Feeling Romantic

A Story by mayjbird

As a child we would go to the state fair as a family. My sister and I would wander yards ahead of our young parents, fervently debating how to use our strand of tickets. Overwhelmed by choice, and the earthy aroma of livestock coupled with the sticky sweet scent of fair food, we’d debate as clouds of silty Palmer dust rose around us in billows and clung to our tongues. Meandering under the dim carnival lights that failed to compete with the ever present midnight sun.

My sister loved games of chance and the potential of something tangible to return home with her. I was the thrill seeker, begging her to accompany me on the scariest rides. We eventually settled on a ride similar to a ferris wheel, except the seat was enclosed in a cage. Strapped in with your partner you could rock your cage to the point that it would turn in complete circles, as the wheel of the ride rotated you’d spin faster and faster. The ride attendant could be seen periodically hosing down cages of over zealous participants who’d lost their lunch, I was elated. As we waited for the ride to start, I would rock our seat back and forth to the agony of my sister. Our cage rattled and groaned as the ground and sky split and switched. One moment our bellies would be pressed against the polyester seatbelt as we stared at fairgoers below, next a flash of blue sky through chain link and shoelaces as we slammed back against the metal seat.

I haven’t been sleeping. I keep returning to the image of the cage. The snow is gone and the midnight’s sun’s coming home. It casts a spell that clouds the perception of time, stirring Northerns creature to wake from a hazy winter sleep. I open my eyes. I’m unsure if it’s early morning or the middle of the night. As I try to go back to sleep the cage spins. I’m scrubbing the counters in my old kitchen. All I can smell is bleach and my hands are red and chapped. There’s a thick strip of red from the base of my hand to my knuckle under my wedding ring. The skin is flaked and chapped. Under my breath I’m saying “ok, ok, ok”, like a CD skipping. I move from the counters and on to the stove top. Jeremy walks in and puts his hands on my shoulders. He says he’s sorry. He tells me to stop cleaning. He asks if I want him to buy everyone recording dinner that night. I say no.

The cage spins. I’m drinking bourbon out of a mug and walking on the stones then encircle the fire pit at Marty’s. It’s late and I should’ve been home, but I wasn’t. It was cold and I should’ve worn a jacket but I didn’t. Smoke and the chill creep over my skin and under my tank top. We debate the merits of jazz music. Ivan, off the wagon in the spirit of making the record, plays a sultry jazz tune on his phone. It softens everyone. “You’re feeling romantic, I can tell.” Rebecca says. She’s drunk, we’re all drunk. It wounds me for some reason. The truth in it, because I was falling in love with James. Or the lie in it, because my marriage was over.

On the drive home, Ivan asks in his own way If I’m OK. He gives me a song to listen to. I smoke on my porch and stay up all night writing and listening to it over and over again. I write “The Straight and Narrow”. When David picks me up for the studio, he can tell I’m manic. We stop for coffee, and for a moment, we sit on the sidewalk in the sun before getting back in the car.

© 2016 mayjbird

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I like how your thoughts are flowing, you create a romantic feeling indeed. To write a stream of consciousness is not an easy task. You have to pick only some the most descriptive elements of that moment to make people catch your wave. Sometimes authors are not noticing some of those elements - roller coaster mechanical sounds, laughter, screams, the smell of candy and pizza. The adrenaline rush after a ride. You have managed to drag a reader into your thoughts. I could advice you two things. First is to pick a very catchy first sentence, because even if the story is great, you have to make reader to stick through the first sentence. It is very hard when writing a stream of consciousness, because readers are in a different state of mind. You have to change that. And the second would be to pick some words those symbolize the end, the empty feeling that is left, the senselessness, and then the rising new beginning. Like you started to use the night and moon, just give it a little more attention. ;) Symbolism is a good thing in your kind of stories. :)
Thank you for sharing!

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