The Freshest Look Is an Odd Shape

At three I was imitating and doing fun little skits for the family. At five I knew, Okay, this is something I like. At eight I was pretend crying in front of the mirror and my mom was like, “Oh boy, here we go, we know what’s up for Tyler.” At ten I was taking trapeze lessons and swinging by my knees on the bar Uncle Jay rigged up in the backyard. At thirteen I was wearing yellow because yellow is the colour of a high I.Q. And by high school I was perceived as having these quirks and doing weird things. I wore a rooster costume to school dances a few times. I did handstands that came completely out of nowhere, like in a bank lineup or ordering a Blizzard at Dairy Queen. And I talked outside of humans like a poet. About how clouds that hate are the ones that cry, how mountains feel awkward all the time, how paintings really want to be touched. And this was just ordinary living.

The school counsellor, Mr. Rash, said, “Is your world the one where the only big welcome is to win the grand prize, the $100,000 cash, the $25,000 gift coupon to the Brick, and the new Chevrolet Trax?”

“No,” I said. “It’s the one where I’m like a little Arabian horse. Just perfect.”