The First to Die at the End

by Adam Silvera

I can’t speak to what Orion would look like intoxicated, but this can’t be far off. I start taking pictures as Orion jumps up and swings on the ceiling’s handrail that’s for the tallest of the tall. Everyone remains thoroughly unimpressed, and I’m surprised and relieved no one is booing him. “Main event!” Orion shouts. He removes his baseball cap and tosses it up and tries catching it with his foot. He fails the first time, the second time, the third time, the fourth time, and though he comes really close on the fifth time, he misses. “You got this!” I shout. I start a slow clap, and surprisingly, other passengers join in. “Come on, Orion!” The next moment isn’t perfect, even though Orion has strangers rallying for him, but he sneaks a smile for me anyway. Then he focuses as he flips the cap up and kicks his foot straight into it, and he catches himself on the pole before he can fall. My palms hurt from how hard I’m clapping.