[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Advent Pro||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″]<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||-2px|||” custom_padding=”0px||0px|||”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Josefin Slab||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”16px” text_line_height=”1em” custom_padding=”|0px|0px|0px||”]<\/p>\n
Mile One<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cA hundred years is a long time,\u201d I say. \u201cA long time.\u201d \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s a goal,\u201d Mom replies. \u201cLike seeing you married to a nice, young woman.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I hear her words, and have always hoped the best for her \u2014 even her silly milestone \u2014 but nobody lives forever.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI will,\u201d she says, proudly, and tosses me a narrowed glance.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Two bare-headed bikers ride pedal-to-pedal in the middle of the road, with their dogs trailing on twisted leashes behind them.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t know how you do it,\u201d one of the bikers calls out.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cLikewise,\u201d I shout back and wave as we turn the corner up the block and cross over to Lincoln moving quick and steady. Mom leads the way.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cLike I was saying,\u201d she says, \u201cI was talking to Debra about your master\u2019s degree and I said, \u2018We\u2019re very proud of him\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201c\u2014<\/span>her<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201c<\/span>Her?<\/span><\/i>\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201c<\/span>Her<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cRight. \u2018We\u2019re very proud of <\/span>her<\/span><\/i> and everything <\/span>she<\/span><\/i> does.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n A small silence passes between us as we hang a right onto Washington. The sputter of a sprinkler system greets us; a lawnmower growls to life.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cWhy can\u2019t you ever get my pronouns right?\u201d I ask and hop over a pothole the size of Crater Lake, panting. Mom breathes evenly.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cJaso-\u2026<\/span>Ashley<\/span><\/i>, I\u2019m doing the best I can,\u201d she says and sighs.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI feel like you care more about the person you want me to be than who I am.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 She smiles like she understands.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 She nods like this is everything.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Then, she opens her mouth as her watch beeps and says, \u201cThat\u2019s a mile.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cA mile?\u201d I ask. \u201cWe\u2019ve only gone a mile?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom, who\u2019s five-eight, one-forty, says \u201cI thought you\u2019ve been running. Out of juice already?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cNo, and I have been running. I just don\u2019t normally go this fast.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 We lope down Washington like ghosts in a graveyard until it dead-ends at Pierce by the Walgreens. Up ahead, in the distance, is the lonely spire of a large, Victorian brick building.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom points and says, \u201cOnce around city hall. Then we\u2019ll head back.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t want to head back,\u201d I tell her. \u201cI agreed to come on this run so we could work things out.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cNot ready to head back?\u201d she says, \u201cWe can keep going; I don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cYou know that\u2019s not what I mean.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 She picks up speed and says, \u201cWell, I can never tell with you, you know? It\u2019s boy one day and girl another. Back and forth, flip-flop; that\u2019s all you ever do.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 I want to say, \u201cHey, that\u2019s unfair,\u201d but the words never leave my mouth.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom, with her perfect hair and her timeless complexion, says, \u201cI\u2019m just glad you don\u2019t go by they\/them\/this, or whatever that fad was, anymore. <\/span>Mom takes a hard right around the flag pole at the giant brick city center. I follow her as she leads us through a small gauntlet of police cruisers and city vehicles before heading back onto Washington amid its rows and rows of maples.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m doing the best I can,\u201d she says and picks up the pace. \u201cI\u2019m doing the best I can.\u201d<\/span> <\/p>\n Mile Two<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n A woman, who looks like Scarlet Johansson, out walking her dog, waves as we run past.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cYou see that person?\u201d I ask. \u201cWhat\u2019s the first thing you think of when you see a person like that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cLike what?