LOOSE TOOTH// LOST YOUTH

Another excerpt from “YOUTH NOVELS.”

“Back when Michael was still alive, and Tori hadn’t met Jared, the three of us would go to the summer fair.

We’d spent hours at Michael’s house getting ready. Tori would change outfits several times, asking Michael what he thought each individual time, standing in front of a full length mirror that he had bought just for her. Just for these occasions.

“You look great.” he would say, replaying the image of her dressing and undressing over and over again in his slowly rotting head.

Tori would smile, completely unaware of her affect on him, and then continue to change her clothes. 

While Tori applied her makeup, Michael would keep her entertained with funny stories about the tricks he would play on the nurses in the chemo ward. He told her about a large black nurse named Patrice who would sneak in extra pudding cups for him to eat when he couldn’t sleep at night.

Tori would laugh, messing up her left eyebrow, and would have to start over. Michael would take this as an opportunity to tell her how she’s beautiful and perfect in every way, just the way she is.

While they sat in the bathroom, exchanging stories and jokes, i would sit on Michael’s bed, and write random facts on small scraps of notepaper.

A snail can sleep for up to three years.

My small handwriting directly in the center of each scrap of paper.

Venting pointless knowledge.

The cigarette lighter was invented before the match.

Things i had learned over the years, absorbed. Because i am a fucking sponge.

When Tori and Michael were ready, i would fold the pieces of paper, and stick them deep in my pockets, hidden in the recesses of my faded jeans.

Truth is, the fair was never really all that great.

Just a bunch of young children running around, dragging their parents by the hand. Teenagers, bored out of their minds, painting dolphins and butterflies on the faces of seven year olds. 

Michael would bring a sack of weed that we’d smoke together in the port-a-potties at the western edge of the fair, sweet smoke clouding around us, heavy and damp like a coastal fog. The smoke held us, warm, blanketed in our plastic coffin, and when we ran out of pot, we would walk around the fair grounds, laughing at nothing and everything, stoned into a near-comatose state.

The three of us would cram our bodies into a photobooth at the center of the fair, baked and laughing, and we would make silly faces in the radioactive heat of the camera’s flash. documenting ourselves. four times over, telling the rest of the world, “hey, we were here once. and it was fun. and that meant something.” and after we were done, we’d wait for the photos to develop, and study them closely, laughing at ourselves in the process.

And exactly ten minutes before midnight, when the fair was scheduled to end, we’d run over to the rocket, pushing violently, frantically through the dwindling crowd. 

The rocket was, in essence, a tall metal structure, jutting out of the dead-grass field, and up into the night sky, reaching for heaven, never quite grasping. Attached to the metal structure was a small cart that sat four, taking the riders to the top and back down.

We would sit in this small metal cart, our legs dangling, torsos held in place by a cheap, regulation lap bar, and after a t-minus ten second count down, we were shot into the air.

Michael’s legs would shake nervously, and Tori would shriek with excitement, high and getting higher. The cold night air would burn my skin, making it hard to breathe, and as we neared the top, i’d dig my hands deep into my pockets, returning, clutching scraps of paper. 

Below us, the city, and directly below, the summer fair crowds smiling, laughing. The city would sprawl out beneath us, vast and dark in all it’s glory. Golden streetlight eyes staring back at us. 

The city was asleep, and we were so awake.

And then, the cart would shudder, stopping mid-flight. We’d sit there, having reached the top, and Michael would grab Tori’s hand, his eyes closed, so afraid of his descent.

So fearful of the the dark and the unknown. 

Tell me something i don’t know.

And as they shared their moment of pain and fear and nervous excitement, i would stretch my arms out in front of me, tiny notes clenched tight in my fists.

And i let go.

Unlike Michael, unlike Tori. I let go.

Scraps of paper floating gently downward, like crumpled snowflakes, carried by the wind, out into the night, into the city. Back to reality. Back to ground zero.

Thousands of useless facts.

Telling the city something it didn’t know.

The cart would shake, a voice on the speakers repeating the same T-Minus countdown.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two…

Then the drop.

Falling quickly, cutting through the cold air like a razor blade, swift and precise. Moving downward, past the scraps of paper, the useless knowledge, pulling them into our downward current.

Falling back into the city.

Down the rabbit hole.

Toward the bottom, the cart would slow, sliding into a gentle stop. The lap bar would lift, we’d gather our belongings, and run. Through a shower of scrap paper, and ink blotches, small bits of my handwriting, and brain matter scattered across the ground at our feet. We would laugh, kicking them into the air, and forgetting the things i once knew.

And just like that, summer was over.

We came back to the fair the next year too.

This time, with secrets instead of facts. The same note paper snowflakes, containing the trials and tribulations of youth.

Tori’s third abortion.

Michael selling his medical marijuana.

My growing drinking problem.

Youth Novels.

The sex we had and the sex we didn’t. The drugs in our bodies, and the pain on our faces. These tiny pieces of paper, inside them, etched our stories, and everyone else’s. A combined effort, and a piece of history, our time here on this earth. At this age, covering the city below us.

And suddenly, everyone knew all about us. Not who we were.

But what we were going through.

Our indirect cry for help.

We were supposed to go to the fair this year.

But it wouldn’t be the same without Michael.”

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