Aaron J. French
Aaron J. French is a college student who’s been writing speculative fiction for the last six years. His work has appeared in the inaugural issue of Abandoned Towers Magazine, the one-year anniversary issue of the sorely missed Willows Magazine, issue #5 of Macabre Cadaver Magazine, and issue #9 of Werewolf Magazine – as well as upcoming issues of Lurid Lit and Sonar4. He resides in Tucson, Arizona, where he plays keyboard in a local alt/rock band called Cassette Culture, and lives with his unequivocal girlfriend, Britt.
He didn’t come alone; he’s meeting someone; tonight’s going to be different.
An arc of electric light bounds into the dark over a sea of desert quiet, the wind beating at the fenced-up walls enclosing the county fair, the scent of popcorn and the cries of teenagers.
Ken paces the dusty parking lot, hands shoved in his pockets. Every few minutes he takes out his cell phone and checks the time, checks to see if there’s any messages. An aura of sadness emanates from him.
He’s wondering if she’s going to show up as he walks past the rows of parked cars. He’s wondering if everything’s going to be okay. He’s wondering if she still loves him.
His cell phone rings, and he stops to answer it. It’s her. She’s at the front entrance, waiting for him. He tells her he’s almost there. When he rings off, there’s a smile on his face.
She’s standing in a funnel of light. Insects swoop and buzz around the glowing light bulb. Though it’s October, the night is warm, and her attire is appropriate: khaki short-shorts, knee-high socks, sleeveless yellow top. Braless, as always. Her skin looks healthy in the gold light, and her smile, the one she’s wearing now, seems somehow childlike in its innocence.
Ken approaches and they greet with a hug that lasts too long. A noisy family shuffles past arguing about ticket prices; a car rolls by with its windows down, music blaring.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi, Cat. I’m glad you came. I’m never quite sure if you’re gonna make it. I hope it isn’t an inconvenience for you.”
“No, of course not. I wanted to come.”
The rumbling of a roller coaster echoes inside the fairgrounds, a brief and sudden swelling of voices. Carousel music strikes up.
“What are we waiting for?” she says. “Let’s go.”
In a casual manner, she slides her hand into his and they’re off.
They quarrel briefly over who’s going to foot the entrance fee. Neither wants the other to pay. In the end they split it.
There’s a substantial crowd gathered, couples of every age, groups of friends, families, all commingling together beneath a canopy of lights, metallic rattles from the thrill rides, a far-off waning harmonium, the shouts and jeers of game attendants, the smell of fair food.
They stop at a concession stand and buy a soda, one straw.
They walk for a time just holding hands, passing the soda, smiling at each other, not saying much. A man at a booth propositions them to knock down three pins with a softball. Ken and Cat present him with the finger and hurry away.
“Screw you too!” the man shouts, voice lost in the wind.
They buy twenty ride tickets and get in line for the Ferris wheel. A sign to their left says Five Minutes From This Point. Ken looks up and notices the wheel rotating clockwise. Suddenly it grinds to a halt. He can see the lofty riders. It looks like someone is eating peanuts and tossing shells over the side. A pause, then it starts turning counterclockwise.
As the line moves forward, Cat asks: “Why do you think it was going backwards?”
Ken shakes his head. “I dunno, maybe it knows we’re coming.”
She laughs, squeezing his hand. “That’s silly. You know that Bikini Kill song, don’t you? The one that talks about sixteen-year-old girls giving head to carnies for pot? I think that’s the typical behavior around here. I doubt anyone’ll notice two ex-lovers wanting to touch the sky.”
“You’re probably right.”
The Ferris wheel operator, a lanky man in bib overalls, begins helping people out of the carriages. New riders get on. When it’s full the operator sets the wheel spinning, and passengers ooh and awe as they rise toward the top. Beyond them, deep in the night, spreads a forest of stars.
The operator comes over, leans on the railing, talks to a group of teenage girls eating cotton candy.
“You see?” Cat says.
Ken nods, offering her some soda. She declines. He wonders if she really wants to do this. He wants to ask but doesn’t want to appear rude. He supposes her presence ought to say enough. He’s happy she came. One more night crawling through the alcohol bottles on his floor might’ve killed him. There’d be plenty of nights to wallow in that sordid dream. But tonight he’s with the person he loves.
