Smiles to Go by Jerry Spinelli

of the two things on my mind lately, the one I couldn’t possibly talk to him about was Mi-Su.
    Whatever, suddenly the words were tumbling out of my mouth: “I see tiny flashes.” I knew how crazy it sounded, but he looked as if he heard people say it every day. I told him about Yellowknife and the proton that died. “It was seventy-seven days ago. I can’t help keeping track.”
    I blathered on and on. I said things to him that I hadn’t even said to myself. I asked him if he realized what it meant, the proton vanishing. Did he realize nothing would last, that sooner or later every last speck and smidgeon of matter would disappear?
    He steepled his fingers under his chin. He nodded. “Interesting.”
    “See, here it is,” I said. “I know I’m not going to live forever. I know that. I’m not stupid.”
    He nodded. “So?”
    I chuckled. “So, I’m in the grave. Here lies Will Tuppence.”
    “And a fine lad he was.”
    “Yeah.” Chuckle. “But here’s the thing. Even though I’m dead, it’s still me in there, in the coffin. It’s still my stuff, Will Tuppence stuff. Will Tuppence’s bones and calcium and molecules and atoms and protons.”
    He blinked, grinned, gave me a pistol finger-point. “For a while.”
    Sometimes I think he’s read every book stacked in his house. “Yeah! Right! Okay! You’re ahead of me.” I was talking about the grimmest thing imaginable. Why was I excited? “You’re thinking after eons of time even my coffin and bones will disintegrate and scatter and the sun will gobble up the earth and my protons will wind up in a star somewhere or just drifting through empty space.”
    He gave me wide-eyed wonder. “Did I say all that?”
    I smacked his knee. “Absolutely. But see, even then, those particles were still me once. Somewhere in the universe, forever and ever, my protons— my protons—will be out there. My stuff.”
    “Will Tuppence was here.”
    “Exactly!” I loved him.
    “But—”
    “Yeah. But. But now we find out that stuff doesn’t last. Not even protons. It won’t be forever and ever after all. It’ll be like I was never here. Never even here.”
    “Will Tuppence wasn’t here.”
    “But.”
    “Ah. The old double-but.”
    “ If Heaven is a dimension, and angels are non-stuff, and Forever is…like, forever…”
    He waited. “So? Then?”
    “I’m afraid to say it. It sounds so goofy.”
    He tapped my knee. “No problem. I’ll say it for you. If the second but is true, then maybe, somehow, in some form, you’ll go on forever. Never-ending Will.”
    I winced. “It sounds even more crazy when somebody else says it. Why should I care what happens to my protons a gazillion years from now?” I turned to him. “Mr. B, what’s wrong with me?”
    He smiled. He squeezed my hand. “Nothing. You’re smart enough to know you don’t have all the answers, that’s all.”
    “I’m god-awful at not being sure.”
    “You’ll get better.”
    “But the tiny flashes—what about them?”
    He gave a little chuckle. Wasn’t he taking me seriously? “Are they like those little Fourth of July sparklers? Or those sparkling birthday candles?”
    I nodded. “Both. And sometimes fireflies.” I sighed. “I’m a nutcase!”
    The neon lights of the 7-Eleven came on, giving his ears a green glow. He reached for his cowboy hat. “You’re a kid trying to figure out the world you were born into, that’s all. And I got news for you—you’re no nuttier than me.” He put the hat on. “Better get back to Anthony. He’s probably rich by now.” He turned the key. The truck rumbled to life.
    PD78
    E ureka!
    I know BT’s secret!
    It came to me early this Saturday morning. I ran up to the dormer. I trained my telescope on the clock tower of the Brimley Building. It was now an hour and fifteen minutes slow.
    I was right!
    I called him up.
    “You buffoon! You total buffoon!”
    “Huh?” he said. Sounded like I woke him up.
    “I know what you’re doing.