Page 53 of A Fool's Game

I stack the pages and start preparing for the long process of folding and binding by hand. I printed over a hundred copies this run, and I’ll do another hundred tomorrow, spending the next few days making my rounds to drop the books off at various shops and departments around campus and our neighborhood. I could ask for help, especially with the delivery, but it’s my favorite part.

In all the years I spent scribbling poems and stories in my notebooks and typing frantically away at novels that would never escape my hard drive, I never imagined that doing the impossible—sharing my work—would be the thing that actually helped me get better and grow my art. It’s why I chose to go into publishing. I know there are hundreds of writers out there who, just like me, fail to understand that the scariest step is the one that will start them up the staircase to their dreams.

You learn a lot by writing a book or completing a collection of poems, but you can never know how your art will interact with the world, how it will change people’s lives, how it cangrow your knowledge of the human experience, until you release it.

This ‘Zine was my way of releasing mine, and I’ve been able to offer countless other writers and artists the opportunity to feel the same when their work graces the pages of these quarterly editions. But there’s even bigger opportunities out there for the talented authors of the world, and I know my future lies in helping them get their books published on the world’s stage.

It’s funny how being in a stable, loving relationship can help you see yourself clearly enough to find your path in life but also cloud the waters when it comes time to make big leaps.

Some things you just know are right, like when I met Ainsley again in that bar and brought him into our home. My heart and my gut agreed, so I went headfirst into the great unknown.

But there are other things.

Things my heart and gut are telling me.

Things my loving partner, friends, and mentors would sign off on in an instant.

But I still can’t bring myself to speak them aloud, let alone do them.

What do you do when you see everything you want, but you already have everything you wanted, and the two don’t seem to match up?

I’ve been pulling cards all winter that have assured me I’m on the right path. That big changes are coming and it’s only going to bring Taylor and I closer. That I can follow my intuition and my dreams even when it feels scary.

But now that I have this little ember of love blossoming with Ainsley, and I’m watching the two men figure each other out, I can’t help but wonder if I read the cards all wrong.

The acceptance letter burns a hole in my pocket as I let myself dwell on worst case scenarios.

My Magician promises magic and manifestation of hopes and dreams, but he also has everything he requires already, right there on his table. What if I throw him a curveball and it turns out he doesn’t need me at all?

My Fool is joyously starting a new journey, fresh faced and bright eyed. When he touches me, I light up in ways I’ve never imagined. When he smiles at me, I feel the soul connection I’m sure is several lifetimes old.

This love could be the good fortune my readings predicted.

If I’d only waited to send out applications, I’d still have everything.

But I didn’t wait.

And now there’s something else I want.

Something I might only be able to chase if I give up everything.

I jump a foot as the heavy metal door swings open behind me and hits the stopper with a bang.

“Hey, girl.” Lana, one of my identical twin roommates, announces her presence, strutting into the room in knee high black boots, a short, tight red dress, and faux fur jacket, carrying a tray of coffees.

“You scared the shit out of me.” I laugh and accept the tall, iced coffee with a smile. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“You didn’t think we’d show up on ‘Zine printing day and help you staple all million booklets?” Eva, Lana’s twin in appearance but opposite in fashion sense, takes her own coffeeand shakes her head at me, smiling in her simple jeans and Patagonia jacket. “You thought we’d let you do all this work by yourself?”

“It’s not so bad,” I say sheepishly, fiddling with my straw and glancing over at the ever-growing pile of work drying on the long countertops.

Eva huffs and follows my gaze. “You clearly need help,and we knew damn well you weren’t going to ask for it, so here we are. Put us to work.”

I can’t silence my sigh as I nod. She’s right. I didn’t want to burden anyone with spending their day off slaving away on my project, so I was going to break myself doing it alone. Again. Maybe that’s part of the reason no one has stepped up to take over as editor of the Moon ‘Zine when I retire at the end of spring quarter. I wonder if I’d reached out in the first place and made printing day a team effort—a party—if it would seem like less of a slog. But it’s too late to criticize my last few years of behavior now. Not that I won’t be doing so in my mind for…well, forever. Add it to the list of things I’ve done wrong.

“You’ve got purple ink on your cheek,” Lana says, stepping forward to trace the stain with one long, black pointed fingernail.

I try to wipe it off with the back of one hand, but she shakes her head, smiling. “Too late. It’s dried on. You’re going to be purple for a while.”

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