David R. Michael's Blog, page 49

A Story in "Zombiepalooza"

 
I was told today that my story, "Until Death Do Us Part", will be in this year's month-long celebration of zombies, "Zombiepalooza". Zombiepalooza will run the entire month of October, and will be hosted by Amanda Hocking, on her blog, My Blood Approves. "Until Death Do Us Part" is scheduled to appear on 24 October.
 

 
More news (and links) as I get them.
 
-David
 

Nostalgia (Part 2 of 2)

 
by David Michael
 
NOTE: Part 1 of "Nostalgia" was posted on Monday, 20 September, 2010.
 
4
 
Sharon held Finn's hand as they stood there, her looking at the spinning carousel with its stampede of carved horses leading an improbable parade of other animals–giraffes and leopards and roosters and dolphins–and him looking at her. Other people passing by, she noticed, looked at the two of them, and she wondered how much she had ruined her makeup. Did she look like a melting racoon? Or a weepy Goth chick? Some of the passers-by threw dark looks at Finn, as if he must have done something truly awful to make her cry like that.
 
Those were only her surface thoughts, though, as most of her was concentrated on Her Horse. Her Black Stallion. With his silver mane, and white and silver saddle and tack. With his legs before and after stretched out in mid-gallop. She had picked him when she was five, because he seemed to be racing. Unlike so many of the other horses and animals, he looked straight ahead. He had no time for prancing ponies, nor the people standing beside the carousel. He had somewhere to be, and he was going there. He had a race to win, and he was running it. But, if you were going his way, he would take you with him.
 
If she had to, little Shari waited in line until she could claim Her Horse. She wouldn't ride any other horse or any other animal. Only Her Black Stallion would do.
 
The first time she had come to the fair after Daddy's death, two years after their last ride together, she had been dragged to the carousel, because Mom had insisted that Randal–or was it Steve? probably not Tod, but she wasn't sure any more–take her there and make her ride.
 
"You simply must take her to the merry-go-round," Mom told Randal-or-Steve before they left for the fair, ignoring Shari's betrayed look. "She just loves the black horse. It's her favorite."
 
Steve-or-Randal had dragged her to the carousel, and refused to listen when she said she didn't want to ride. "Just get on, will you?" he said, pushing her forward. "I'll wait for you over by the exit."


Not wanting Randal-or-Tod angry at her–he had already spanked her once that week, while Mom watched, ignoring her screams and protests–Shari rode the carousel. She touched the shoulder of Her Black Stallion, but she didn't ride him. He understood, she thought, and he missed Daddy too. Instead, she sat in one of the chariot seats like the adults with their toddlers, arms crossed, refusing to cry.


When the ride ended, she walked up to Tod-or-Whoever and told him, "I don't want to ride the carousel ever again."


He shrugged. "Whatever." He tried to take her hand, but she didn't let him. He shrugged again, and she followed him away from the Black Stallion and the happy days before Daddy died.
 
"Here," Finn said, and pushed something into her hand.
 
Sharon looked down and saw he had given her a wad of napkins. "Thank you," she said. She wondered when he had left her to get the napkins. How long had she been standing there?
 
He smiled. "I was tired of people glaring at me."
 
She wiped at her eyes, wondering if she was making it better or worse.
 
"I saw there is a corkboard over there," Finn added. "By the line. Looks like the guy who runs the ride likes to take pictures of the kids who ride."
 
"Maybe he sells them," Sharon said.
 
"Maybe. But some of the pictures are really old. Polaroids even. Don't see those much anymore."
 
The carousel came to a stop and a tide of children and parents washed past them. Sharon, holding Finn's hand again, let the movement of the crowd take them toward the glass-covered corkboard with its array of white squares. She didn't know what she was expecting–hoping?–to see.
 
Like Finn had said, there were a lot of photos. As they walked up, a man about her age opened the glass case and started adding a new set of freshly printed photos, pinning them in neat rows with white thumbtacks. The man glanced at her, and seemed to do a double-take. Then he went back to his work.
 
On the opposite side of the display case, Sharon could hear the elderly ride operator talking to the new riders as he took their tickets. Three times Sharon heard the operator say, "One second, if you please." Just before a camera flashed. After a few minutes, the operator said, "Johan, are you not finished yet? These good people are waiting for their adventure to begin."
 
