Carnival

by D. M. Thornton

  Another gas station, but whatever; at this point, I’d stick my head out of a window to get some fresh air in my lungs. I use the toilet, even though we have one on the road with us. The less I use the bathroom on the bus, the less likely I’ll slip out the little baggie I have stashed in the ceiling. It mocks me, that tiny bag. Flushing it would be the wisest choice, but I can’t seem to let go. It’s like I know, the second it’s gone, I’m done forever. For real. But having it close is a comfort blanket. It’s a dangerous game I’m playing.

  Do I want a bag of chips or a bag of Twizzlers? I don’t like Twizzlers, not that much anyway. I prefer Red Vines, but sometimes eating tasteless wax sounds good. Fuck it. I grab the bag of Funyuns and Twizzlers, and also a king-sized Whatchamacallit and a bag of the rubber chocolate doughnuts. Oh, and a Dr. Pepper. Shit, look at that, I haven’t seen a Ruby Red Squirt since I was a kid. I grab a bottle of that too.

  My arms are full of highly processed junk, but I manage to shimmy a bag of sunflower seeds from the peg before dumping everything down on the counter. The kid fumbles to scan my snacks, too busy staring at me. I widen my eyes at him and raise my brows, blowing a stream of annoyance out my nostrils. I’m about to order him to pay attention when the back of my shirt is tugged on.

  “Excuse me, sir? Are you, are you Milo Creed?”

  I glance over my shoulder then spin around to look down at the young boy, no more than ten, who’s smiling up at me like he just met his idol. My shoulders relax, the anger settled in my bones dissipating. “Yes, I sure am,” I confirm, holding my hand out to the young tike.

  Excited, the boy puts his small hand in mine and gives it a firm shake. “I like you,” he stutters. “I like your music.”

  “Well, thank you.” I tap the tip of my finger on the counter, remembering what I love so much about this gig. It’s my fans. And I don’t mean the half-naked women and copycat guys, although I appreciate them, too. But the kids. It takes me back to my youth when all I wanted to do was play music, and I had dreams of being a rock star. To be somebody, just like the bands I looked up to when I young. Seeing this boy’s face light up is the reason I do this. It’s what keeps me producing music. For him. “What’s your name?”

  “Apollo.”

  “You play any instruments?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m learning to play the guitar.”

  “That’s awesome, buddy. You live around here?”

  The boy shakes his head. “No, sir. I’m from Kansas City.”

  I nod. “Uh, that’s interesting.” My lips ease into a chill grin. “We’re playing a show there in a few days.”

  “I know. We tried to win tickets on the radio, but we couldn’t get through, and my dad just lost his job, so…” His voice trails off. “Well, we couldn’t get tickets anyways.” His eyes fall to the floor, ashamed to look at me.

  A man approaches the boy and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Apollo, why you bugging this man? Let him get on with his business, boy.”

  I wave my hand to who I assume is the boy’s father. “Nah, man, is all good. Apollo and I were just talking music.”

  His dad shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my boy for ya. Always talkin’ about music.”

  The cashier clears his throat behind me, holding out my bag for me to take. I grab it without much of an acknowledgment. Before I step out of the way, I drop a wad of cash on the counter. “I’m getting this man’s gas, too.” I wink at Apollo, “And anything else they might need.”

  “Oh no, no.” Apollo’s dad starts to argue. “I can’t let you do that.”

  When both his hands start to gesticulate, I take one to shake. “All’s good, bruh. Say, if you can make it out for the show in KC, I’ll have front row tickets waiting at will call for ya.”

  Apollo’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open.

  “Might want to close your mouth, buddy. You don’t want anything to fly in there.” I laugh. “How many tickets you need?”

  Apollo looks up at his dad, as if to ask permission, who nods his approval. “Three, please.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “My mom will be so excited. She thinks you’re hot.” He rolls his eyes.

  I release a boisterous laugh. “See you in KC, Apollo. Y’all drive safe. You keep practicing, yeah?”

  Before I walk out the door, I wave at Apollo and his dad. That’s what it’s all about. People like them. The small interaction with Apollo has put a new spring in my step. There is a genuine smile across my face. And for the slightest moment, I almost forget about wanting a drink. I’m certainly not thinking about shooting up. And I almost forget all about Piper.

