Chapter One
Dust was gathering on the tips of Eve’s black cowgirl boots as we made our way to the fairgrounds admission ticket booth.
The sticky heat of late summer bore down on us, relieved only by the slightest breeze; the gentle promise that fall was on its way.
There was a sandwich board sign up at the start of the line that read, “Kern County Fair, Final Day, half price admission”.
When it was our turn, Eve produced her punch card for daily admittance.
It was a pale blue color, designated for vendors.
The aged volunteer with her orange aviator sunglasses punched the final day slot.
It wasn’t perfectly in the little marked square that denoted the day, which bothered me.
“And one regular admission,” I said as I slid my five-dollar bill across the counter. The woman stamped my hand.
“Enjoy the fair, girls,” she said with routine kindness, sans the smile. She was already moving on to the next person in line.
The gate we entered from was the livestock and agriculture side of the fair.
In high school, Eve and I were both members of Future Farmers of America.
It’s actually how we met. Our pigs shared a pen together the summer before freshman year at the school farm by chance, and we have been friends ever since.
Pen mates to best friends. In fact, each subsequent year we requested to be in the same pen.
“Sometimes I miss that,” Eve nodded over toward a group of high school girls in white jeans and navy blue jackets, “but then I remember sweating in those jackets and I think I’m better off.
” Her laugh feels like the end of a song, when the guitars and drummers riff a crescendo until it cuts off suddenly and floats away.
My mind replays some of the memories. There were three main events in the livestock section, and I think this went across all species.
First was showmanship, where we were judged by our handling of the animals, how to control the pigs, which was Eve’s favorite event.
It was trickier than other livestock, because unlike lambs, goats, and steer, we had to manipulate and direct pigs without physically touching them.
It was a whole thing. Then, there was the market show.
This was a separate event that judges the quality of the animal’s muscle mass, meat quality, breeding, yadda yadda.
This was where I focused my attention. Training for the two events went hand in hand; training a pig for market requires a fitness routine as well as handling training.
Eve and I would have matching systems as far as our pigs were concerned, mostly to be with each other, I think.
But we both knew which ribbon meant more to whom.
It all makes sense in hindsight, now Eve is an employee at an event space and rental company putting on shows, and I work in a tack and feed large animal supply store, a market of sorts.
I guess apples never really do roll far from their roots.
We walked past the show ring, a metal fenced structure with aluminum bleachers for spectators.
“Remember when we would hang out here and eat funnel cake?” I said, thinking about how many times I thought about kissing her on those seats.
The inky black night behind her, lit by the stadium lights of the rodeo.
“And the deep-fried Twinkies,” Eve added. When I made a face she continued, “Okay, yes I know, you bit yours too early though!”
“It burned my tongue!”
“You should have let it cool first!” Eve laughed again, which shook that soda can in my chest.
“I swear, the one time I decide to be impulsive, and I got burned.” I rolled my eyes. “I learned my lesson.”
“You’ve always played it safe, but we’ll make a wild one out of you yet.
” Eve had a fire in her eyes and in her soul; I was a moth drawn to it.
What if I had kissed her on these bleachers all those years ago?
During one of the many nights we were the last ones to leave the fair, when we were the only ones around.
Or even when we were at the school farm on the long summer days, just the two of us watching our pigs roll in the mud.
What if I had reached out to hold her hand, if I held her close?
Would we still be friends now? Moving a relationship forward is dangerous because if anything changes there’s never going back to the way things were.
It’s an escalator, perpetually in one direction, trying to go backwards only keeps you where you are.
“Come on,” she said, breaking me out of my mental spiral, “let’s take some pictures for Instagram. ”
We kept a comfortable pace through the barns and around the bend of the petting zoo towards the main strip of the fair.
The asphalt paved road was lined with food options.
Everything from ribs to turkey legs, loaded baked potatoes to elote, funnel cake to cotton candy.
There was also, of course, alcohol every third vendor or so.
“Want to split a yard?” Eve asked, pointing to the three-foot tall cups for blended margaritas.
“You have work,” I objected.
“That’s why we are going to share,” she winked.
“Plus, I have a few hours until my shift. I’ll drink a ton of water and sober up, it’ll be fine.
” The spot she picked was set up like an outdoor sports bar.
Some college football game was up on the screens, there were tables and chairs in an adjacent area mostly full of people talking and drinking, and a few folks standing at the bar itself.
When we approached, a well-endowed brunette bartender with little purple eyeliner stars drawn on her cheekbones greeted us.
Her hair was up in space buns that had decorative mini swords stabbing through them.
“Hey ladies, what can I get for ya?” She smiled wide, and I felt like I was looking at an electric eel.
The flash of danger melted into jealousy when I saw how Eve smiled right back.
They leaned in toward each other on the counter.
“We’ll take a yard, strawberry margarita, please.” Eve said. I noticed the bartender’s eyes glance toward Eve’s lips. I should note that this was not just a look, but a look. It carried weight; heavy, seductive. I didn’t like it.
“You’ve got it,” then she turned her eyes to me. I noticed the unnatural ice blue in her eyes, artificial contacts. “And for you babe?”
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I stepped forward and slid my hand along Eve’s lower back. “We’re good with one, thanks.” Bartender’s eyebrows lifted slightly, then she chuckled.
“Sounds good, I’ll get that for you guys.
