By AMELIA GRAY
Not enough snow to stick, Mother says. A pissing thin layer of the saddest slick. Even the road made visible underneath. Used to be you could die in a winter, wander right off the road and dead in a field before you had your second thought, but these days everyone gets to their destination. Have you ever arrived in a springtime with your entire family intact? A real shame to see, Mother says.
You have your choice of blankets, Dana. I laid them out for you on the bed. Your choice may be determined by your comfort level with our little group. I bought this new red blanket special for your arrival but when I got it home and saw it didn’t match the rest, it kindled a fear in my heart that you might see it as a way to exclude you. It’s such a soft blanket, made for you, made to touch your entire body, but I know how it feels to be excluded and I would never want that for you so I would like to present the other blankets as valid options. Please make your selection by six p.m. for that is when Charles would like to go to bed and he will of course at that point need a blanket. We’re so glad you’re here.
SKIN SUIT JAM BAND RULES
1. NO food or drink
2. rental skin suits must be properly maintained
3. do NOT touch the casio, it belongs there & will break if moved
4. bring your own undergarment (or a rental will be provided)
5. respect others and yourself
6. park across the street at the mcdonalds
Amelia Gray is a featured writer at the 2012 Juniper Literary Festival: New Writers | New Writing.
Photos by Emily Hunt | First published in “Studies,” Route 9 Issue 2.
