both went out into the warm spring evening air.
'Starving,' I said. 'I had my windows open and could
smel the funnel cakes al the way upstairs.'
smel the funnel cakes al the way upstairs.'
He patted his stomach. 'We'l stop there first.'
Al along the riverfront, stands had been set up for the first
summer festival. Some sold handmade arts and crafts,
others boasted displays from local companies. Some had
games, the prizes cheap things like water bottles
emblazoned with the names of banks and restaurants. As
summer festivals went, it was one of the less glorious, but
al that realy mattered to me was the food.
Stal after stal of greasy, delicious fair food. Corn dogs,
ice cream, French fries and vinegar to go with them. My
stomach let out a loud, obnoxious rumble as we crossed
Front Street to get to the sidewalk on the other side and
headed to the left to walk about a quarter mile to reach the
rows of booths. Music from one of the local radio stations
blared from a huge boom box set up on a trailer. Morning-
show personalities handed out T-shirts, mugs and key
chains as we passed.
'Do you want something?' Eric asked as I stepped aside
to let a mother pushing a double stroler pass on her quest
for free junk. 'T-shirt?'
'No, thanks. I don't listen to that station. And besides, it
'No, thanks. I don't listen to that station. And besides, it
doesn't matter if it's free if I'l never use it.'
'Mind if I grab one? You can never have too many T-
shirts.'
'Go ahead.' I looked at the crowd surrounding the boom
box and estimated how long it would take him to get his
shirt, then down the rows to the line for funnel cakes. 'I'l
get in line for the funnel cakes.'
We parted and I pushed my way through the crowd. The
prizes might be cheap and the food overpriced, but
nobody seemed to care. Kids carried baloons in ice-
cream-covered fists and couples walked hand in hand. I
got in line behind a couple with matching tattoos on their
wrists, a pair of joined hearts. As I watched them whisper
and giggle, their fingers linked, their eyes for nobody else,
envy roled slowly over in my gut.
Against my skin, lace and satin once again reminded me
how it felt to be wanted. Craved. Obeyed. None of it did
me any good standing here in the setting, early spring sun,
with a ten-dolar bil clutched in my fist and nobody there
to hold my hand.
I looked back through the crowd for Eric but caught only
a glimpse of what might have been the top of his dark,
curly hair. The crowd around the boom box had grown