” She turned to make the drink while Eve tap paid with her phone.
The chime sounded that the payment went through and our drink was handed to us.
Eve got the first sip - our standard procedure when it came to shared foods, whoever buys gets the first taste - and then she handed it over to me.
It was a yard tall cup, hence the name. Narrow, like any standard coffee cup or tumbler might be, flared out on either end, and neon green with an orange straw.
Condensation was already gathering along the sides in the heat.
“So, are we pretending we’re a couple again today?
” Eve asked. I almost spat out the sweetened tequila.
“You know, the whole possessive arm thing,” Eve continued.
“We normally only do that to ward off creepy guys, not hot bartenders.”
I shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to throw off your game or anything.
” But I knew that wasn’t true. I knew I was acting like a brute, pretending to lay claim to her, as if she were mine.
As if I had any right. I felt my stomach twist, would this be the first fissure in our foundation?
Could it all fall apart like a sheet of ice?
Eve’s warm brown eyes looked into mine, searching for something. I took a sip of our margarita and handed it back to her. Clearly not finding what she was looking for, Eve took a nasal inhale and shook her head. “Want to get some pictures near the art exhibits?”
Relief washed over me at her sudden change of topic and sense of direction.
We waded through the crowds toward the other side of the fair.
As we went around the art exhibits, we marveled at the display of collections.
Rows of display cases filled with different personal collections of various things.
One person submitted dozens of original Broadway cast recording vinyls of musicals.
Everything from Wicked to Hello, Dolly, including some playbills and official merch.
Another collection was just piles of currency all from the year 2004.
There were collections featuring superheroes, sports, and even one that had multiple copies of Pride and Prejudice in different languages, covers, and formats.
We took a picture next to the local raceway memorabilia.
“Remember that time we went to the race and Kevin Conway and I made out behind the shaved ice truck?” Eve asked.
I did remember, mostly because I was left standing there with our two melting snow cones - hers watermelon and tiger’s blood, mine blue raspberry and green apple.
I was so frustrated that I was stuck holding her snow cone in the sweltering heat and the little paper cup was dripping down my hands.
When she came back all that was left was a puddle of sticky red dye 40 on my hands and on the gravel ground.
Not that it mattered, Kevin bought her a new one before he left and she and I spent the rest of the day wondering if this meant they were going to start dating. They hadn’t.
“Yes, but I also remember the gift shop had that pinball machine modeled after The Mummy and how we would spend hours in there, missing the races.”
“My brother didn’t care,” Eve shrugged. Her brother, Elijah, was the raceway flagman the summer between 10th and 11th grade - that pivotal summer when we were sixteen years old and the whole world seemed like it was ours for the taking.
The raceway was also just a mile down the road from the school farm, so we’d put our bikes in the bed of Elijah’s truck and ride to our pigs in the morning, then ride back once it got too hot outside to hang out at the track until Elijah was off work.
“Everything felt so big back then,” I mused as we left the displays of the art exhibits, “I wish I could go back and tell younger Mady to enjoy it more.”
We followed the natural flow of the fairgrounds to the carnival area.
Rides and games galore. “We can enjoy it now,” Eve said, linking our pinkies together.
The soda can of emotion in my chest squeezed slightly.
Maybe it was the margarita getting to me, but I needed to keep these emotions contained.
“How is Elijah doing?” I asked.
Eve shrugged, “He’s fine. Still pissed that I moved out and now he has to deal with our parents on his own, but I’m over it.
He keeps telling me to move back, save money on rent.
But I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.
” I nodded. Eve’s parents were focused on obligation and duty rather than familial love.
They wanted her to work in the family business, a laundromat, and she wanted to make her own way in the world.
They saw this as disrespectful. “I get to make decisions about my life. I get to go where I’m desired when I desire. ”
I wanted to tell her, again. The opportunity to push the edge of our friendship into the beyond was here, and my heart screamed at me to open my mouth and confess. I desire you, I love you, stay with me. Instead, I gave her hand a squeeze and pulled her towards the carnival rides.
After the tilt-a-whirl, the fun house, and the carousel of swings, we were loading onto the Ferris Wheel which was to be the last ride before Eve had to go to work.
Someone getting off the car next to us proclaimed, “Ferris Wheels are so romantic,” and I let myself daydream about kissing Eve at the top.
We were silent on the ride, resting after so much laughter over the last few hours.
The sun had just settled under the horizon, still throwing orange and amber beams of light up and coloring the world in a golden hue.
Slowly we climbed up, up, up. Eve had her box of cigarettes in her hand, tapping the bottom of it against her hip as she stared out at the city of Bakersfield.
Then, the wheel stopped turning just before the apex of the ride.
I wanted to rest a hand on her thigh, lean in, cup her head in my hand, and kiss her.
Tenderly, softly. A kiss to tell her she was loved, a caress to show her she was treasured.
I shifted my weight and the bucket we were in teetered slightly and suddenly the wheel jerked forward once again.
The sudden movement made us both jump slightly and we laughed at our reactions.
Internally, I was trying to ignore the soda can of desire, while also kicking myself for not making a move when I could have; should have.
The moment had passed, and I missed it once again. Maybe this was for the best, I tried to convince myself. Maybe, it was better to keep things as they were. After all, if Eve had thought of me as anything more than a friend, surely I would have known by now.