don’t think it was that funny,” she tells me.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to get out. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone’s first encounter with cotton candy. It’s strange.”
Carter is blushing when she looks back at the candy and pulls off a tiny piece. “I just put it in my mouth?” She asks.
“In my experience, that’s the best way to do it.”
She pops it into her mouth and moans. “Oh my god,” she says, ripping off another piece, “this is so good.”
“I know,” I say with a wink. “Come on,” I say.
“Where are we going?” She muffled around her food.
“To my favorite thing they do here. I’ve loved it since I was a kid.”
▲
“When I was seven, I sat in a chair just like that one,” I point to a small wooden chair currently being sat on by a little girl who is kicking her feet back and forth. “There was a woman with a paintbrush just like that one,” I now point to an older man hunched over, painting the girl’s face into that of a tiger. “She painted the Superman symbol onto one of my cheeks and the Batman symbol onto the other.”
Carter looks me up and down. “No room for Wonder Woman?”
I grin at her. “I’ll admit, seven-year-old me was a bit of a sexist.”
Carter tsks before laughing. “I’d pay a lot of money to see how adorable you must have looked.”
“I was pretty cute. That same day, we were on our way home, and I told my parents I wanted paint for my birthday, which was still six months away. I told them I wanted to paint their faces. I didn’t think they’d remember. Lo and behold, the following March, I had my very own, age-appropriate paint set. I think they were scared to let me paint on them, though.”
“So this place,” she looks back at the girl getting her face painted, “this is where you became an artist?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Carter takes another bite of her cotton candy and looks down in disappointment when she realizes it’s the last piece.
“You can have mine,” I say. She looks at me as if I just offered her the Holy Grail.
“Really?” She asks.
“Yeah. Based on the look on your face, I’m honestly afraid of what may happen if you don’t get more cotton candy. I think I may have just turned you into an addict.”
“Then you should stop enabling me,” she tells me, grabbing a big chunk of candy and shoving it in her mouth. I decide that I like seeing her like this, laidback and unashamed. The sunlight is almost gone but what little remains shines around her head like a halo and I want to paint the scene before me. Carter with her mouth full of cotton candy, standing carefree against the vanishing sun.
“Why you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“Like what?” I respond.
“I don't know, she tells me. “You're just looking at me weird.”
“Oh, sorry,” I awkwardly say.
“We should find a game to play,” she says suddenly.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “I think there’s a ring toss.”
“What's that?” she asks.
“Come on,” I tell her. “I'll show you.”
We end up walking around the carnival for another fifteen minutes looking for the game when finally we find it. Luckily for us there's only one other group playing, a family of three. The father has the son sitting on his shoulders and the little boy tosses with such enthusiasm that I feel bad when his ring doesn't make the shot.
I give a five to the attendee and he hands me six rings. “There are three pins that the rings are supposed to land on and for each one that lands, a prize is given to you,” I explain to Carter. “So just toss them and-”
I don’t have a chance to finish before she’s taken a ring from my hand, tossed it, and gotten it perfectly onto the middle pin. My mouth drops open and I look back and forth between her and the pin. “How the hell did you do that?” I ask.
“My father had a dart board in his office when I was younger. When I’d go there and wait
“I’m sorry,” I manage to get out. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone’s first encounter with cotton candy. It’s strange.”
Carter is blushing when she looks back at the candy and pulls off a tiny piece. “I just put it in my mouth?” She asks.
“In my experience, that’s the best way to do it.”
She pops it into her mouth and moans. “Oh my god,” she says, ripping off another piece, “this is so good.”
“I know,” I say with a wink. “Come on,” I say.
“Where are we going?” She muffled around her food.
“To my favorite thing they do here. I’ve loved it since I was a kid.”
▲
“When I was seven, I sat in a chair just like that one,” I point to a small wooden chair currently being sat on by a little girl who is kicking her feet back and forth. “There was a woman with a paintbrush just like that one,” I now point to an older man hunched over, painting the girl’s face into that of a tiger. “She painted the Superman symbol onto one of my cheeks and the Batman symbol onto the other.”
Carter looks me up and down. “No room for Wonder Woman?”
I grin at her. “I’ll admit, seven-year-old me was a bit of a sexist.”
Carter tsks before laughing. “I’d pay a lot of money to see how adorable you must have looked.”
“I was pretty cute. That same day, we were on our way home, and I told my parents I wanted paint for my birthday, which was still six months away. I told them I wanted to paint their faces. I didn’t think they’d remember. Lo and behold, the following March, I had my very own, age-appropriate paint set. I think they were scared to let me paint on them, though.”
“So this place,” she looks back at the girl getting her face painted, “this is where you became an artist?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Carter takes another bite of her cotton candy and looks down in disappointment when she realizes it’s the last piece.
“You can have mine,” I say. She looks at me as if I just offered her the Holy Grail.
“Really?” She asks.
“Yeah. Based on the look on your face, I’m honestly afraid of what may happen if you don’t get more cotton candy. I think I may have just turned you into an addict.”
“Then you should stop enabling me,” she tells me, grabbing a big chunk of candy and shoving it in her mouth. I decide that I like seeing her like this, laidback and unashamed. The sunlight is almost gone but what little remains shines around her head like a halo and I want to paint the scene before me. Carter with her mouth full of cotton candy, standing carefree against the vanishing sun.
“Why you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“Like what?” I respond.
“I don't know, she tells me. “You're just looking at me weird.”
“Oh, sorry,” I awkwardly say.
“We should find a game to play,” she says suddenly.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “I think there’s a ring toss.”
“What's that?” she asks.
“Come on,” I tell her. “I'll show you.”
We end up walking around the carnival for another fifteen minutes looking for the game when finally we find it. Luckily for us there's only one other group playing, a family of three. The father has the son sitting on his shoulders and the little boy tosses with such enthusiasm that I feel bad when his ring doesn't make the shot.
I give a five to the attendee and he hands me six rings. “There are three pins that the rings are supposed to land on and for each one that lands, a prize is given to you,” I explain to Carter. “So just toss them and-”
I don’t have a chance to finish before she’s taken a ring from my hand, tossed it, and gotten it perfectly onto the middle pin. My mouth drops open and I look back and forth between her and the pin. “How the hell did you do that?” I ask.
“My father had a dart board in his office when I was younger. When I’d go there and wait
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