Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Nine
Shoes are on by 5:30. The moon is still hanging above Mayacamas, pale yellow in color.
I don’t have to. I get to.
It seems as though everyone else is more excited about this than I am. It’s not the event—it’s the work required to get to the event on such short notice. I am not so good with last-minute plans.
I’ll take a chance with the white dress.
Tamales and rice and beans.
The replacement ride is missing a seat belt, and the chairs are broken. The smell of artificial cherry from the air freshener.
On my way to the bathroom, a tall kid in a white shirt asks me if I’m Dean’s mom. It takes me a minute to place the face. “Such a small world,” says someone else in a work vest. “Indeed, it is.”
Well. If you’re going to do it this way, this is how you do it.
Someone is not where they are supposed to be.
I think I still need to write a paper tomorrow.
