“That’s twice my brother’s cried and that’s twice I’ve lost that bet.”
Good gambling sense doesn’t seem to run in the family. Twice, Sister has wagered with her troupe that I won’t shed a tear. When she came out from behind the curtain at the wrap up to last night’s semi-private performance, she looked over at me with tears streaming down my face, “I’m going to go broke wagering that he won’t cry,” she said.
It was a private show, put on for a group associated with a church, and the two points that broke my floodgates? Simple stuff, really. The way a piece of tissue evoked pain, fear, self-loathing. The way the demons can be beaten by combined forces.
After the show, the tech guy seemed a little too interested in me, “So, you’re from Austin? Got room for another rider?”
Looks like I can tell all kinds of stories about the mythic childhood of me and Sister.
Payback for making me cry.
