The Art Festival

There were many kids in the park that day. The art festival had attracted the majority of the town. People walked in narrow pathways treading down overgrown grass. They viewed the local talent. An art teacher had arranged a display under a weathered blue tarp consisting of several imitations of lesser known impressionist like Frédéric Bazille, whose brief career was shortened by the Franco-Prussian War. From another booth a collection of wind-chimes made primarily of silverware clanked over the hum of the crowd. Large groups of children ran together in relay races, some trailing bright colored fabric attached to oversized headbands. Little dancers waited undaunted in mismatched uniforms for a boy – with his hands on his hips – to figure-out the make-shift sound system.

There were many kids in the park that day. A small girl with pigtails too short to be held in with anything but a pasty mixture of cornstarch and water fell when she tried to climb onto the counter of an unsteady booth. The engineer of the booth reached out her hands and comforted the child, gave her taffy and then pushed her towards some other children when she started smiling again.

Conrad watched the sticky taffy girl. He stacked a pile of red paper Coke cups under the counter and then refilled the empty napkin holder. His boss, Thayne, watched him over his shoulder and followed Conrad’s stare. The summer was hot and dusty. The temperature seemed to spike earlier that July when Conrad climbed out of the oversized diesel and thanked the driver for the ride. He had been working hard now for almost a month but the fabric of his blue uniform started to itch around the neck. And his mouth had felt too dry ever since he passed the sign that welcomed him back to Colton.

“Go do a pick” Thayne said.

Conrad didn’t acknowledge that he had heard as he moved out of the back flap of the tent and started to pick up empty cups and candy wrappers that had been discarded and smashed. All around him the festival continued but all he saw was sticky wrappers and halve eaten taffy gobs.

Young mothers grouped around talked about who they had and hadn’t seen at church the previous Sunday. Men stood in semi-circles surveying the crowds and silently slipping off one by one to find something to drink.

Ariann scooped her baby boy and walked to a small group of men. Two children followed closely in her wake as the crowed parted slightly. The six-year-old girl held the arm of her younger brother as he kept close on his mothers heals. The day had grown hotter and the trees seemed sparse in the July heat.

“I’m getting lemonade, you want some?” Ariann asked. She handed the baby to her husband and then started searching her purse.

“No, I’m fine.” Eric put little Carter down on the grass and watched him as he made small circles around his legs. The child was content to be away from other children, unlike his older siblings who were always within arms length of each other.

“I’ll take these two with me, watch him.” Ariann turned away without waiting for a response still looking in her purse for correct change.

Baily and Mathew peered over the wooden counter and decided that pink was what girls should drink and yellow is what boys should drink. Ariann followed the children’s advice and ordered pink lemonade for herself and Baily and a regular lemonade for Mathew. She sorted the exact change on the table while Mathew pulled on her purse.

“What ‘bout Carter, momma, what ‘bout Carter?”

“He’ll have some of mine, baby.”

“Carter momma, Carter.”

“Sweetheart its okay boys can drink pink lemonade too.”

The odd cries didn’t lesson and people were starting to turn from their booths and stop what they were doing.

Ariann caught her husband’s eye. He was watching Mathews growing tantrum and started over to where they were so that he could intervene before Baily joined Mathew’s chorus. He walked the short distance that had separated them and lifted Baily onto his shoulders. Mathew was hysterically rolling on the grass, but Ariann was perfectly still waiting for her son to stand back up on his own.

“Where’s Carter?”

“He followed right behind me” Eric said and turned to grab carters hand.

Conrad bounced the baby in his arms gently as he moved towards the exit of the park. Conrad was surprised about how remarkable receptive this child, his child, had been, and how satisfied he was to eat the tiny bits of candy that had just been taken off the ground, not like Parker.

“I think I’ll call you Carter for a while, would you like that?”

“see-ai-errr”