{"id":39800,"date":"2018-11-04T15:40:35","date_gmt":"2018-11-04T21:40:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/?p=39800"},"modified":"2018-11-12T22:19:54","modified_gmt":"2018-11-13T04:19:54","slug":"larkin-weyand-we-will-be-a-thing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/larkin-weyand-we-will-be-a-thing\/","title":{"rendered":"Larkin Weyand: We Will Be a Thing"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"READ LOCAL First<\/strong>\u00a0represents Utah\u2019s\u00a0most comprehensive collection of\u00a0celebrated and promising writers of fiction, poetry, literary nonfiction, and memoir. This week we bring you\u00a0Larkin Weyand, who teaches courses in English education, creative\u00a0writing, and composition at BYU. He taught high school English and art for nine years at American Fork High School. His short story credits include\u00a0Inscape, Verdad,\u00a0Touchstones,\u00a0The Tonopah Review, The Rio Grande Review, The Blinking Cursor,\u00a0<\/em>and\u00a0Blood Lotus. He has twice won first place in the Utah Art Council\u2019s Original Writing Competition, once for his story collection,\u00a0All the Pennsylvania Left to See\u00a0(2011) and last year for his short story, The Birth Canal (2017). He lives with his wife and four children in Pleasant Grove. We Will Be a Thing is an excerpt from a half-written novel.<\/p>\n

<\/h3>\n

<\/h3>\n

We Will Be a Thing<\/h3>\n

Big day today: I stuck it to the man (both The Colonel and Wayne); Mom was going to be proposed to for the fourth time in her life\u2014by Wayne (big surprise) and he asked me\u00a0<\/em>for her hand in marriage. I told him no, like that matters. Mom never takes my advice concerning her men. But then I said, \u201cLet me see the ring.\u201d He didn\u2019t have one, but he had some lame reason\u2014I told Wayne to wrap the reason around Mom\u2019s finger; see how she likes it.<\/h4>\n

She probably would. Whenever she doesn\u2019t listen to my relationship advice for her, she says I don\u2019t understand the layers of love. \u201cLove isn\u2019t only lovely,\u201d she says.<\/h4>\n

Isn\u2019t it?<\/h4>\n

I fell in love with Kara Sanders back in the seventh grade. She was perfect in every way, perfect in the minds of all the seventh graders I knew well at the time which if I had a list then, or even now, would start and end with me. I was and am an outcast. Those on the list, me and myself, enjoyed asking and answering a single question, \u201cWhat girl do you like?\u201d The answer is always unanimous: \u201cKara Sanders.\u201d Nevertheless, we always take a vote by the raise of hands because raising my hands, yes both of them (one for me; one for I), is enjoyable, enjoyable in the same way it is enjoyable to take out old yearbooks and study Kara Through the Ages, from her dimpled freckles above her red-ribbed turtleneck in kindergarten to her fetching facial piercing-party (one ring in the lip, a stud in the nose, and an innumerable amount of pokes and prods in her ears; the black rings under her eyes were just eye shadow) of her junior picture. I have a history of filling in the narrow white border around her face with a highlighter because this is my way of saying, \u201cI love you.\u201d<\/h4>\n

In the margin, every year, I write, \u201cWe will be a thing.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Each year I finish my highlighting and my comment in the margin, I look at myself in the mirror. \u201cYou love her too? No way.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I dreamed of her being mine forever. Tonight, for some reason, despite all of the buttheads, I went for it.<\/h4>\n

Kara\u2019s father is The Colonel. He\u2019s The\u00a0<\/em>Colonel because he looks like the guy on the Kentucky Fried Chicken signs. The fact that his last name is Sanders led to the obvious nickname. He hates the nickname and I hate (yes, a strong word) him, so that\u2019s where we are.<\/h4>\n

Here\u2019s why I hate him.<\/h4>\n

First, the old fart\u2019s name is Bernard, as in \u201cWhy would anyone name their baby Bernard?\u201d<\/h4>\n

Second, every year The Colonel volunteers as a stand-in (proxy, vicarious, not the real deal) father for my half-brothers and me at the Father and Sons campout sponsored by our church. It makes me feel like this car my Uncle Joe finally sold last month\u2014a real lemon. People came to see it for a year, taking it to mechanics for inspections which the car inevitably failed until, hallelujah; a potential buyer didn\u2019t feel compelled to let a mechanic take a look under the hood and just bought it. Metaphorically speaking, the Colonel buys us every spring and as is his habit with all the other unnecessary things he buys, he shows us off to people who couldn\u2019t care less.<\/h4>\n

