HS: Live on Tour
In Emulation of Tamiko Beyer

I’m wild all the way up the dimly lit arena stairs, happy girl in a dusty pink ensemble, Goodwill trousers and overcoat, a lace hand-me-down from Abuela, bouncing up the steps over fellow fans and beating hearts. I’m looking for my seat and on the way – there, there – past the newborn fans and lost parents: girls my age waving flags of pride, flags of protest, flags of happiness. Their excitement amplified by the dropping of the screen, the slight dimming of lights, the animation on screen of his hands cracking the Rubik’s Cube’s mystery. How do we get here and why do we stay? I find my seat and sit to think about the years that have filtered by, a youth built by obsessions but a fascination that has held my hand all this time, a life accompanied by binding love for an artist. Every girl at the front of that pit is me, waving my flag of acceptance and love and protest, watching the man on stage who has opened up this space to scream, cry, and love.

Hugging you tightly—
Echoes of coupled voices,
telling you: you’re home.

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