The End of FUN (48 page)

And the truth is, even if you like someone and they like you—and you
know
they like you—they get to do what they want to do. And sometimes life is complicated, and sometimes things don't work out, and sometimes you just have to let it go. Maybe that's what her eyes were really saying.
Let it go
.

But I couldn't let it go. I was having the hardest time letting it go. I asked her what she was doing next, and she said she was going back to her sister's. They were going to watch
The Land of the Lost
(YAY!) together. She'd ridden her bike to the lake, and I asked her if I could give her a ride back, and she said OK. So we threw her bike in the back and gathered up Bones, who was barking at some squirrels, and I drove her to her sister's house. It was a pretty nice house. From the drive you could see the lake shimmering in the distance. I could see how it wouldn't be hard to spend a summer there.

And I didn't want to let her go. She was walking her bike up to the door. I grabbed the bag I'd packed for her—undies and shirts and a couple sweaters in case it was cold at night—and followed her up the drive. And I was like, “Katie.”

And she was like, “Yeah?”

And I was like, “What if we just—sit out here for a while? It's just—it's such a beautiful evening. I mean, listen to those birds. I never knew there were so many birds up at the lake.”

And she paused. “Aaron, those aren't birds.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Aaron. You've been having FUN
®
so long you've forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?”

Katie sighed. “Reboot FUN
®
.”

“Reboot it?”

“Yeah.”

So I pressed my fingers into my eyelids and said the magic words.
There's no place like home
. The world went blank for a moment, and then, for the first time in a long time, I took a moment to see it as it was. I mean, as it
actually
was: the sky a little less blue, the trees a little less green, the water a little less shimmery. But what
really
got me was the strange and sudden silence.

The birds were gone; their song was gone. No tweeting, no soft electronic cries.

“Wow. I didn't realize. All the shininess. All the birds. It's just—”

“FUN
®
,” she said.

And I didn't really know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just gave her a hug, and then I turned and crutched down the drive and got in my truck with Bones and gave Katie a little wave, and she gave me a little wave back, and I left.

And that was my big road trip. One good thing was I didn't have a lot of time to dwell in my sorrow and failure, because there was more stuff to deal with when I got back to Antello. I woke late the next morning to the sound of Bones barking, and I cracked the blinds to see a short man in a Hawaiian shirt standing on the porch.

“Please be informed,” he yelled, “that you are advised to restrain your animal!”

I opened the door and he thrust out his hand.

“Aaron O'Faolain, I am Peter Juliet.”

“Who?”

“Peter Juliet, the defense attorney. It appears that you are having FUN
®
, Aaron.”

“Yeah.”

“As am I. Had I known you were having FUN
®
, I would have done a mindtalk
™
. Normally, I do not conduct these home visits. However, my secretary has contracted scabies, which is a highly contagious skin condition. May I come in?”

“Why are you here?”

“You didn't get the message? I am representing your friend Angelo Davíd Sandoval, aka ‘El Oso' aka ‘Oso,' in his upcoming trial. The reason I'm here this morning, Mr. O'Faolain, is to prepare you for testimony tomorrow in his sentencing hearing.”

“Yay.”

Peter Juliet opened his briefcase on the coffee table. “We'll need you at my office at nine
A.M
. The address is 963 High Street, suite 201—second floor, first door on the right. I'm messaging you that right now. Do you have a clean, solid-colored button-up shirt, preferably white, and slacks? If not, I will provide you with these items. In addition, you will need to shower and shave. Do you have a razor and shaving cream? If not, I can provide these items.”

I told him I had the items in question, and he explained to me how the hearing would work. He, attorney Peter Juliet, would take care of everything—all I needed to do was show up tomorrow and follow instructions. When the time came, I would take the stand and in a clear and sober voice enumerate the reasons why my childhood friend Angelo Sandoval was not only an upstanding person but indeed a role model to the youth of Antello.

“I'm messaging you some Wit Lit to look over. Here, let me give you a hard copy to study as well.”

“Wit Lit?”

“Witness literature. Some suggestions for what to say when you take the stand. Study it. Memorize it. Bring it with you tomorrow. I'll see you at nine
A.M
. sharp. We'll rendezvous at my office, then go over to the courthouse together.”

I looked at the paper in my hands. It wasn't a list of suggestions so much as a character witness Mad Libs, and Peter Juliet or his scabrous secretary had already filled in all the blanks:

But the next morning at the Antello Municipal Courthouse when I took the stand and found myself facing the crowded gallery, I just couldn't bring myself to read from that paper. Too much was at stake. My best bud was on trial, and it was like a Sandoval family reunion out there: aunts, uncles, sisters, nephews, nieces, plus these three biker dudes in leather jackets—and of course Oso himself, in a clean shirt and tie with his hair slicked back—and I knew I couldn't just read the prepared statement. He deserved something more, something from the heart, like YAY! for HeartLand
®
Heritage candles or Heart Coffee or HomeHealthHeart Care—but really just something honest and true and from the heart.

So I turned the paper over and just started talking.

“Well, OK, it's like this. Some people in this world are really wonderful. Actually, forget that.
All
people are wonderful—but some people are wonderful in a way that is, you know, really wonderful. Not that I want to get into ranking things, because also everything is pretty much the same thing. Like, we're all in this together, you know?”

I took a breath and looked up from the podium. Everyone was looking back at me, just sitting there watching me with curiosity and waning patience—well, all of them except for Peter Juliet, who was waving around a copy of the speech and jabbing at it with his index finger.

“But here's the thing. We
are
in this all together, and Oso, the way he's wonderful is—well, it's impossible to explain. It really is. But one thing you could say is he's got a big heart. Like, I could give you a million examples of just what kind of guy he is. He's really just a good guy. I could give you all
kinds
of examples.”

“Mr. O'Faolain, I believe you had a written statement.”

“Right. But let me give you an example.”

I took a sip of water to give myself time to think. There were a lot of stories to tell, but I hadn't considered the fact that they needed to be court-friendly. I searched deep in the back of my memory and grabbed at the first thing that came to mind, which was that one time I got hit with the softball in P.E. and he helped me around the bases—and it wasn't until I was halfway through the story that I realized that the star of the story was not, in fact, Oso. It was
another
kid. I'd gotten them confused. I looked out at my audience, all those shining faces. What did it matter, really? The spirit was the same.

“…So in conclusion, sometimes it's the smallest gestures which make the biggest differences. I don't know if he even remembers it anymore, but I know I will never forget—no, I'll always be grateful for that day in the field with Oso.”

“Your honor, we will also submit his written statement for your review.”

As I was stepping down from the box, I caught Oso's eye. He looked grateful and also a little confused, but he gave me the thumbs-up.

Next, his aunt spoke, then his little nephew, and then, one after another, the three biker dudes, who I realized now were Los Ojos de Dios. The first two said they had known Oso a long time, that he had done yard work for him, and that he was a great employee, a hard worker, always punctual, etc.—and the last one said the same stuff and added how although the city was pursuing charges, he, Pedro Santistevan, would like to drop the charges of breaking and entering because it was all just a big misunderstanding.