Tonight was supposed to be the campout. Dexter, my portly half-brother, who knows he\u2019s part German because he\u2019s never sneezed and, according to him, real Germans don\u2019t sneeze. He looks forward to the campout all year, every year. He hopes The Colonel will die or something so that Wayne will take us. He loves Wayne. He\u2019s loved him ever since Wayne was our swim teacher at the Rec. Center, teaching us Monkey, Airplane, Soldier. I still can\u2019t float on my back and I blame the teacher. Tonight, before he asked for my permission to marry Mom, he got down on my floor and demonstrated Monkey, Airplane, Soldier.<\/h4>\n

I said, \u201cThanks. That will come in handy next time I\u2019m at the pool.\u201d He nodded his head like he\u2019d done me a favor so I ended things by saying, \u201cI don\u2019t own a swimsuit.\u201d<\/h4>\n

He still didn\u2019t get it. I bet the next time he shows up at the house, he\u2019ll have a ring for Mom and a swimsuit for me. He\u2019ll expect both of us to topple him in a teary group hug.<\/h4>\n

\u201cOh Wayne.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Dexter\u2019s 13. I\u2019m 17. He\u2019s seventy pounds heavier than me. He shaves. I don\u2019t. He likes to wrestle, and although I don\u2019t, Wayne does. He knows the names of moves. After Wayne dragged me back to my bedroom tonight, asked for Mom\u2019s hand in marriage, and I dismissed him with a definitive \u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d Dexter cornered me in the hall. \u201cAre they getting married?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Dexter pulls a raw hot dog out of the pocket in his shirt, bites it in half. The Grand Canyon forms on his forehead. He growls like the Mesozoic, which, in case you\u2019re curious, is the longest era of dinosaurs ruling the earth. How do I know this? Dexter. He maintains an ever-changing list of his top five dinosaurs. The top spot on his dinosaur-list has varied between the Tyrannosaurus Rex, the Spinosaurus, and the Giganotosaurus as scholars have argued over which dinosaur was the biggest flesh-eating animal of all time. \u201cAre they getting married?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cAsk them.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWayne just asked you for Mom\u2019s hand.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cHow would you know that?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cHe told me he was going to ask you when we were wrestling after church.\u201d<\/h4>\n

They wrestle right there in the church foyer, dripping sweat and grunting like animals. \u201cDo you have your sleeping bag?\u201d I say. \u201cThe Colonel will be here any minute.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Dexter shoves in the last half of the hot dog. He belches. \u201cThat means your girlfriend\u00a0<\/em>will be here any minute too. She\u2019s babysitting.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not my girlfriend<\/em>.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou wish she was. I can make it so that it\u2019s impossible forever. You tell Wayne you\u2019d love for him to be our stepdad or I\u2019m going to take Kara into the pigeon coop and tell her how to eat them.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cIf you take her to the pigeon coop, I swear I\u2019ll beat the crap out of you.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cSince when can you\u00a0<\/em>beat the crap out of me<\/em>?\u201d He has a point.<\/h4>\n

I bluff. \u201cFine. Take her to the pigeon coop.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Dexter bug eyes. He can\u2019t believe it. \u201cI will.\u201d He starts downstairs. Over his shoulder, he says \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t call her dad The Colonel. It\u2019s disrespectful.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cOkay, Dad.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Outside, I hear the Colonel\u2019s BMW pull up. This scares me, not The Colonel, but the fact that his presence means that Kara is also here; she\u2019s babysitting our three-year-old half-brother Mick while Mom and Wayne go out for a romantic night. Barf.<\/h4>\n

