strange to think about.
Sherm looked at her. “A bunch of people were there, my dad said.”
“Who?”
“Just people. From the neighborhood, I guess. The next day my grandmother wanted me to pray with her, but I ran out of her room.” His eyes flicked to Bridge’s, then back to his sugar tower. “I feel weirdly bad about that.”
“That’s okay.” Bridge got an achy feeling at the bottom of her throat and took a sip of her water. “You were just a little kid. It wouldn’t have made a difference. I mean, I’m fine!” She reached her arms up over her head and wiggled her fingers as if this were universal proof of being fine.
Sherm smiled. “Yeah.”
“Actually,” she said, “I lied before. I don’t ever forget about the accident.”
He nodded, unsurprised.
Bridge hesitated. “After the accident, this nurse at the hospital told me that I’m here for a reason.”
“Here?”
Bridge nodded. “She said that’s why I didn’t die. It kind of weirds me out, actually.”
He was the first person she’d ever told. She hadn’t planned to tell him—she hardly knew him. It had something to do with how he had tucked that little piece of paper back into that cruddy wallet. The way he seemed to meet her thoughts wherever they went. The look on his face.
Sherm said, “My grandfather used to say that everyone alive has already beaten the craziest odds, just being born. Like one in a trillion. Your parents could have had a million different kids, but they had you. And before that could happen, your parents had to be born themselves, and their parents had to be born.” He picked up his shake and used the straw to vacuum the bottom of the glass. “I mean, think about it. It goes all the way back.”
Bridge laughed. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“Maybe it should just make you feel lucky. Yeah, you were really lucky you didn’t die after the accident. But you were a lot luckier to be born in the first place. So if you’re here for a reason, maybe we all are.”
“I guess. Yeah.”
“You never told me the answer to that riddle.”
“Oh,” Bridge said. Then she laughed again. “You know what? I can’t remember.”
SHERM
October 24
Dear Nonno Gio,
Nonna made lasagna and you’re pretty sad you missed it, even if you don’t know it.
I tried cinnamon toast today and it was great. Do you think people are born for a special purpose? I don’t. I think it’s just something that happens.
Sherm
P.S. Three months, twenty-one days until your birthday.
VALENTINE’S DAY
You have to tell your mom you aren’t in a ditch. That’s kind of weighing on you. There’s a copy shop on Broadway, near the university, where you think you can get online. You’ll send her an email.
You turn north, pull your hood up again, and play hot lava all the way there.
—
The copy place is busy: there are college kids sitting at computer terminals, two men with a stroller at the counter, and people waiting for the copiers. You get in line behind the couple with the baby and watch a woman struggle with a color copier. She keeps hitting the big green button, but nothing is happening. A man in a down jacket is using the paper cutter near the door, trimming a stack of pale blue cards. Invitations, you think. He pauses. Walks over to the woman at the copier. “Not working?” he says.
She gives him a frustrated smile.
After the apocalypse, they’ll have three kids, you decide. The middle kid will turn out to be some kind of genius. The younger one will be an artist.
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