by Virginia Laurie

We eat empanadas on the riverwalk, Em’s espadrilles danglin’ over the edge. Battleship spires observe the movement of our pan-fried collarbones, ankles. 

They tease me. Tight-roping asphalt barricade.  

“Careful!” I hiss and cover my eyes, sitting still as not to tempt fate and the crocs hidden below — We mistake each tire skin for gator.  

Last time we were here, it was the Worm Moon, and we did our best at howling. I flinched at every log, hoping for reptile. We want to see one like a shooting star. I want to kiss a supplicant’s scaly green snout and not get cut on gums full of broken Modelo bottle.  

That would prove some chosenness — 

Wouldn’t it?  

At least this sunny afternoon chose me  

for beating, nudges me now with fry grease and stroller-traffic, whiskey infusions, and potholes. Petrified bananas at the bottom of a $15 glass, and  — 

Oh, we’re on a rooftop now, and it’s all a dollhouse below, singed by the cosmic flashlight jettisoning the boat.  

300,000 attendees they say, but they didn’t mention all the sailors! I strayed to sniff pine candles, and there they were! In starched whites and little boy boat hats, origami crisp.  

“They really wear that, huh?”  

I want to squeeze their stomachs and smash them  

against my Barbies. Stiff shoulders and ice cream on their thumbs as they lean against lampposts on the corner of Front Street, framed in gold light.  

“If I was a photographer…” 

What’s there to say about easy days, especially when they end in fireworks —  

Something, something, ephemeral. Something, something, fleeting.  

I don’t take it for granted, but in heaving breaths which scrape my diaphragm like a knife searching for jelly at the bottom of the jar. 

Oh, they were wonderful! And then gone.  

We heard stray embers sizzle as they smacked Cape Fear’s dark surface. I didn’t think about what else made that sound. I didn’t think about undrinkable tap water. I don’t even think about what the dredge boats will find this summer.   

After purchasing a ludicrously large corndog, we walk home. Robby finds a piece of ash in his Panama Hat, and everyone laughs.  

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Virginia Laurie is an MFA Candidate at University of North Carolina Wilmington. You can find her published work online at virginialaurie.com.