I fall to the floor and crawl over to our monstrous picture window which hovers over a curve of State Street like a ship\u2019s deck over the water. As a result, sitting in our living room is a death wish. The picture window is only 12 feet six inches away from the shoulder of the highway. I know because I\u2019ve measured it. If you sit on our couch, watching, traffic will make you scream. From the couch, you can\u2019t see that the road turns just before the house. When the cars come savagely at 45, 55, 70 miles per hour, it\u2019s hard not to liken the cars to trains staying on their track, wherever it may lead, even right through our picture window, right through my sternum. I go nuts when I examine the drivers. Feeble old men swerving their cars between their cataracts.\u00a0Young punks glug-glugging their Big Gulps. People on their cell phones. Drunks! Flirty Times, a bar, is just down the street. But all of that is just the word \u201cBoo\u201d compared to the true rampage of being in Kara\u2019s beautiful presence. What will I say?<\/h4>\n

The Colonel, with his smooth skin and big-sleeved three-button shirt emerges like Peter Pan, hands on hips. The Les Miserables\u00a0<\/em>soundtrack, Kara\u2019s favorite piece of music (I heard her say this in the hall at school once), blares from the stereo\u2014<\/h4>\n

There’s a darkness which comes without a warning <\/em><\/h4>\n

But I will sing you lullabies and wake you in the morning. <\/em><\/h4>\n

That\u2019s where the music stops. Maybe Kara knows something. The Colonel\u2019s watch sparkles in the sun. He holds out his hand for Dexter, who holds out a chocolate Power Bar as thanks for taking us camping.\u00a0 The Colonel refuses, disgusted. Dexter bites another raw hot dog.<\/h4>\n

The BMW\u2019s passenger door pops open. Out comes Kara, wearing a green tank top and short white shorts. Mom greets her by handing her Mick. Kara holds him in the cradle of her arm and pecks him on the cheek. Mick curves his back and does a double-leg kick to be set down.<\/h4>\n

\u201cFool,\u201d I say.<\/h4>\n

\u201cNo need to be rude about this,\u201d says Wayne from behind. \u201cI\u2019ll get a ring.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Kara looks my way. I collapse to the floor. \u201cI wasn\u2019t talking to you. Where\u2019d you come from?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhy did you just fall down?\u201d<\/h4>\n

I groan in exasperation. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Wayne tries to engage me in some conversation about how he loves Mom, how he wants to love me and Dexter. \u201cI know I could be a good father.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cA good fourth husband? Maybe you should go have some kids . . . of your own.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Outside, Mom and the Colonel walk and chat together while Dexter approaches Kara. \u201cHe\u2019s taking her to the backyard. To the pigeons. Crap.\u201d I run out the door, not taking time to close it. Sure enough, they\u2019re on their way through the side-gate to the backyard. Wayne follows me like an annoyingly talkative child. He gets halfway through some word and stops. He won\u2019t get a \u201cwhat\u2019s that?\u201d from me. I double back up to the front door to cut through the house, slamming the door behind me. I juke through the sleeping bags and backpacks and cooler into our dining room and flatten my face against the glass.<\/h4>\n

Dexter already has Kara inside the pigeon coop and the door closed. It\u2019s entirely encased in wire mesh, tall but narrow. Kara must be getting lungfuls of his hot dog breath. On the deck, the Colonel checks his watch and then his nails, looking pissed off and then pleased. Wayne has made it around the house. He is climbing the deck stairs. He has his arms out explaining something to Mom, but she turns her back. Not listening. I feel a surge of love (hope?).<\/h4>\n

\u201cShe can already float on her back,\u201d I say to no one.<\/h4>\n

I grab my video camera from my bedroom. My fondness for Kara has never actually led to me finding the nerve to open my mouth and talk to her. What if I just embraced the failure that was my family? That was something I could talk about.<\/h4>\n

When I get down to the pigeon coop, camera in hand and rolling, Kara is fidgeting her feet in the crunchy pellets of hard gray poo on the ground. There is the smell of Pigeon Chow (a real product) and the friendly narration provided by Dexter, who doesn\u2019t mind my camera at all. He thinks he\u2019s in charge of something.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got twelve birds right now. I got some new squabs about a month ago. Here\u2019s Mom and Dad. That\u2019s a Cropper. That one in the corner is a Silver King. I sell a few birds online every year.\u201d He winks. He smiles with lots of teeth. There is a sliver of hot dog wagging from between the two top ones. \u201cI breed on the side.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Kara smiles into the camera. She doesn\u2019t look phased.<\/h4>\n

\u201cGet it?\u201d asks Dexter. \u201cBreed on the side?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cDexter,\u201d rebukes both the Colonel and Wayne who have joined the party. Mom is there too, but she is all smiles.<\/h4>\n

