Seriously, Norman! by Chris Raschka

Author:Chris Raschka
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2013-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning Mr. B. called to say that Watson had passed away.

theory of the air terminal

of the afterlife

On Sunday afternoon, the two boys lay belly up and belly down on Norman’s bed.

“I already miss Watson,” said Leonard.

Norman said nothing.

The events of the birthday party and the coming of fall had put them both in a philosophical mood.

“I didn’t even know him that well, but I miss him,” said Leonard.

“Maybe he’ll come back,” said Norman. “Maybe he’ll come back as a new rat.”

“Hmm, that’s possible. Maybe he’ll come back as a wild rat, a rat ruler, father of a rat dynasty! He didn’t have any kids, did he?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He was a male, wasn’t he? I mean, we’re sure of that, right? I never really checked.”

“I didn’t either, but Mr. B. always called him ‘he.’”

“Maybe Watson will come back as a human being.”

“Maybe. But how long will he be gone? Does Watson step out of his rat self and immediately into some new self? Or does he go to some waiting room somewhere?” said Norman.

They were silent again.

Then Leonard said, “Maybe he has to go to some enormous ticket counter and stand in line with all the other rats who have died recently, which must be a lot, thousands, maybe millions, and they stand in a line that zigzags back and forth, and it takes nearly forever, and then he gets to the ticket counter, and the lady there, maybe a starfish or a guinea pig or a mynah bird or something, hands him his ticket, and he looks at it to see what gate, and the gate says something like ‘Feather-duster worm,’ or ‘Weeping willow,’ or ‘Human being,’ even, and then he goes there and he waits at the gate until his name is called, and then he walks down the ramp into whoever has the next baby whatever-it-is for that particular gate.”

“Hmm, we could call this the Theory of the Air Terminal of the Afterlife,” said Norman. “Do you think they have frequent-flier points?”

“Frequent-dier points.”

“Right, frequent-dier, do you think they have frequent-dier points, and if you get enough points, you could ask for an upgrade from, say, one of those horrible fish that live their whole lives in the dark at the bottom of the ocean, eating rotting whale carcasses next to hot sulfur vents, to, like, a Baltimore oriole or something?”

“I think so. But what if they overbook?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when they sell more tickets than they have places for. What if you have to give up your chance at being a dolphin or an eagle or something cool, and you have to go back and wait?”

“Well, you can always kill time in the gift shop.”

“I bet that’s where Watson is right now.”

The boys looked at the ceiling and at the floor.

Norman hoisted himself up and said, “I nearly forgot! Watson pushed it right out of my mind. I think I know how to crack the safe.”

Leonard bounced up. “Tell, tell, tell!”

“Okeydoke. Listen. Remember at Coney Island, Mr.

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