Image: © Rümeysa | Pexels
Author: Salomé Emilie Streiff
Some soft folk music resonates in my ears as the ghost of a hand passes through my hair. I play with the cotton of the pillowcase; it’s soft and feels familiar. I press the tissue to my eyelids as I used to do. I feel like a kid at the carnival who arrives a few days after the festivities. She’s standing among the scattered confetti, hands in her pockets, looking downcast. She has pretty ribbons that tame her brown locks, blush on her cheeks from the hurry. If only she had been there just a little earlier.
Maybe she’d have had a look at the leftover candy canes in the half-empty stands. Maybe she would have seen the bright posters and the van’s tracks in the mud—wonder.
And if she’d run faster than she already did, maybe she’d have caught a glimpse of the last ride and its sparkling lights. Maybe, just maybe, she’d have heard the floating notes of the pretty carousel fade into the evening. She might have passed the little girls in their colourful dresses on the way back, the boys with their magic-filled eyes. She would have glimpsed at the countless parents and their tired smiles in the parking lot. She would have paused and wondered what holding such small hands feels like.
And if she hadn’t had all those pitfalls, maybe she could have enjoyed the Ferris wheel—the one that goes so high it feels like it’s touching the sky. She would have raised her hands and felt the butterflies of happiness in her stomach. She would have felt like it was over too quickly, because that’s how life feels for those who get to celebrate in time. She would have drunk tons of Coke and eaten all the hot dogs, waffles, crêpes, and stupid fast food that might have hurt her stomach on the way home. She would have begged for one last ride, and with a belly full of sugar, she would have got back in line to relive this suspended time over and over again—until the fairground workers closed the stands and she, too, would have gone home with the certainty that she was very lucky to be able to cherish its ups and downs, the laughter and the shivers. She would have colours on her dress and magic shining through her. She’d feel a little nauseous, but just enough to make him laugh. He who’d waited for her at the entrance and wouldn’t let her go until the exit. He would have devoured her with his eyes and held her hand. He would have ruffled her hair and reminded her a thousand times what love feels like.
I would have loved to meet him at the Ferris wheel.