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reality
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We go around one final time, waiting our turn as the
attendant follows an arcane pattern to let people off. When
we jerk to a stop for a moment, you set the car swinging
again. You signal the attendant, who pays no attention to
you whatsoever. Slowly, your hand tightens on my
shoulder.
The wheel stops with a final thud. I could almost, but not
quite, touch the ground if I tried. The car jerks to a halt
and I watch the steel ropes sliding under the wheels. Wonder
how they support our weight. How anything
supports anything.
A bored boy in a tattered Marilyn Manson t-shirt undoes the
latch and lets us out. You climb out first, your long legs
holding the car steady for me.
As you offer me your hand, I tell you yes. You lean down to
me.
What? you ask.
Yes, I say. Let's get married. Let's be a part of each other
forever.
This, I think, is
reality
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