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI mean, what do you think of them? Describe them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cWell,\u201d Mom says, \u201cI think she looks anxious.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201c<\/span>She<\/span><\/i>. <\/span>She<\/span><\/i>! You think <\/span>she<\/span><\/i> looks anxious. Don\u2019t you get it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cListen,\u201d Mom tells me, and looks back over her shoulder, maybe watching for traffic, maybe watching for me. She says, \u201cI know it\u2019s been hard for you, and I wanna help, but I\u2019m afraid I just don\u2019t know how.\u201d <\/span>We approach a four-way stop and Mom slows for traffic. We sidle up the shoulder toward the flashing red lights and hang a right onto Roosevelt without stopping.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom\u2019s chest rises and falls. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to run against traffic,\u201d she says, \u201cOtherwise they won\u2019t see you.\u201d <\/span>And I think to myself I know the feeling. But right now, with the sun rising and rush hour traffic just setting in, I\u2019d rather get hit by a car than let anyone see me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cAll I want is for you to acknowledge me.\u201d On the verge of tears, my voice trembles as I say, \u201cAcknowledge me for who I am.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom stops. We stop. The world stops, turning. Standing face-to-face, I and the woman who gave birth to me study one another, measure our next moves.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A Jeep blasts past and blares its throaty horn.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cFreak!\u201d the driver yells and tosses something out their passenger-side window. Green smoothie covers my shoes. <\/span>Mom, with the power to make me whole again, says, \u201cNever mind them,\u201d and puts an arm around my shoulder. She says, \u201cWe\u2019ll clean your shoes when we get home.\u201d <\/span>Her watch beeps. <\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s two,\u201d she says, and taps at the watch\u2019s small screen. She nods my way, a question more than a gesture.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cShall we?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cWe can\u2019t keep running,\u201d I tell her.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cSure we can,\u201d she says, \u201cThe house is just over yonder,\u201d and she plots the way we came with her fingers. \u201cUnless you want to add a few more on; jog over to the graveyard. Won\u2019t live to be a hundred years if I don\u2019t get extra miles in.\u201d She laughs, but I don\u2019t. What I want to do is wallop her upside the head.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI want you at the wedding,\u201d I tell her. \u201cIt would feel wrong not having you there.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cJason, honey, I know this is a big deal for you, and I\u2019d never want to take anything away from that, but it\u2019s a big deal for me, too, for different reasons, and I think you\u2019re being a little selfish.\u201d Mom turns left at a fork in the road. The road cuts up the development next to ours and out toward the cemetery.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The distant rumble of thunder interrupts the blue sky.<\/span> <\/p>\n Mile Three<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Rain falls like the beginning of a good cry as we pass through the cemetery gates. Marble and granite tombs signal our arrival. Blackbirds mourn our presence. They throw their heads back and cackle.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Go back<\/span><\/i>, these birds say. <\/span>Go back<\/span><\/i> before it\u2019s too late<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Rustling leaves ride the wind in and out of sun-bleached wreaths and torn, idle flags. Mom and I zigzag up the first hill, down around the small field, and back to the gates. The whole loop is a mile. <\/span>Halfway through, still huffing and puffing, I notice a familiar sycamore tree and an even more familiar gravestone with a chubby angel-looking thing staring optimistically toward the sky.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cIsn\u2019t Grandpa buried over there?\u201d I ask as we run past, but Mom, only sees what she wants to see. She says, \u201cYour guess is as good as mine.\u201d and keeps hoofing, picks up speed, lowers her shoulders.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Her watch beeps, and she says, \u201cThat\u2019s three.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cThe wedding is tomorrow,\u201d I remind her, and speed up to keep pace with her for the first time the entire run.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 We make the final turn toward the small field and the gates that lie beyond.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cWe can go back,\u201d she says, \u201cI have no problem with that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 I pant and pant, trying my best to keep up, but Mom, she only gets faster. The rains pick up, too, and suddenly the frail blue of the sky turns black, and we turn like we\u2019re going back, but Mom, who once gave me a kiss for my birthday, she takes a right instead of a left and leads us out, up, and over the hill toward city hall.