“How to open the locker. One: Remember what you want to forget. Two: Ask yourself a question you can’t answer. Three: Remember what you wish more than anything you hadn’t forgotten.”
“What?”
“How to open the locker. That’s what it says, Finn. Right here.”
“No locker opens that way.”
“Yeah, but the sign says it, Finn,” Mouse says emphatically.
“How can you remember what you forgot? It’s impossible. If you’ve forgotten it, then how can you know what it is?”
“If Bing were here, Bing would do that part. He would know what I’d forgotten that I want to remember.”
I’m about to say that’s crazy, but then I realize there’s something to this.
“Hey, I know,” Mouse says, “you can do that part. You can think of something that I forgot. And I have to think of something you forgot.”
This is why Mouse is amazing. Just when you think she’s completely Looney Tunes she comes up with something like this. “That’s a good idea, Mouse!”
“Do I just say it out loud, Finn? Will the locker hear?”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, but let’s try it.”
“One: Remember what you want to forget,” Mouse says. “That’s easy. How much I miss Mommy. I try to forget this, but every minute I remember again.”
“Good. That’s good Mouse, keep going.”
“Two: Ask a question you can’t answer. Why doesn’t India play with me anymore?”
“That’ll do,” I say.
“Now you gotta help me with three. Remember what you wish you didn’t forget,” Mouse says.
“You never forget anything, Mouse,” I mutter. But I’m six years older than she is. There has to be something I remember that she doesn’t. Something when she was little maybe. “Where did the name Bing come from?”
“Bing’s mom,” Mouse replies.
“I don’t think so. I think it came from the song India used to sing to you. Man did you love that song. B-I-N-G, B-I-N-G, and Bingo was his name-o. Remember, Mouse? Remember?”
“Finn?”
“Yeah, Mouse.”
“My locker opened.”
Mouse is out now. She puts her eye up close to the locker vent so she can see me inside. Her finger pokes through for a finger wave.
“You do it now,” she says.
“One: Remember what you want to forget.” I take a deep breath. That one isn’t hard to answer. “The day Daddy died.”
“Was I there?”
“You weren’t born yet. Mommy was in the hospital. She was about to have you. I went with Grandma Essie to visit Dad.”
“He was in a car accident taking Mommy to the hospital because I wanted to get out of Mommy’s tummy,” Mouse fills in.
“That wasn’t your fault, Mouse.”
“India thinks it was.”
“No she doesn’t. She just misses Dad like I do. Anyway, he survived the accident. He was going to be fine,” I say.
“But then his heart stopped,” Mouse chimes in. “So he never got to meet me.”
“Grandma Essie stopped at the hospital gift shop to buy candy for the nurse who was taking care of Mommy and you in Mommy’s tummy.”
“Where was India?”
“With Aunt Sammy. I headed up the back stairs to Daddy’s room. Grandma Essie said not to, but I couldn’t wait to see him. I thought he was playing hide-and-seek under the covers. Then I thought he was sleeping. I called to him, ‘Daddy wake up. It’s Finn! Daddy!’”
“Did he wake up, Finn? Did he?” Mouse asks.
“No,” I whisper. “He didn’t.”
It’s quiet now. All I see is Mouse’s eye pressed up close against the locker vent.
“Two: Ask a question you can’t answer,” Mouse prompts.
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. “How do you grow up without a dad?”
“Don’t worry, Finn,” Mouse chirps, “there are books for that. Mommy will take us to the library when we get home. I get to do the last one, Finn. Remember what you didn’t want to forget. What’s Coach P.’s cell number?”
“Eight-oh-five, five-five-five, oh-one-oh-nine.”
“Did it open? Did it?”
“That is his cell number, Mouse.”
“Oh, I’ve got it. How old is Henry in dog years?”
“Twenty-eight. That won’t work. That’s right too.”
“Finn,” Mouse scolds, “what have you forgotten?”
“I don’t know, Mouse. That’s the point.”
“What is Uncle Red’s address?”