The Fair

For kids, it happened during the first week of school, a time of uncertainty, when no one was quite sure of the new social hierarchy. At the fair, it was almost guaranteed you’d see someone from your school. A staple of American youth.

Unattended middle schoolers were thought to be dangerous. They wandered the grounds while other teens -whose parents wouldn’t allow them to go alone- stayed home. Adults drank freely. Fights threatened to break out. Every year there was a shooting.

For the other fifty-one weeks of the year, the fairground was just a barren two-acre lot. Next to it sat a neighborhood and a cemetery. The smaller buildings on the property were sometimes rented for weddings, while the event center hosted high school basketball games and graduations.

During fair week, though, it came alive. Rides and vendors filled the space, selling everything from wind chimes to luchador masks. Kids could milk cows or ride horses. There were performances by local magicians and church choirs. Families sat at picnic tables, eating the best of Middle America: Indian tacos, funnel cakes, sloppers, corn on the cob, turkey legs, lemonade, and of course, beer.

Tori sat at one of the tables, long red hair falling into her glasses, eating grape ice cream. She had just begged her mother to buy her a shirt when she suddenly looked up and accidentally locked eyes with a boy from her middle school class.

She froze. Her grip tightened on her spoon. Her face drained pale. Her eyes widened, completely embarrassed to be seen.

Tori and the boy, Kyle, had never really talked except during one group activity. She was quiet, Kyle was loud, he and his friends told people they were in a gang. Both of them had gotten in with free school tickets.

Kyle was Hispanic, with a buzz cut and an oversized black t-shirt and pants. He was with two older kids, on their way to buy weed. He kept talking because he was nervous, he’d never smoked before, but he desperately wanted to try. He glanced at Tori’s parents. They were weird looking, nothing like he had imagined.

Not knowing what else to do, Kyle waved.

Tori, instinctively, waved back. Innocent waves. The waves of children.

Kyle’s friend, wearing a silver cross, squinted.
“Who’s that?”

“Just some chick from my school. She’s chill,” Kyle said.

“Who’s that, sweetie?” Tori’s dad asked.

“Just some boy in my class,” Tori replied.

Near the rides, the smell of fresh popcorn mixed with the gas from the generators powering rows of neon bulbs, some of which, on closer look, had long since burned out. The gravel paths were uneven, and every few feet, another line stretched for food or rides. Michael nudged his girlfriend, Hailey, as they walked. She wasn’t in the mood. They’d already spent their money on a burger, which slipped from Michael’s hands and hit the ground before he could take a bite.

The fair was at its peak, a free day for local kids. Michael and Hailey, both still in high school, had gotten free tickets but hadn’t wanted to use them. They had jobs now, and tonight, Friday, they could finally spend time together. They went to different schools, lived across town, and usually only saw each other on weekends. Michael’s parents were stricter, so he lied and said he was crashing at a friend’s place, when really he’d stay at Hailey’s, whose parents didn’t care. Lately, though, they had been fighting more.

“I’ve got a few tickets left. What do you wanna ride?” Michael asked. Hailey glanced around: the Gravitron, bumper cars, the Power, giant slides, the mirror maze. She didn’t want to choose; she wanted Michael to decide. Hailey didn’t know what she wanted, and Michael was blinded by puppy love. They could flip upside down, spin in circles, race, or lose themselves in the maze, but both were afraid of their options. So they walked to the Ferris wheel and waited in silence.

Once locked in and lifted upward, they looked down at the swarms of people, then straight ahead to the glow of their hometown. The view hadn’t changed since they were kids, when the free ticket was exciting. Now, at sixteen, they used the Ferris wheel to make out. Midway through the ride, Hailey pulled back.
“I don’t know if I love you,” she said.
“Are you serious?” Michael shot back.

They argued about love -though neither of them really knew what it meant- then kissed again as the wheel went higher. Around and around they went, the passengers unloading one car at a time. Only briefly did they actually admire the view. In truth, neither cared much for the ride.