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cTwice around,\u201d she says.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 And I say, \u201cNo,\u201d but she doesn\u2019t hear me. Doesn\u2019t hear me or doesn\u2019t care. Doesn\u2019t care or couldn\u2019t care.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 But, I dare. I ask, \u201cWhy do you always have to do things the hard way?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 And she says, \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 And I say, \u201cYou\u2019re sixty-seven, you run four miles a day, and you haven\u2019t taken a day off in thirty years.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Thunder claps, despite there being nothing to applaud. A neon fork of lightning tines the sky. <\/span>Mom, with her mascara on point and her hair as blonde as the day she was born, says, \u201cAt least I\u2019m consistent,\u201d and turns her nose up at me. <\/span>She goes, \u201cIf you\u2019d just settle down and stop chasing these silly dreams of yours you\u2019d probably feel better about yourself. You might even accept yourself as the man you are.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cBut, I\u2019m not a man!\u201d I shout. \u201cI\u2019m not a man or a woman! I\u2019m your son, your daughter, your whatever! I just want to be loved! Don\u2019t you understand that? All I want is for you to act like you care.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m sorry, but it\u2019s a dead issue,\u201d she says and speeds up.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cMom!\u201d I shout, but she\u2019s so far ahead now, I can\u2019t hear her footsteps any longer. She\u2019s so far ahead I can\u2019t reach her. She rounds the final corner around city hall with me trailing about a half-mile behind. The distance between us grows greater and greater with every stride.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cGod (huff huff) damnit (huff huff), Mom. Just (huff huff) slow down!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 I make the same turn onto Washington, in the direction of home \u2014 home terrible no good very bad home \u2014 but when I pass through the cobbled archway and wrought-iron gates and into the street I stop.\u00a0<\/span>From a quarter-mile up the road comes the sound of Mom, screaming her head off.\u00a0<\/span> <\/p>\n Mile Four<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n A middle-aged man digging his own grave scrambles to finish mowing his yard \u2014 a small, quarter-acre plot \u2014before the lightning and thunder. It isn\u2019t supposed to storm, but I wasn\u2019t supposed to change my sex, or change the name I got from my grandfather, but it happened, and, because of this, I\u2019m ready for the bright, spider-legged bolts to streak across the sky and the awful clapping of thunder to follow.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cYou can\u2019t just run out into traffic,\u201d the officer says, as I slow to a trot and stop. \u201cAlmost caused an accident.\u201d The rain picks up and up, and, soon, all we can hear are its rhythms. It rains so hard it practically leaps from the ground.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cHandcuffs for running in front of a car?\u201d I ask, suddenly aware of my sopping-wet clothes.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cAlmost caused an accident,\u201d the officer shouts above the torrents. He shrugs his spindly shoulders and opens the car door to his idling cruiser.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom, whose mantra is knowing when to quit, says things like, \u201cI have my rights!\u201d and \u201cThis is my life we\u2019re talking about here!\u201d but the cop doesn\u2019t listen, doesn\u2019t listen or doesn\u2019t care, doesn\u2019t care or couldn\u2019t care, because Mom, who taught me to obey authority, she spits on the ground at the cop\u2019s feet and laughs when it lands on its target and slowly slides off his boot to the asphalt in the rain.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cKeep it up,\u201d the cop says.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Mom, who preaches level-headed behavior in stressful situations, says, \u201cGet bent,\u201d but I stop her right there.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 I say, \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d an apology that feels empty leaving my lips, but the officer, tall by all accounts, glares down at me and grunts.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cYou know how many times I\u2019ve heard that argument? People say, \u2018Please! Please! It\u2019s not how it looks!\u2019 Or, \u2018I\u2019m just having a bad day.\u2019\u201d He laughs to himself, adjusts his badge, straightens his hat. \u201cIf you see this badge, odds are you\u2019re having a bad day.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s not even remotely true,\u201d I tell him. \u201cAnd if there were so many cars involved, where are they?\u201d A quick sweep of the street produces nothing but an empty intersection.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cListen, ma\u2019am. I know you\u2019re only running, but what just happened is reckless and dangerous and regardless of how harmless it may seem, you just can\u2019t run all over the place doing whatever you want. People get hurt.