Made You Up

by Francesca Zappia

I realized everyone around me was wearing a uniform. Black pants, white button-down shirts, green ties. Gotta love the smell of institutional equality in the morning.

The pictures had no rhyme or reason. I realized a few years back that sometimes I’d look at an old picture and something would be different in it. Something would be missing. I reached into my bag and pulled out my camera, then flipped through the pictures I’d taken today. The first one from this morning, the one of the squirrels—it was already different. It looked like I’d just taken a picture of the neighbor’s lawn. The squirrels were gone.

Am I crazy? Concentrate and ask again Am I crazy? Reply hazy try again Am I crazy? Cannot predict now Better not tell you now Concentrate and ask again Better not tell you now Reply hazy try again Cannot predict now Ask again later Ask again later Ask again later

“C’m’ere, Charlie.” I spread my arms. Charlie hesitated, then ran across the room and climbed into my lap. I wrapped my arms and the blanket around her. She saved me from trying to figure out how much I should tell her. “I don’t like it when your head breaks.” I knew she was old enough and smart enough to know that my head didn’t actually break, but she’d been calling it that for so long it didn’t matter anymore. I think it made her feel better to think of it like something broken that could be fixed.

The problem lies in getting yourself out of Christmas, because when you come out of it, you have to redefine the lines between reality and imagination.

“If nothing’s real, then what does it matter?” he said. “You live here. Doesn’t that make it real enough?”