It was not what was expected:
The three of us trying for one appointment.
Not a historic one, but a symbolic one.

Still, it was important.
All three of us felt that way, I think.

We should have been competitive, or sabotaging
(like the original meaning, throwing clogs into each others’ machinations).

Coldly calculating the others’ weakness.

Countering our strengths, courteous smiles, all the while…

But, we had the same weakness. The same strength.

We were all three free of malice,

epically empathetic.

We met, and then,

instead:

We were curious, interested, delighted, and supportive,

of each other.

Without thinking, we became fast friends there and then.
(One I was already kind of fast friends with, but now faster, i.e. “faster friends”—the other new. Like a shiny penny-friend.)

A bright, surprising delight.
However, this doesn’t “work” for a competition.

So, when the time came to name the “winner,”
it was awkward, uncomfortable.

Yet also sweet.
We curled up around each other, holding hands tight,

nervously giggling, whispering, rooting for each other, ourselves.

The judges got confused.
Maybe we looked something like an octopus,
but with six hands, we were more of a hextapus.
They got off track, and wanted to name us all.
Instead, in the end, remembering the rules,
they named one—me—“winner.”

I was happy, they were happy, but also sad.
I was happy and then sad.

That made me nauseous.
but hopeful.

Nauseously hopeful.