  Almost.

  Twenty

  Piper

  Fuck my life, I can’t move. My skin is on fire. Lord have mercy, I should have put on the damn sun shirt. Being sunburned on top of a previous sunburn is enough to make me want to drown myself in a pool full of aloe vera. At least my body would be cool as I die. Right now, I might as well be burning in hell.

  “Can I get you anything?” Fletcher asks from the doorway. He’s afraid to come any further because I’m a bitch and keep yelling at him. It’s not meant to be towards him, but he’s here and is taking the brunt of my agony. First it was me bickering at him because I woke up to me stripped down to my tank top and panties. The thought of him undressing me got my blood boiling, but I never thanked him because having clothes against my body would be a form of torture. Second, I cussed at him for not reminding me to put on sunscreen, like I’m not a grown ass fair-skinned redhead of a woman who knows better. Third, I whined and whimpered because it was somehow his fault I’m withering in searing pain. And all he’s trying to do is help me.

  My teeth grind together. “A fire extinguisher. A tub of ice. A scalpel to remove all my skin.”

  Fletcher has yet to tell me he told me so. It’s something I would have expected from him, but he hasn’t. “I may have something better.” He creeps into the room holding a bowl. “How about some ice cream?”

  Because I’m an idiot, I shrug and then flinch. “That actually sounds amazing. I’ll take it.”

  Sadly, I try to bend my arm to bring the spoon to my mouth, but my skin is stiff and crisp like over toasted bread. I whimper and drop my arm.

  Fletcher sits on the edge of the bed and begins to spoon feed me the passion fruit ice cream. “After this, I’ll run you a cool bath then we will rub you down with some aloe.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It sounds too romantic.” I smirk.

  “There is nothing about you right now that is romantic, love.” Fletcher snorts, pulling the spoon from my mouth. “Looking at you is just painful.”

  I swallow the ice cream and raise a brow. “It’s a good thing I can’t lift my arms or I’d smack you.” I keep my mouth ajar to allow another spoonful.

  Fletcher scrapes the bowl and gives me the last bite before setting the empty dish on the end table. “It’s a good thing you can’t lift your arms, because now I can do this.” He leans down and pecks me with a kiss. “Without you smacking me.” His mouth is over mine, delicately massaging my lips.

  My brain tenses, but my body goes lax. Besides my movement already being limited, backing away isn’t an option. I’m pinned. Surely he would stop if I told him to. This Fletcher is not the man who tried to take me against my will. All I have to do is force words out of my mouth to tell him to stop.

  But I don’t. The familiarity of Fletcher, the way his top and bottom lip favor my bottom lip as he pulls back before deepening it again is a perfect fit. Always has been. Our mouths have easily molded together. Our first kiss was much like this, like a weightless feather being carried by the wind on a fall day. Effortless and carefree.

  I find myself kissing him back, a slow tangle leading to dancing tongues and quiet moans. My heart races in my chest and my tired muscles turn to mush. I almost forget where I’m at and who I’m kissing.

  Almost.

  Oliver’s face flashes before me. His smile and his br
ight eyes. His hair and his scruffy face. It’s then I remember who I’m really in love with. The one I really want to be kissing. With a wince, I press my palm against Fletcher’s chest and gently push him away.

  His head bows. “Sorry.” Fletcher stands and walks away towards the bathroom. The room is filled with the sound of rushing water, and when Fletcher returns, he’s holding the robe. “Do you need help getting up?”

  I bite at my lower lip. “I think I got it, thanks.” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and suck in a breath. Crying over a damn sunburn is not going to happen, but my God, I want to so bad.

  Fletcher doesn’t let me struggle too long. He comes to my aide and lightly holds me up as I stiffly shuffle my way to the bathroom. When I can’t lift my arms over my head to pull off my tank top, I look up at Fletcher with pitiful eyes. Eyes that say I don’t want you to help me with this but I need the help.

  His hands come up slowly and he waits for me to nod at him to go on. Fletcher carefully shimmies my top over my breasts, stopping when I whine. “It’s okay, just get it off,” I bite through the pain.

