2021 riverrun Final PDF

extra space in there; I didn’t. The setup crew needed some extra hands. Mine would
do. So I lent myself out, I’m nice like that. In my freetime I got to follow the circus
master around and say the tent isn’t a tent; It’s not, never was, like how a coin isn’t
a coin once a magician puts a handkerchief over it. It’s a laugh, a gasp, a confused
half-hour, your next coffee conversation and your weekend obsession. All the best
things come from under a handkerchief, like a pigeon, a rabbit, a birthday surprise,
or a wedding ring. So the tent was never the tent. It’s the lion’s roar, the man who
hasn’t noticed he shat himself, too-buttery popcorn to go with your roasted peanuts,
the kiss lost in the crowd. It's not the tent, it’s the loud, terrifying, amazing, horrific,
heavenly place underneath. I wanted to say that, all I got out was, “You don’t understand…”
Elementary school was a big yard, fenced in. I’ll tell you it’s weird to be in
your seven-year-old skin after your 65th birthday. Lizzy was the pretty girl there,
easy to spot through rose-tinted glasses. She didn’t have her lunch, she wanted
something sweet. I wonder why she didn’t eat all the melted hearts she made with
those batted eyelashes, and those pouty lips, those wavy words, and nectar-sweet
cheeks. I think she hated me. Only explanation I can think of for why I remember
her smiling like she was in a candy store when I gave her my Granny Smith. No one
person could ever look that happy. And if I ever saw them, would have definitely
given her cringing lips an extra fuzzy spot in my memories. In there, she’s like paint
and putty. I could make her bones sharp like thorns and her lips red like petals. But
instead, I guess I chose a tulip. Pouty and sweet, with big eyelashes, so I would stop
loving her.
As I went from house to house I kept getting pushed around by these big
shiny card-like guys. Full flat stomachs and XXXX XXXX XXXX XXXX along the sides
of their shirts. “What’s your mother’s maiden name?” “First pet?” “Elementary
school?” “First car?” Pushy cards, stupid cards, annoying like hell cards, like I can
tell you any of that now. Never talk to scammers, there are some things that other
people just don’t need to know about.
The bar house has seen a lot of me. You need the alcohol in there too, so
many faces, names, exs, extras, and extroverts. My head would pop if it were a balloon.
Jeb runs the place. Absolute ear of a fellow, never a word during any of my
silly, solid-world stories. I imagine not having a mouth makes that easy, but still. No
aggressive hand-waving says a lot, figuratively I mean. He heard the story of my
first time.
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