After a while the operator stops the great wheel. It moans and teeters against the sky. Ken observes the happy riders. Many are whooping and hollering. He then notices Cat staring off into space.
“Hey,” he says. “Is everything okay?”
She nods. “Yeah, sorry. I was overcome with memories for a second there.”
“Good or bad?”
“Good.” She smiles, stroking his cheek. “I was thinking about our first date, of course.”
“Well, that is the reason we’re here. Do you remember when you tried to light that cigarette on the roller coaster?”
“Yeah,” she says, laughing. “Never was an accomplished smoker. Good thing I quit. And what about you spilling that soda all over my bag?”
“God, I feel terrible about that. I was so nervous, dunno how I made it.”
“You did perfect. There’s a reason I spent the next four years of my life with you.”
“What reason is that?”
“You charmed me.”
He blushes and their hands veer around like snakes until they meet. They had this conversation last year, and the year before that, but each time it feels brand new. At least to Ken. He waits all year for it. Later, there will be darkness and despair, but right now the world holds endless possibilities.
The Ferris wheel starts up and the operator begins the tedious process of getting people on and off.
Ken and Cat march up the studded steel steps. Two young boys are ahead of them; after they get on, the operator signals to Ken. He’s not the same operator from previous years. Nor is the wheel the same.
Cat suddenly accosts the man.
“Who do I gotta blow to get some pot around here?” she yells.
He squints in disapproval, but Cat is smiling. She loves delivering this line every year.
Ken steps forward. “What she means is: How much would a favor cost?”
“I don’t smoke drugs,” the man says.
Cat starts laughing, but Ken ignores her.
“Not drugs,” he says. “I want you to make the wheel turn clockwise.”
“What?”
“Backwards.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll pay you a hundred bucks.”
The operator thinks for a moment, then lifts his bushy eyebrows. “You got yourself a deal.”
“Excellent.” Ken fishes a crisp hundred out of his wallet. “Oh, one more thing.” He leans forward and whispers into the operator’s ear. The man nods, then ushers them into a carriage, securing the safety bar across their laps.
“I got yah in car 13,” he says. “That way I’ll know when you’re up top.”
“Thanks,” Ken says, waving to the man. Cat sticks out her tongue. The wheel lurches forward and the fairgrounds fall away.
When the ride is packed with new passengers, the wheel is sent freely into motion, spinning backwards. Ken overhears the confusion of the others.
“Are we supposed to be turning this way?” someone asks. “This don’t seem right,” says another.
Squeals of metal reverberate through the structure, and Ken wonders if the antiquated machinery is safe. But soon the kinks are worked out and it glides smoothly, dropping back and back, then up again.
Cat takes his hand. “How’s your writing going?”
He shrugs. “Not so bad. Though it’s physically injuring at times. I’ve been published in a number of e-zines recently.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
He attempts the next question without bitterness: “How’s your husband?”
She stares at the lights, the land falling beneath them. “Max is good.”
“And the boys? Has Tim started school?”
“Not till next year. But Kentan is doing well in first grade.”
“I always liked Kentan.”
“You ought to. He’s named after you.”
They ride in silence for a while. Ken watches the makeshift buildings drop to their lowest point, then vanish, then quickly ascend until they’re level with the ground again. Beyond the fair lights, desert darkness surrounds them. Lonely winds whip the sand.
Several rotations later, the wheel stiffens to a halt; passengers on the bottom moan in disappointment; car thirteen is suspended in space.
“It’s much colder here,” Cat says, leaning into his chest. He blankets her with his arms. They relive old thoughts and dreams, a time when love was unmitigated and fresh.
“Just like our first date,” he says.
“Yeah, except it didn’t cost you a hundred bucks that time.”
“I’d pay a hundred bucks every day for this.”
Her eyes glisten and she throws her arms around his neck. Their heads tilt in opposite directions and their faces come together to form an X. The kiss is long and lasting, but composed of nothing lewd – an imperishable minute of flesh against flesh, uniting their souls. When it’s done, they detach and struggle to regain breath. The wheel squeaks and complains, slowly dropping them down, back to Earth, back to reality, back to their separate lives.
Their moment in the sky is done.
Cat darts off as they exit the ride, leaving Ken alone on the steel platform. There’s a tear on his cheek, but a new story in his head. He realizes he’s lost the only person he loves.
Lost her again.
© Copyright 2009 Aaron J. French