First date at The Thomas Shows

Alex Stolis

Parents dropped us off; pick you up when it's dark,

gave us each five bucks. Enough for unlimited rides,

puke-inducing combo of chili dogs, cotton candy,

syrup soda gunned lukewarm in waxy paper cups.

My fear-of-heights-stomach-churn vaporized when you

grabbed my hand, tugged me toward the roller coaster.

Not even strapped in, a flimsy metal bar and the gravity

of being skin-close to you kept me from free falling.

The ride operator, a carnival cliche; Cheech & Chong

dropout, Marlboro burning the corner of his mouth; red

bandana dangling from a hip pocket. The shimmy-shake

of the speeding train, the rust-rattle of the tracks;

none of it scared you. Back then nothing did. Not your brother

shipping to Vietnam or bombing down Coolerator Hill on our

Schwinn’s, no-hands-eyes-closed. Not your mom’s drinking,

her vacant stare after the telegram from the government.

Tried all day to win the pink stuffed bear, big as my crush;

Ring Toss, Hoop Shot, Ballon Bust, Rifle Range, walking

away with nothing but your hand in mine. You were picked

up first, I was left waiting; sunburned neck, fists jammed

in empty pockets, wondering if I would ever.