• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 03

A Picture of You Falling

There’s a picture of you falling hanging in a museum gallery in an exhibition titled The Illustrated World of Miscellaneous Scenes. You’re wearing your Halloween costume, the one you loved so much you stayed in character the whole night, and you’re falling off a chair, backwards, comically. I remember the scene well—do you remember?—I was there, dressed as a ballerina, or maybe I was a derby roller skater girl, I’m not sure about that part, but I remember we all rolled in laughter when you did that flip: your giant cardboard lance falling on your head, a dude dressed like a lady-in-waiting pretending to faint because of it, a whole play in under two minutes. It was a good night, we had a lot of fun—remember?—we were such a good pair back then, me always along for the ride and you always committing to the bit. Who painted the picture? The exhibition catalogue doesn’t say. Were they at the party? They must have been. How else would they know to paint such a scene. A man dressed as a knight falling off a chair is meaningless unless you were there. The painting was titled “Falling Off a Chair with a Lance,” I imagine they knew that was your name too. (Oh, that was the year I was a derby roller skater, because you were calling me “Debby” the whole night, I remember now.)