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Becoming Men

1940’s motorcyle goggles on our faces, reminding us that we could go
down at any time. Ducking beneath the barley swoop in a matter of
super action story, and running across the road. We were taking the
bus today. The journey was long but we pack Saltines and soda pop.
When it pulled into the city our shoes were already scuffing the aisle
to leap off at that Port Authority. Are you ready? Today we grow up!
The sidewalk slipped casually away from our pounding feet as we beat
the street with arrogant tread. The park loomed soon and we pulled the
map on it. Treasure, adventure, over the other side of the world!
Lurking through the bramble to the pond, scaling bold rock faces, and
terrorizing tourist, we were not tourist, we were invaders,
conquerers. We can be the kings of divine right in Central Park. Alice
and her mushroom posed no grand challenge, and
we bowed down to Peter Pan, leader of the lost boys. Next stop the
museum, hunting big game. I shot a dinosaur. You captured a tiger
pelt. We barely escaped with our lives before landing in the subway train.
How will we find the 42nd street bizarre? By our noses. You pointed to
yours. Here we go! Leapt on to the platform, ground hardly catching
out feet before we were up the stairs above, racing to the
exotic. The incense burned high and we could make out Nag Champa and
Patchouli. Entering, the Asian holy men looking on at our goggles, and
nodded. They knew the thrill seekers, the lion tamers, they knew us. A
man played I- Ching with our futures, we shell shocked him with our
nonchanlance. Others peddled robes and fine silk. We shooed them, but
left with a jeweled sabre sheathed on my new silk sash. This was
today. The sky began to darken and the rain started to fall. You
grabbed my wrist and ran for the train, we were making it home alive!
As the Port Authority bus departed I took off my goggles, are we grown
up? Not yet. You unsheathed the sabre and cut your palm, then took my
hand and did the same. I flinched, but your hands and eyes were
steady. You clasped my hand tightly until it seemed the blood mixed in
our veins and had stopped flowing. Now we are men. The rest of the
ride was silent but understood, men do not speak of nothing, they
speak only when necessary, they need no casual digressions to fill
silence, silence is filled with our mutually understood realities, our
saying without saying. When the bus pulled to the barley field we
scuttled off like sand crabs and in the wanning dusk nodded to each
other. Tomorrow we said.

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About deadendemily

Emily lives in Austin, TX. She has a minor in chaos and a major in spray paint. She likes Vincent Price and ABBA. She enjoys being covered in fake blood and writing horror stories. Most of the time she just hopes that her cat is not plotting to murder her, her cat being a minion of Satan and all. They would never suspect the cat.

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