\u201cAre we ready to go boys?\u201d says the Colonel. He bites off a nail but doesn\u2019t spit it out. His habit of eating his fingernails grosses me out. Now it\u2019s on film, sort of. This is golden.<\/h4>\n

\u201cQuiet,\u201d says Dexter. \u201cLet Kara hear the cooing and strutting.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cNice birds,\u201d says Kara.<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re filming all of this?\u201d says the Colonel suddenly. \u201cWhy?\u201d I turn to capture him in all his predictable annoyance. He looks like the headmaster in Dead Poet\u2019s Society\u00a0<\/em>when the boys stand on their desks at the end and he can\u2019t do a damn thing about it. I think he might be trying to swallow his tongue. He coughs. His ragged nail pops out from his lips. I zoom in. The nail disappears back into his mouth. Scrumptious.<\/h4>\n

\u201cBradly,\u201d says Mom.<\/h4>\n

\u201cNice birds,\u201d says Kara again.<\/h4>\n

\u201cShhhh,\u201d says Dexter. The cooing has gone away. We\u2019re all quiet boys and girls, but after a moment, it\u2019s obvious that the cooing isn\u2019t coming back. \u201cActually, birds aren\u2019t nice or not nice. They don\u2019t have that ability.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u00a0\u201cI think they\u2019re nice,\u201d says Kara. \u201cAnd lots of people were making noise. Not just me.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Kara squats down before the little baby squabs\u2014the rats with wings.<\/h4>\n

\u201cHave you ever eaten a pigeon Kara?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d says the Colonel as testily\/cheerfully as possible while scrolling on his phone. \u201cIt\u2019s time to go troops.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re late,\u201d says Wayne, but they\u2019re not. The Golden Corral doesn\u2019t take reservations. Mom is lost in her thoughts. Then she snaps free.<\/h4>\n

\u201cGet your things Dex,\u201d she says. She turns to me. \u201cBradly?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going,\u201d I say.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWell, what are you going to do?\u201d asks the Colonel, still scrolling. \u201cYour Mom and Wayne are going out on a date tonight. Kara is watching the baby.\u201d He pockets his phone and turns toward Mom and away from the camera. \u201cWill you please ask him to turn that off Annie?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d I say before Mom has to. I don\u2019t turn it off, but I pretend to. I slip my finger over the green light. Ha. Ha. 10th<\/sup>grade English with Mr. Penrod. \u201c–<\/em>tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…. And then one fine morning–\u201d<\/em><\/h4>\n

The Colonel turns to Kara. \u201cYou\u2019re not staying with him . . .unsupervised.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u00a0\u201cDaddy,\u201d says Kara. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/h4>\n

My sensitive ego begs me to consider the possibility that in Kara\u2019s mind, at a school dance say, I\u2019m not the unattainable hunk in the center of the floor, but the sort-of-handsome boy by the punch bowl: a safe dance. Her \u201cplease\u201d is just a result of our innocence and not that she finds me disgusting. Maybe.<\/h4>\n

\u201cBradly\u2019s going camping,\u201d says Mom. \u201cRight Brad?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cPigeons are gourmet fare actually,\u201d says Dex. \u201cLike in Egypt, they\u2019re considered to be aphrodisiacs. Besides, they\u2019re cheap to breed. They\u2019re more than happy living on mashed potatoes and old bread. You know what Kara?\u201d This is his moment of grandeur. I swear I see a tear. He reaches his Frankenstein arms out and lands them on Kara\u2019s shoulders and stares deep into her eyes. Coming on this scene out of context, one might think that he\u2019s either about to tell her about a death in the family or kiss her. \u201cIf we tapped into pigeons as a food resource, hunger would be an unknown condition in all third world countries. And that\u2019s a fact.\u201d<\/h4>\n

From his camouflage pants, by some sleight of hand, he produces an open butterfly knife. The blade already has a reddish tint. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you help me butcher them? These little squabs are just about ready. 28 days old tomorrow.\u00a0 I\u2019ll show you how. You can use my knife.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cDexter!\u201d warns Mom. \u201cNot now.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou want me to cut up a pigeon?\u201d Kara is so pretty when confused.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI put \u2018em in here this morning so that their mommies and daddies couldn\u2019t feed them.<\/h4>\n

