Two Copies Sold

Yesterday was the Miami Zine Fair.

I had worked very hard to finish my fanzine in time, to have it sitting on a table, out in the world, for people to see.

I finished it on Friday around 11pm and went to sleep excited. Excited to finally show it.

Saturday morning, I woke up around 8am. I made myself a hot chocolate instead of coffee so my energy would feel more steady. I sat on the couch to watch TV for a while. The fair wasn’t until noon.

At 10am, I was still there. Unable to move.My body felt heavy, as if it belonged to a different timeline than the day I had planned.

By 11:30, I told myself I would just be a little late. I’m probably tired from working so much these past few days.

I went to the kitchen to make eggs while listening to The Women by Kristin Hannah. I’ve been listening to it for the past couple of weeks and feel deeply connected to the story. At one point, the main character’s mother has a stroke, and she is in the hospital taking care of her.

I remember hearing that part while driving a few days ago. I had to pull over because I couldn’t stop crying.

Yesterday, the story continued. They described a patient dying of lung cancer: the oxygen machine, the open mouth, the dull skin. All things I remember too well from my mother’s last days. It hit me like a brick.

I showered slowly. Put on comfortable jeans and a slightly dressed-up shirt. I wanted to look somewhat professional at the fair.

From pictures, I had seen that most people there were very young, almost teenagers. I didn’t want to blend in. I wanted to look like I’m in my forties.

There’s value in that.

In everything I’ve lived.

Before leaving, I walked my dog and ran into a neighbor. We talked about my father’s recent birthday, his first without my mom. He asked me how I was holding up. I told him some days are better than others. And that today wasn’t a good one.

My eyes filled with tears. I tried to wipe them quickly so I wouldn’t ruin my makeup, but they came faster than I could catch them. He went to his car to look for tissues and came back with what turned out to be a pack of white face masks. I used one anyway.

We kept talking. I calmed down. Then I went upstairs, left my dog, grabbed my purse, and left.

Traffic was heavy. I arrived around 2pm. My friend Corinne was meeting me there.

I wasn’t prepared for how crowded it would be. The space felt loud, packed, almost overwhelming. There were so many people it was hard to move, hard to see what was on each table.

I walked around once, quickly.

Near the end, I saw the table where my fanzine was supposed to be. I introduced myself to the girls I had only spoken to by email.

At that moment, Corinne arrived. I felt safe when I saw her.

I hugged her, and my body broke. Tears came out in a way that changed my breathing, made my whole body shake. She held me and asked if I wanted to step outside. I said yes.

On the way, we passed the bathrooms and went in. I peed, blew my nose, and told her it had been a strange day, that I didn’t understand why I felt this emotional.

She told me I didn’t need to understand it. That there was nothing wrong with it.

We went to get coffee and came back when I felt calmer. This time, we walked through the fair slowly. We stopped at the tables. Looked closely.

There was so much creativity, so much effort. So many beautiful things.

When we got back to the table where my fanzine was, two copies had sold.

Two people had chosen it.

Out of everything in that room, they chose mine.

They chose me.