Supermoon

 Dedicated to the Virginia State Fair, in a year I can’t remember

The State Fair comes back in waves.  Waves like the taste of scalding funnel cakes covered with powdered sugar.  Waves like those plastic cups of lemonade with green bendy straws.  Waves like a looming ferris wheel, so tall, or like an empty area of picnic tables by the parking lot.  

It comes in waves that she wishes gave way to more.  Waves that she tries to initiate by listening to the music she’d only hear in her dad’s car on the way home on winter nights.  Waves that sometimes she thinks may be conjured up by her own imagination.

Waves that return, full force, as she stands in the middle of the bustling crowd in the faint glow of neon lights and the full moon above.  It’s almost ten o’clock now, and the sun has long given way to his silver wife.  She watches her, the beautiful moon that tonight appears large and gold.

A supermoon, not unlike the one she imagines she once saw hanging in the sky on the deck at her dad’s old apartment in Shockoe Bottom.  

The weather is what many consider to be perfect, a statement she agrees with wholeheartedly.  Seventy-five degrees, a soft yet sharp breeze harmonizing with the humidity.  The weather that is perfect when wearing jean shorts, a loose blouse, and oversized pullover.

She breathes in, watching the people around her.  Young couples where the girl carries a giant teddy bear.  Group of friends, teens or in their twenties, running around to find the next ride.  Men commenting on the last game they watched with beer from the draft a few stands away being brought to their lips.  She had been with a group earlier, the slim group of three.  But after a while, anyone gets bored of being a third wheel.

So hence this spot, watching, looking around, thinking what to do next, what to do next?  When the smell of sugar and bubbling oil meets her, she knows.  Funnel cake.  The line is small, for the crowds are beginning to dwindle.  She hands a five dollar bill to the woman at the stand, ordering the funnel cake and fried Oreos.  Within minutes she takes the laden plate and bites into one of the fries of the cake, the batter burning.  It’s a good burning, a burning that brings back the waves and the feeling she’s chasing.  

Now, where to next?  There is so much to do, so much to see, at a State Fair, even alone.  Should it be a funhouse, if she can locate one?  Or should she go to see whatever band is playing at the stage down the hill?  Or . . . look up, there it is.  The ferris wheel, flashing with lights of all colors and bringing a smile to her lips just as fast as the men brought beer to theirs.  And, luckily enough, it allows food.  She can still savor the fried monstrosities that bring back the waves.

Making her way to the wheel, she sees it has a line.  Not too long, but it’s there.  Maybe seven or eight small clumps of two or three wait, laughing and talking and eating whatever unhealthy carnival food they have.

It is beautiful, isn’t it?  The night and the lights, the sugar high and sing songy voices.  The perfect air, the supermoon taking her place in the sky, as if to say, look at me, look at me watching all of you.

It’s one of those rare, perfect moments that you think you’ll remember forever, but fades within the day.  The human brain can’t hold the memory of these emotions as well as it can others.  

The occupants of the line soon become occupants of the Ferris wheel, rising up to the black, star speckled sky.  It is when she is second in line that she sees the sign.  WARNING: All singles will be matched.  She coughs a laugh.  Those are supposed to only exist in random pictures that you laugh at and maybe save to a board, then scroll past to see the rest of your feed.  

But it’s here, and the ride operator points it out to her.  

“You may have to wait a few,” the operator says, and then sees something past her, “Or maybe not.”

She turns to see a teenage boy looking at his phone, typing something and biting his lip.

“Hey,” the operator exclaims, “You in line?”

The boy looks up in confusion, and then sees the Ferris wheel in front of him.

“Nah, just trying to find some people,” he says, and is about to turn around when the operator calls out once more.

“This young lady will pay for you!” she looks at the operator, now her turn to be confused.  The operator looks at her, and smirks, “It’s only five dollars per person.”

She looks at the boy, then shrugs.  “Why not,” she says under her breath.  Then, louder, she says to the boy, “Want some fried Oreos?”

He seems to debate something in his head, and then walks over, tucking his phone in his pocket.  “Hey,” he says, “Nice to meet you.”

She nods, “Nice to meet you too.”

They stay awkwardly silent as she hands him one of the Oreos.

“Well, your car,” the operator says, gesturing to the Ferris wheel car stopping beside them.  She steps in first, and he follows.  They both look at the sky as the wheel rises in the air, the moon in all over her glory watching over them both.  

Maybe they’ll talk.  Maybe they’ll just share the fried sweets and enjoy the view.  Maybe he’ll tell her the group of people who ditched him, and maybe she’ll tell him about the people who she decided weren’t worth her time.  Maybe they’ll exchange phone numbers and one day, late at night, under a large golden supermoon, text each other out of boredom.  Maybe then they’ll stay in contact and meet up at another fair, on another night.  Maybe they’ll become close, and one day reminisce on that night, with the perfect weather and the perfect sky and they’ll remember, in waves, the seventeenth of June.  Maybe they’ll find that perfect feeling always brought by the waves.  Maybe they’ll feel that freedom that used to sing with childhood.