They\u2019re tummies are empty, ready for the slaughter.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cDexter,\u201d demand Mom and The Colonel. \u201cCome out of there. Let Kara out.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI think that camera is still on,\u201d whines the Colonel.<\/h4>\n

Dexter undoes the latch on the coop with the squabs.<\/h4>\n

\u201cDexter, what are you doing?\u201d cries Mom. \u201cWayne, stop him.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Wayne looks fascinated by Dexter\u2019s knife, but Mom\u2019s words spring him into action. He wipes his eyes. He nods his head. He\u2019s coming in. Dexter pinions himself behind the door so that he\u2019s hard to reach. He continues to talk to Kara as if none of us are there. \u201cSome people won\u2019t eat pigeons because they\u2019re afraid they\u2019ll get Cryptococcosis or Psittacosis, but if you do this the way I show you . . .\u201d He adjusts the bird so that its \u201cvent\u201d hovers just above the point of the knife.<\/h4>\n

Kara covers her mouth with her hands. Wayne reaches for the sadly calm baby bird. \u201cDexter,\u201d he says, but even Wayne can\u2019t move Dexter from his will. I zoom in.<\/h4>\n

\u201cSome people say you should cut off their heads and bleed them for a day, but I just like to eat \u2018em. So, just like so, you hold them. Stick your knife in the . . . like so.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Kara gasps and so does Mom. Wayne, amused, stops his struggle. The Colonel rubs his eyes. He glares my way. \u201cGood Lord. Talk about a horror movie.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cDexter. It\u2019s totally quivering,\u201d says Kara.<\/h4>\n

\u201cIt\u2019ll all be over for him shortly. Cut up to the breastbone. Like so.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Dexter pulls his now bloody knife out. He saws off the head which falls to the ground with a thump and then the feet, thump-thump.<\/h4>\n

\u201cGrab a bird Kara. Here\u2019s the knife.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Kara stumbles out of the pigeon coop and barfs in the grass. Strange as it may seem, her ralphing over by our fence keeps Kara safe from any type of incarnation, at least in my eyes. It only lifts her to even greater heights of deity. It\u2019s here that my battery dies of course.<\/h4>\n

Mom, making pissed faces at Dexter, steadies Kara with an arm on her back. They head to the house, to the bathroom. Wayne follows, offering to help \u201cin any way,\u201d and Mom ignores him in every way. I arrive only a minute later. Wayne exits by slamming the door. I wait side by side with Mom. She looks at me several times and starts to say something, but no actual words ever come out.<\/h4>\n

\u201cMom?\u201d I say. \u201cAbout Wayne, he wanted . . .\u201d I can\u2019t continue in the face of Mom\u2019s panicked, although silent, expression, so I change course. \u201cHe\u2019s a butthead?\u201d<\/h4>\n

She sighs. \u201cHe\u2019s a . . . cute\u00a0<\/em>butthead. Going way\u00a0<\/em>too fast.\u201d She laughs and Kara opens the door. Mom gives a compassionate groan and hugs Kara and says, \u201cOh sweetie, are you okay?\u201d Kara\u2019s just fine, so Mom says, \u201cI guess I don\u2019t need a babysitter, but here\u2019s your money for coming over on such short notice.\u201d She hands Kara a twenty-dollar bill. Wayne comes in from the backyard, like a bug that won\u2019t get out of your face, no matter how much you wave your hand. \u201cI have something I have to say,\u201d he stammers, so Mom leaves us under the terror of the picture window. Kara holds Mick, who had by this time discovered that he rather enjoys being held in Kara\u2019s arms. I swear I\u2019m not lying, the kid winked at me.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWould you throw up again for another twenty dollars?\u201d<\/h4>\n

She punches me in the shoulder. \u201cI want you to destroy that video.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cCome on over sometime and we\u2019ll watch it. Your dad eats his fingernails.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Kara furrows her brow. \u201cI know. I\u2019m not allowed to go on dates with boys, so how about tonight?” She waves the twenty-dollar bill.<\/h4>\n

I start to affirm, \u201cYou\u2019re pretty all right\u201d when I lose my courage and the words choke me. I cough and Kara pats me on the back. The Colonel, who has been listening in the hallway, enters the room. He looks like death. He snatches the twenty-dollar bill. \u201cKara is working through some trust issues with me, Bradly.\u201d He gives Kara a disappointed glare that triggers a tsunami of emotion in Kara\u2019s eyes. \u201cParticularly when it comes to boys.\u201d<\/h4>\n