  With swift hands, Fletcher gets my top off and tosses it on to the floor. “Do you need help with—”

  I nod repeatedly. “Mhmm. Just do it.”

  Fletcher kneels and I hold on to his shoulders for balance as he slides my panties off. He takes a quick glance between my legs, clears his throat, and tries to hide it by swiftly standing. On any other day, I would give him a ration of shit, but not today. I don’t have it in me to give him a hard time. And I find I don’t want to.

  Taking his hand, I step into the tub and suck air through my teeth when the barely tepid water hits my skin. “Good golly, that stings.”

  Fletcher grabs a cup from the ledge and fills it with water. “I know, but you have to sit in it. Let it cool you down.”

  I tuck my knees into my chest and hug them, squealing when he pours the water over my head. I glare up at him. “For real?”

  “Yes, for real. Now shush.” He ignores my sharp words, my protests and whines. He continues with shampooing my hair, rinsing it, then massaging conditioner onto my scalp. Letting it sit, he reaches for the soap and squeezes a large dollop on a loofah.

  I snatch the loofah from his hand. “I’ll do that.”

  He sits back, silent, and lets me wash myself, but his eyes never leave my hands moving over my body.

  “You’re gawking.” I flick my wet fingers in his face, spritzing him with water.

  “Well, shit, I can’t help it,” Fletcher says, wiping his face with his hand. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t already seen your goods.”

  “Doesn’t mean you need to be ogling, Fletcher, geez.” When he looks away, a tiny grin plays upon my lips.

  To busy himself, Fletcher fills the cup with fresh water and dumps it over me, washing the soap suds off my skin. By the time I’m clean and the conditioner is rinsed from my hair, my teeth are clattering together. The cold water against my feverish skin is enough to put me in shock. But Fletcher wraps me in my robe and gingerly folds me into his arms for a hug. It’s brief but genuine, and I find myself allowing these simple gestures when he has the nerve to try instead of fighting them, fighting him. Pushing Fletcher away is easy, letting him in is confusing. But at the end of it all, there will always be a part of me that will love him. And so, with each hug and with every kiss, yet another piece of my stubborn wall crumbles.

  “I had made reservations for dinner this evening. I think it’s best if we cancel,” Fletcher says, leading me back out of the bathroom.

  Drying my hair with a fresh towel, I wrap it around my head. “You don’t have to cancel. We can go.”

  Fletcher tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s been a long day, Piper. You need to keep resting. I can bring food in.”

  “I’m feeling better. I had a nap and I’m clean, and I’m hungry. So let’s go.” I walk to the closet and pull the lightest, loosest-fitting dress I have with me. Turning my back to Fletcher, I drop the robe and slide the dress on over my head. Screw the bra, it ain’t happening, but I do slip on some cotton boy shorts.

  “Are you sure?” Fletcher asks.

  Pulling the towel from my head and squeezing my hair dry, I smile at him. “Do bees make honey?”

  “All right then. I’m going to shower real quick, and then we’ll go.”

  My head still hurts and my stomach is queasy, but nibbling on the bread the waiter brought to our table is settling my discomfort.

  Fletcher sips from his drink. “You look exhausted. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I am exhausted and I’m not fine, but I lie. “I’m fine, Fletcher, really. Eating something is helping.” Before I know what my hands are doing, they reach across the table and take Fletcher’s, intertwining our fingers. I want to pull back the moment Fletcher’s hand clasps tighter, but I don’t. I drop my shoulders and relax, letting it be okay.

  His face softens, grateful, maybe that the little bit of contact is a sign I’m willing to be friends.

  “I have to confess something,” Fletcher says.

  I fall back into my seat, our hands slipping apart. Well, I may have thought too soon. “What’s that?”

  His fingers come to a steeple in front of his bottom lip. “There is another reason why I brought you here.”

  The silence is thick and making me nervous. When he doesn’t come right out and say it, I ask, “Well, what is it, Fletcher?”

  His fingers rub nervously at his bottom lip. “I just want you to know it was out of hope and love and—”

  “Say it.” My words come out brash.

  “I was hoping, being here together, you would see how much I love you and how sorry I am for being such a dick. I thought maybe you would—”

  I rudely interrupt. “For the love of all things holy, Fletcher, spit it out.”

