I Will Hold Your Bag 

I will hold your bag while you ride the Gravitron at the festival at St. Gregory’s, every summer that I can remember. I will sling it over my shoulder while wearing what I consider to be my cutest tank top and smelling like sausage and peppers and the body spray I stole from my pharmacy job. While you’re on the ride, I will stare into the tent on the other side of the fence, closed off to everyone under the age of 18, where your parents and the mysterious older boys who still live at home gamble and smoke. I will strain my neck, trying to see as far inside as I can.

I will hold your bags while you all go on Skull Mountain at Six Flags, because our physics class rode two hours on a bus to do some project on velocity. I will eat DippinDots and wait.

I will hold your bag while you ride the Cyclone and the sled ride that also goes backwards while blasting house music. I will do this every summer except the one summer I tried to go on the sled ride instead of holding your bag. I threw up in a garbage can near the bathrooms when I couldn’t quite make it there.

We will all ride the Wonder Wheel together.