All tagged Paper Darts Volume Four
We are at, like, a dance. We are like wearing these new, like, tops. We put lipstick all around our mouths. We feel jealous of each other’s mouths but, like, that isn’t cool, so we keep it to ourselves. We don’t want to dance with anything chubby because it’s like dancing with our stepdads, or dancing with, like, some like weird baby grizzly boy. We are like, yuck.
This was not the way things were supposed to happen. This was not anywhere near Alan’s top ten imagined scenarios for a day at the Fairgrounds, all of which involved wholesome 4-H sponsored father/daughter bonding. The recent facts were these: Whitney had just finished junior high and, somehow, since the moment she graduated, she had managed to do something terrible and offensive every day of the summer.
I love you in the stillness, in the lack of happening, in the moment before crescendo. Let’s stay there together. Don’t move. Swear you won’t move.
The cup. I see it now: white, made of paper, steaming. I’m eager, for some reason, to get to the bottom of it. To empty it, despite the heat of its contents, as quickly as I can.
There’s a secret at the bottom.
First the satellites disappeared, and without working phones no one could call to complain about the buzzing, dancing static that’s drowned our lives. In the paper we saw pictures of flag-draped coffins, but those boxes were empty. No astronauts came back the last time—none of the monkeys either. Everything in space has died, which is weird because we did not know it ever lived.