  “Will you marry me?” Fletcher asks the question as if asking it quickly will lessen the meaning behind them. He scoots his chair back and my heart leaps into my throat, choking me.

  Thank God for the waiter who intercepts before Fletcher stands, but he’s prompt and jots our orders down with a swift flick of his pen and is gone before I have enough time to swallow.

  I blink and Fletcher is before me on one knee, a small box in the center of his palm. “I have done everything wrong, Piper. But if there is one thing I have done right, it’s loving you. I have never stopped, and I won’t. I’ll spend every day for the rest of our lives proving that. If you let me. Will you marry me?” He opens the box to reveal a large round peacock sapphire set in a diamond encrusted rose gold band. It’s stunning and it catches my breath. It’s not the simple, single solitaire he gave me when he first proposed over a year ago, a ring I loved because we picked it together during a time where when we said “I love you,” we meant it. But, it’s beautiful all the same.

  “Fletcher.” His name falls in a whisper from my lips. Sadness plagues my face and he can see I’m struggling for words.

  Fletcher sits back down, leaving the box opened on the table in front of me. “You don’t have to answer right away. I understand I caught you off guard.”

  Words finally come to me. “So, you brought me here to ask me to marry you?”

  His face pinches. “Well…” It comes out in a drawl.

  I raise an eyebrow. “There’s more?”

  “Kinda sorta.” Fletcher’s fingers are back to rubbing at his bottom lip, and then his hand runs through his hair.

  “Please, Fletcher, don’t drag this out. You can’t possibly shock me anymore than you already have.”

  “Our wedding is Friday night, on the beach, if you say yes.”

  Boy was I wrong. Shock isn’t quite the word I would use at the moment. All the oxygen expels from my lungs and I gasp, coughing on stagnant air.

  Fletcher is out of his chair and rubbing my back. I hold my hand up to him, motioning for him to back up and give me space. Reluctantly, he returns to his seat, staring at me, worri
ed from across the table.

  We eat in silence, not that I can eat much. I manage a few bites before pushing my food around until the waiter comes to take our plates. My brain can’t stop reeling, thinking and overthinking. Every memory channels through my mind. Good, bad, and everything in between. The best times hang over me, reminding me why I fell in love with him to begin with. But the hurt Fletcher has brought me casts a heavy shadow.

  Back at the bungalow, Fletcher leaves me to brood alone in my room. He gives me the distance from him I need to think long and hard. Neither head nor heart knows the difference between right and wrong. It knows not of how it feels under such pressure.

  I find a pen and a pad of paper in a side drawer. A pros and cons list is childish. Basing my decision to marry a man solely on the things I like and don’t like about him seems unfair and counterproductive. Besides, people have the ability to change, and it appears Fletcher already has. At this point, I don’t know whether or not to make my choice by the Fletcher I fell in love with all those years ago, the Fletcher who I hated and left, or the Fletcher I’ve spent the last week with.

  Did Fletcher change because he wanted to or because he thought that is what I would want? Will he go back to the man I left once we get home, conforming to the peer pressure of social and political stigmas? Am I willing to take that chance to find out?

  Ugh, there are too many thoughts going through my head, and I need to get it out on to paper. I do what I do, I write. And if it’s thought provoking enough, I’ll send it to my editor once I get Internet access.

  CROSSROADS

  Why is it so hard to make decisions? And why is it impossible for the head and heart to agree? The head is more logical and forces you to think realistically, whereas the heart leads with emotion and desire. How do you choose between the two? When it comes to making difficult choices, we need to have enough foresight to use both. Give in to our wants while still using our best judgement for what we need. It’s doable. I think.

  Sometimes, life is too hard. Adulting is not for the weak, I tell you. You have to know yourself and what you want in order for things to fall into place. When I was a kid, I had an idea of how my life would go. I’d graduate from college with a degree in Journalism, which I did. I would find a job at a newspaper or magazine. I reached that goal, too. I would then marry and have a family and live in the typical dream house with shutters and a white picket fence and a Labrador retriever. None of that happened. Now, I’m stuck at a crossroads with one road leading to new beginnings and the other to my roots. Both beautiful and unpredictable.