Now Is Not the Time to Panic

by Kevin Wilson

“I want to be an artist,” he told me, like we were both admitting that we weren’t human. We didn’t understand how normal this was, to be young, to believe that you were destined to make beautiful things.

I wondered if that was kind of the purpose of art, maybe, to make you see things that you knew but couldn’t say out loud.

That’s what was official, that we were invisible to everyone in the entire world except each other.

I don’t know exactly why because I wasn’t aware of the complex negotiations required to be popular, she’d quit and started hanging out with the theater kids.