Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

“Wasn't I slim and beautiful?” I told her, “You were.” Mr. Black said, “And you are.” She said, “Aren't you two the sweetest?” I said, “Yeah.”
    “This is the three-wood that he hit his hole in one with. He was real proud of that. For weeks it was all I'd hear about. That's the airplane ticket from our trip to Maui, Hawaii. I'm not too vain to tell you it was our thirtieth anniversary. Thirty years. We were going to renew our vows. Just like in a romance novel. His carry-on bag was filled with flowers, bless his heart. He wanted to surprise me with them on the plane, but I was looking at the x-ray screen as his bag went through, and don't you know there was a dark black bouquet. It was like the shadows of flowers. What a lucky girl I am.” She used a cloth to wipe away our fingerprints.
    It had taken us four hours to get to her house. Two of those were because Mr. Black had to convince me to get on the Staten Island Ferry. In addition to the fact that it was an obvious potential target, there had also been a ferry accident pretty recently, and in Stuff That Happened to Me I had pictures of people who had lost their arms and legs. Also, I don't like bodies of water. Or boats, particularly. Mr. Black asked me how I would feel in bed that night if I didn't get on the ferry. I told him, “Heavy boots, probably.” “And how will you feel if you did?” “Like one hundred dollars.” “So?” “So what about while I'm on the ferry? What if it sinks? What if someone pushes me off? What if it's hit with a shoulder-fired missile? There won't be a tonight tonight.” He said, “In which case you won't feel anything anyway.” I thought about that.
    “This is an evaluation from his commanding officer,” Georgia said, tapping the case. “It's exemplary. This is the tie he wore to his mother's funeral, may she rest in peace. She was such a nice woman. Nicer than most. And this here is a picture of his childhood home. That was before I knew him, of course.” She tapped every case and then wiped away her own fingerprints, kind of like a Möbius strip. "These are his varsity let-
    ters. This is his cigarette case from when he used to smoke. Here's his Purple Heart."
    I started to get heavy boots, for obvious reasons, like where were all of her things? Where were her shoes and her diploma? Where were the shadows of her flowers? I made a decision that I wouldn't ask about the key, because I wanted her to believe that we had come to see her museum, and I think Mr. Black had the same idea. I decided to myself that if we went through the whole list and still hadn't found anything, then maybe, if we had no choice, we could come back and ask her some questions. “These are his baby shoes.”
    But then I started to wonder: she said we were the first visitors in a little more than a year. Dad had died a little more than a year ago. Was he the visitor before us?
    “Hello, everyone,” a man said from the door. He was holding two mugs, which steam was coming out of, and his hair was wet. “Oh, you're awake!” Georgia said, taking the mug that said “Georgia” on it. She gave him a big kiss, and I was like, What in the what the? “Here he is,” she said. “Here who is?” Mr. Black asked. “My husband,” she said, almost like he was another exhibit in his life. The four of us stood there smiling at one another, and then the man said, “Well, I suppose you'd like to see my museum now.” I told him, “We just did. It was really great.” He said, “No, Oskar, that's her museum. Mine's in the other room.”
    Thank you for your letter. Because of the large

volume of mail I receive, I am unable to write
    personal responses. Nevertheless, know that I
    read and save every letter, with the hope of one
    day being able to give each the proper response it
    deserves. Until that day,
    Most sincerely,
    Stephen Hawking
    The week passed quickly. Iris Black. Jeremy Black. Kyle Black. Lori Black ... Mark Black was crying when he opened the door and saw us, because he had been waiting for someone to come back to him, so every time someone knocked on the door, he couldn't stop himself from hoping it might be that person, even though he knew he shouldn't hope.
    Nancy Black's roommate told us Nancy was at work at the coffee store on Nineteenth Street, so we went there, and I explained to her that coffee actually has more caffeine than espresso, even though a lot of people don't think so, because the water is in contact