All Night Gigs

At the winery across from the fairgrounds we drank red wine and ate sloppy nachos. When the tractor pull events were underway, the noise of the engines was so loud that my ears would begin to feel watery. Our conversation halted each time a tractor or truck had its turn. As the sky turned from cotton candy to deep lake blue to summer blackberry, neon from the fair rides glowed like an activated time machine – back to youth and summer indulgences. I remember the time my parents took me and the neighbor boy to the fair when I was 10 years old. We held hands on the teacup ride until he vomited on my shoes. We didn't talk much after that. He toilet papered my house one night when he was a senior. I called him out in math class and he was shocked that I knew he had pulled the prank. “Your shoes gave it away,” I said.

Summer boats are fading now and trees are beginning to drop seeds and tired leaves. We must stain the deck this year, especially before autumn falls and falls. U-pick sunflowers wave along 40th Ave, and chicory pokes and prods the last days of August.

Not long ago, a man looked at me with your eyes. It was unnerving to know him before being introduced and even more so, after being introduced. Throughout the night of conversation, hairs on my arms pricked forward. My spirit kept tumbling into and through him. I knew him because he was you. We parted that night in the way new acquaintances do – nice to meet you, travel well and take care. Yet the interaction shimmered and swayed through the days and dreams of several weeks. How strange those thin places can be; how familiar in their unexpectedness.

Sleeping with the window open now is almost like inviting October to come and stay a bit. Crickets never seem to fatigue in their all-night gigs. I realize that there is nothing more to say really, but having the conversation is still nice; fireflies agree.