Epilogue

SpongeBob shuffled slowly down the tiled corridor. His vision was completely obscured by the unsteady tower of comic books balanced precariously in his outstretched arms, but after several years of dedicated weekly visits he was so familiar with the layout of Shady Shoals that it barely mattered.

"Hey Frank," he greeted as he wobbled past the reception desk, for though he could not see the receptionist he knew he must be there. Sure enough, he received the usual greeting in response.

SpongeBob collapsed with exhaustion upon reaching the rec room. This was by far the largest stack of books he had ever hauled into the rest home, a feat which didn't go unnoticed by Barnacle Boy, who looked up from his game of solitaire warily. SpongeBob pushed himself into a sitting position with his still trembling arms and began to sift through the pile purposefully, dividing it into numerous smaller piles.

"Look, kid, you know I'm always happy to sign stuff but don't you think that's a little excessive? I have to draw a line somewhere."

"Don't worry," smiled SpongeBob, "These are already signed. I'm donating them to Shady Shoals! Now you guys don't have to play bingo or checkers or solitaire anymore. Isn't that great?"

"Donating-? But I thought you loved those comics!" said Barnacle Boy. There was a trace of indigence in his voice.

"Oh, I do!" said SpongeBob. "These are my spares."

"You mean … these are all duplicates?"

"Tripilcates," corrected SpongeBob. He got to his feet, surveying the neat little piles with pride. "I'll hand them out when we get back."

A large, handsome coral tree loomed over the path ahead. As they passed underneath it, SpongeBob appreciated the cool shade. He could hear a scallop twittering somewhere among the pale pink branches.

The sight of the tree seemed to jog Barnacle Boy's memory. "Did you ever get Mrs. Barbel's snail down from that tree?" he asked.

"Eventually," said SpongeBob. "She called the fire brigade but apparently they don't actually rescue snails from coral trees, because they have more important things to do, like putting out fires. So then I wasn't sure what to do. I'm normally great with snails but Fitzy wouldn't come down for anything. In the end Patrick turned up and he still had some of those acorn chip cookies in his pocket and we managed to bribe her down-"

"Wait a minute ..." Barnacle Boy began to count on his fingers, a growing expression of disgust creasing his face. "That was over 3 months ago!"

"Snails aren't fussy. They love moldy pocket cookies, believe me."

They turned into Bikini Bottom Cemetery, passing through a handsome set of black iron gates. Mermaid Man's grave still bore the signs of being recently dug, but grass was was beginning to cover the patch of sandy earth. At the foot of the headstone was a small pile of mementoes from previous visits. The action figures, newspaper clippings and denture cream stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the sea of rather more subtle flowers and teddy bears on surrounding graves, but SpongeBob knew that Mermaid Man wouldn't mind.

He knelt down and cleared a little space in the middle, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his latest offering. It was a small, framed photograph of SpongeBob riding on the shoulders of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy, beaming with pleasure and hardly able to believe his luck.

"This was the first time you let me come on patrol, remember? We ate doughnuts and sang that song about you laying an egg. And the Atomic Flounder nearly melted your face off. It was one of the best times I ever had."

As SpongeBob wiped some lint from the glass he felt Barnacle Boy crouch next to him, his gloved hand giving SpongeBob's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I'd be lying if I said I enjoyed our little reunion with the Atomic Flounder, but we do have some pretty good times together, don't we?"