(a somewhat found poem-Sunday’s NY Times 15 Best Selling Fiction Titles) 

Oh how I long to be part of the pack known as Normal People.  Normal people do things like  plan a Big Summer.  They say things like “Oh let’s just go enjoy A  Week at the Shore. We can stay on Ocean Boulevard in Rodham.  I’ll take my favorite Beach Read, sit by the pool and enjoy those smooth Camino Winds.”  

Then they actually go and do those things.  They sit by the pool.  They read a book.  They relax.  Find joy in the quiet moment.  Their minds slow and bodies settle.  

I have never been part of that pack.  I travel with the Little Fires Everywhere pack.  We Walk the Wire daily.  We attempt to maintain a balance between the ‘sky is falling’ and ‘If It Bleeds,’ it is going to.  Our minds never slow.  Our bodies settle only when we emotionally conquer The Last Trail of the day, fully exhausted.   We are always anticipating the next shoe to drop, or the 20th Victim of the day, because there always is one.   

We attempt to blend in.  You know, have calm, steady conversations…. when all we really want to do is throw ourselves into the American Dirt   Where The Crawdads Are, roll around  and scream, ‘Don’t you get it?  This shit is real!”  

You can spot us by the mantra that seeps out between our clinched lips.  “We are All Adults Here, we are all adults here.  Everything is going to be alright.  We are all adults here.”