This was the biggest marching band I had ever seen. Bigger than the one on the Fourth of July. Bigger than the one on TV at Thanksgiving.

Bigger than if the universe had a marching band and it was populated with people and animals and small trucks.

They were playing a song.

And someone was singing, someone with a horrible loud voice.

People on their way to work said, Baby what did you expect. Gonna burst into flame, go ahead.

And just then, in the middle of the trombones and the saxophones and the tubas, just then, around the corner came an elephant, and on top of the elephant was Bart. Standing with a microphone and pointing at me. “There she is, ladies and gentlemen,” he said.

I laughed.

He smiled.

The band stopped marching but they didn’t stop playing.

Bart said, “Your dad doesn’t have a girlfriend but I do.”

I laughed.

He motioned for me to come on top of the elephant with him.

“How?” I yelled, and he pointed at a rope ladder.

So then I did. I climbed the rope ladder and jumped into his arms and he threw down the microphone and right there, in the middle of our street with the music playing and Carlene and dumb-bum Bonnie and Chip and Tandi and Jerry and Wanda Smith and Baby George and Delilah and Paul and Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson and Fancy Melody and Harry and Bob and Grant and everyone, especially Mom, watching, me and Bart kissed and kissed and kissed.

~

I sat on the burning tramp and knew that maybe the voice was right.

I would see him again.

I had an idea.