Reminding myself to be happy.

My shirt smells like barbecue. I was going to get sushi take-out for dinner, and then Dana told me of a dental student barbecue. So I stuffed myself. I was also standing outside in fifty degrees in a T-shirt. I don't know how much cleaning I'll get done before I conk out for the evening.

Sunday afternoon I was sitting out in the sun in the park across the street, reading. It occurred to me that I emote much more to the sad parts and depressing scenes in books and songs. I've always liked any movie that could make me cry. Hell, crying just feels good sometimes. Sometimes I have to remind myself how it feels to be happy.

I finished reading The Boy Detective Fails last night.

Billy notices his arch-foe, Professor Von Golum, curled beneath the bed frame. Though the old man is asleep, there is a length of shiny wire twisted in his hands, the murder weapon held close, at the ready.

"Professor, may I ask what you are doing down there?"

"I was planning on strangling you as soon as you went to sleep."

"I see."

"Perhaps it was poor planning, but I could not stay awake. It is very comfortable under here."

"Would you like some help out from underneath?"

"No. No, I'm alright. I'll just stay here, if you don't mind."

Billy sighs, turning on his side.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Yes, but know it may be the last question you ever ask."

"Have you ever been in love, sir?"

"Oh, my poor, poor childish detective. Surely you must know by now. Love is the invention of man. It does not exist. It is a fairy tale designed to keep order. Imagine how we as humans would behave if we freed ourselves from the idiocy of that one particular idea: what a wonderful world; a world of absolute possibility."

"I think I may be in love, sir."

"May I ask how you know? How can you prove it? You are a detective, no? Where is the evidence? What clues are you basing this foolish assumption on?"

"I don't know, really. It just occurs as a feeling in my hands and behind my knees."

"But can it be placed in a bell jar? Can it be seen under a microscope? How can something as invisible - as insubstantial - as love ever hope to last?"

"I cannot stop thinking about kissing her."

"That is chemistry - or biology - it has nothing to do with hearts and flowers and the like. Do not be confused by what the natural world already knows: We are all, in our own way, completely and totally alone. If love is real, it is a complete and total failing of the intellect. It is utter self-destruction. It is pandemonium."

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"It is my pleasure, Billy."

In the near dark, the boy detective finds his bottle of pills and quickly swallows one Ativan, holding his breath until he is sure the villain has crept out. He looks up in wonder as the soft haze of snow drifts down.

......

Outside it is raining; the boy detective and Penny smile at each other silently, still not touching. Billy, in his blue sweater, and Penny, in her pink hat and brown dress, smile down at their feet, unable to look at each other or even speak. Beside Penny on the bus again, Billy thinks about making a bold move - trying to hold Penny's hand - but for whatever reason, he cannot work up the courage to make such an attempt.

Billy and Penny smile at each other silently from across the booth of the small yellow diner. The table is littered with coffee cups and opened sugar packets and small plastic creamer containers. Carefully, Billy moves these items aside, making a path. Slowly, Billy goes to take Penny's hand and she lets him hold it this time: finally.

......

Penny's brown eyes disappear, hidden as she lowers her head in shame.

"I'm sorry, Billy. I thought...I thought I was ready."

Penny begins crying and leans over and kisses Billy's cheek nervously. She turns, unlocks the door, and runs up the steps. Billy catches a fading glimpse of Penny's white ankle and pink shoe as the door swings closed behind her. He sits on the steps and stares back over his shoulder at the building, frowning. He looks down at his hand, which is, once again, empty.

The boy detective is feeling badly as he rides the bus home that morning. Imagine this is how he feels exactly:

dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing
scissors scissors scissors - heart - scissors scissors scissors

......

The boy detective is on the bus crying. The people sitting beside him do their best to ignore him.

......

To the boy or girl that finds this:
Mr. Howard Lunt, aged 9, hid this April 24, 1902. Congratulations! Put back in spot so others might find.
Signed,
Mr. Howard Lunt, President, Leage of Amateur
Whodunit Enthusiasts

Billy and Penny look at each other and smile. He nods, quite pleased. The boy detective slips the note back into the bellows, seals it up, and lowers the accordion back into the drainpipe. They walk back toward the bus station. The sun begins shining over their shoulders.

We would really like to think that you were holding hands with somebody while you read that last part. If not, you might read it again and ask someone to hold your hand right now. You might then write that person's name somewhere here on this page with a heart glowing around it. Why not? It might be fun.

I still smell like barbecue.