I say, \u201cBut you know me, Mr. Sanders.\u201d<\/h4>\n

He stops to think of how he knows me. He scrunches up his face sourly. He hands me the twenty. \u201cAnd I know Kara.\u201d He opens the front door and pauses. He stares at the floor, but points his head to Kara. \u201cI\u2019ll be in the car.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhat about the campout,\u201d says Dex. How long has he been here?<\/h4>\n

\u201cJust let me make sure Kara gets home. Then I\u2019ll come back.\u201d With that, he leaves. The screen door whirs close to closed and then crashes all the way closed.<\/h4>\n

Kara starts to follow her father.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWait,\u201d I say. \u201cJust a sec.\u201d I hustle back to my room and get my spare battery for the camera. I slip it in. Back in the front room, I ask Kara to move in front of the large window. She is strangely willing. I don\u2019t ask any questions; I just start filming. I can see the Colonel behind her, meandering past the BMW into 89 without looking both ways, without even looking one way. He bumps off the double yellow line as if it\u2019s a wall. He stands up straight with his hands on his head. I think the world\u2019s gone fuzzy for him; maybe he\u2019s going to pass out. He finds his way to the BMW and rests his head on its roof. Kara sees none of this.<\/h4>\n

In the distance, a speeding police car barrels up 89. The sirens blaze. I use my chin to tell Kara to look. She turns. I step to the side to join her expression, the racing policeman and her father into a single frame. Her eyes grow wider and wider. The sound of the siren is nearly on top of us. In exactly two seconds, it looks like we will be pulverized, but the Colonel will get nailed first. He must not hear. His head stays buried in the hole of his hands.<\/h4>\n

I feel my body and mind fighting each other. My mind knows that police car is going to turn with the road. It has to. My body isn\u2019t so sure, even though I\u2019ve seen this hundreds of times. I hope for Kara to leap out of the way like some people do, like I used to, like I want to now. I hope she\u2019ll leap out of the way and drag me on top of her as she falls to the floor.<\/h4>\n

Maybe we could kiss.<\/h4>\n

She stands her ground. She doesn\u2019t swallow. She doesn\u2019t blink. She bangs on the glass. He voice is thick, but just a whisper when she says, \u201cMove.\u201d Fresh waves of tears fill her eyes as that cop car whizzes through the bend under our porch and the sound of the siren begins to diminish. It\u2019s on its way to an emergency and didn\u2019t stop for Kara. I have no idea what her tears mean. Gratitude to still be alive? A lost opportunity at death?<\/h4>\n

But then her father looks up from the roof of the BMW and holds out his hand. She puts a couple fingers on the glass. She faces me. A few steps later and she\u2019s right next to me. She takes the camera from me and holds it out like for a self-portrait. She pecks me on the cheek.<\/h4>\n

\u201cMake me a copy.\u201d<\/h4>\n

She leaves in the BMW. I go on the campout. I\u2019m here in some tent up in the mountains, Dexter snoring in the next sleeping bag. My flashlight is dying.<\/h4>\n

I don\u2019t know what my next move should be.<\/h4>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

READ LOCAL First\u00a0represents Utah\u2019s\u00a0most comprehensive collection of\u00a0celebrated and promising writers of fiction, poetry, literary nonfiction, and memoir. This week we bring you\u00a0Larkin Weyand, who teaches courses in English education, creative\u00a0writing, and composition at BYU. He taught high school English and art for nine years at American Fork High […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1566,"featured_media":39808,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_piecal_is_event":false,"_piecal_start_date":"","_piecal_end_date":"","_piecal_is_allday":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[35,2513],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-39800","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literary-arts","category-read-local-first"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/11\/Larkin-Weyland-Photo-2-1-e1541367787998.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"publishpress_future_action":{"enabled":false,"date":"2026-04-29 23:17:47","action":"change-status","newStatus":"draft","terms":[],"taxonomy":"category","extraData":[]},"publishpress_future_workflow_manual_trigger":{"enabledWorkflows":[]},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39800","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1566"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=39800"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39800\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":39811,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39800\/revisions\/39811"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/39808"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=39800"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=39800"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=39800"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}