\u201d He smiles shamelessly, the way teachers do when their young students get it. <\/span>I swallow hard, understanding what happens next shapes the entire makeup of my relationship with this narrative. I think about all the years she\u2019s been avoiding me since I came out. I remember she stood up and walked out the door without a word and didn\u2019t come back for three hours. <\/span>She\u2019s standing in front of me, with the rain pouring down and her hands in cuffs, being led into the back of a police vehicle.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cMaybe some rules aren\u2019t meant to be followed,\u201d I say, as the officer puts his hand on her head and lowers her into the car. \u201cMaybe we just do the best we can, and at the end of the day, if getting cited for jaywalking is the worst that happens to us, maybe that\u2019s a win. Maybe we get exactly what we need without even realizing it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s a great speech, kid,\u201d the officer says. \u201cBut this was a little more than jaywalking. Now stand aside so I can close the door.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The door closes and, Mom, who will always be my hero, says, \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d and, while I can\u2019t hear the words leave her mouth because of the rain, I can see her lips move and that\u2019s good enough. <\/span>The driver door slams shut and the car idles while the officer reports the situation. I stand outside the car. An avalanche of rain falls like boulders on my head and shoulders. Inside the car is Mom with her head hanging and a twisted look of dejection and embarrassment on her face. <\/span>I tap on the glass and say, \u201cMom,\u201d but she won\u2019t look at me.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Again, I say, \u201cMom,\u201d but she doesn\u2019t acknowledge me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cMom,\u201d I plead.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The cop says, \u201cLet\u2019s get this show on the road,\u201d and suddenly it\u2019s me in the car, has been me the entire time.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The car shifts into gear, bound for the giant brick city center; I\u2019m in the backseat on charges of reckless endangerment, a Class-A misdemeanor of the first degree. Rain splatters the windshield as we pick up speed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s funny,\u201d I say watching my hometown speed by through the barred windows. \u201cAll Mom ever wanted was to see me married and to live a hundred years.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cWhat\u2019s funny about that?\u201d the cop asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cMom hasn\u2019t been alive for years,\u201d I tell him. \u201cThe only person who\u2019ll be missing from the wedding tomorrow is me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Josefin Slab||||||||” text_text_color=”#000000″ text_font_size=”16px”]<\/p>\n Chad W. Lutz<\/strong> is a speedy, bi-polar, non-binary writer born in Akron, Ohio, in 1986, and raised in the neighboring suburb of Stow. They graduated from Kent State University with their BA in English in 2008 and from Mills College in Oakland, California, with their MFA in Creative Writing in 2018. Their first book, For the Time Being<\/span> (2020), is currently available through<\/span> J.New<\/span><\/a> Books.<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_3,1_3,1_3″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|auto|-100px|auto||” custom_padding=”0px||0px|||”][et_pb_column type=”1_3″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/variantlit.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Color-Print-Logo-with-full-text-1.jpg”<\/a>; title_text=”Color-Print-Logo-with-full-text-1″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” positioning=”relative” vertical_offset=”50px”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_3″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/variantlit.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/ncwn-logo.jpg”<\/a>; title_text=”ncwn-logo” _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” positioning=”relative” vertical_offset=”50px”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_3″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_signup provider=”mailpoet” mailpoet_list=”Variant Literature|3″ title=”Subscribe to our Newsletter” _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” form_field_background_color=”#000000″ form_field_text_color=”#FFFFFF” header_text_align=”center” header_text_color=”#000000″ background_color=”#FFFFFF” custom_button=”on” button_text_color=”#000000″ button_bg_color=”#FFFFFF” button_border_width=”6px” button_border_color=”#000000″ button_border_radius=”20px”][\/et_pb_signup][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”81px||4px|||”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.10″ _module_preset=”default”]<\/p>\n
<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 A rusty sedan drives by, leaves the odor of sulfur in its wake. I leap out of the way and over a puddle the size of Lake Erie and then settle back onto Van Buren along the curb.<\/span><\/p>\n
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