The man pinned the last of the new pictures, closed the glass doors, and stepped around out of sight. There was a ratcheting sound, then the calliope music came to life, covering up the sounds of straining metal and large gears being pushed by electric motors.
 
The photos in the case were lit with faint lights recessed along the top and bottom. The new pictures the man had just added were on the right side of the case, which was just now past half full. The left side of the case, though, was full of older pictures, even Polaroids, like Finn had said. The pictures were children, boys and girls both, from toddlers held in the arms of their parents up to tweens and even a few obvious teenagers, most of them smiling in anticipation of their "adventure", showing off missing teeth and orthodontic work in varying stages of completeness. The few looking sad or wary stood out, and Sharon wondered why those pictures had been included. Why not only the happy ones?
 
"Look at this one," Finn said, tapping the glass. "She looks like you."
 
Sharon looked where he pointed. A Polaroid snapshot of a girl with a faceless man behind her. "What?" she asked. "Brown hair and sullen? Is that what you think I looked like as a kid?"
 
Finn shrugged. "Your Mom has several pictures of you that look very similar. Framed and mounted even."
 
"My mom would frame every picture of me ever made. Even the blurry ones with my mouth hanging open. She has no … restraint." Sharon leaned closer. The man behind the little girl in the picture had no head, the picture ending just below his shoulders. But something about the man's shirt caught her eye. A nondescript pullover Polo-knockoff. Just like Steve used to wear. Or Randal. And she could almost smell the overwhelming scent of his Chaps cologne on the hand that she could almost feel resting on her shoulder.
 
"I thought you liked the merry-go-round," Steve-or-Randal said, looking down at Shari, irritation visible on his face and obvious in his voice. The two of them stood at the front of the line, with other children and adults behind them trying to hand over tickets and get on the ride.


"One second, sir, if you please." Shari turned to see who had spoken, and to twist her shoulder out of Randal-or-Steve's grip. The ride operator, a dark-haired man with salt-and-pepper scruff across his chin and cheeks knelt down so his face was level with Shari's. He raised a camera to his eye. Randal-or-Tod put his hand on her shoulder again. His idea, Shari supposed, of posing as father and daughter. The ride operator seemed to pause, as if he expected her to smile. She didn't.


The flash made Shari blink. The the white square of Polaroid film whirred out of the camera. She remembered, vaguely, that someone had taken her picture two years ago, just before she rode … with Daddy … She pushed the memory–and the sadness–down. She wasn't going to cry.


"I'm not paying for any pictures," Steve-or-Tod told the ride operator. Then he put his hand on her back and pushed her forward. "Just get on, will you? I'll wait for you over by the exit."


She had forgotten about the picture.
 
"It is you, isn't it?" Finn asked.
 
Sharon nodded. She could barely make out the eyes of the little girl–her eyes. But she recognized the expression she had worn like a mask, hiding behind it, through junior high and high school.
 
"Who is that with you?"
 
"I don't know," she said. "Just one of Mom's … I don't care."
 
Finn's hand touched her back. She knew he was trying to be supportive, but it was all too much. The fair, the heat, the noise, the smells. The memories. She had tried. For Finn. For herself. She didn't want to try any more.
 
"I want to go," she said. She turned to walk away from the carousel. She felt Finn's hand slip down her back and fall away.
 
"Wait," Finn said.
 
She stopped a step away. She turned around, but she didn't step back toward him. "I want to go home," she said.
 
"Not like this," Finn said. "If we go home now, I've ruined your birthday."
 
"It won't get any better if we stay."
 
"You don't know that."
 
"I do know that. I know that every time I've come to the fair since … since Daddy died, they have all sucked."
 
Finn shifted and stood up a bit straighter. "I'm not those guys," he said.
 
"What?"
 
"I'm not your Mom's boyfriends or her ex-husbands. I didn't bring you here because your Mom forced me too–"
 
"You brought me here because you listened to my Mom. If you want to know what I want, you don't ask Mom. She's– Nevermind. You ask me."
 
"I wanted it to be a surprise–"
 
"I'm not going to fight about this here." Sharon turned to walk away.
 
"Sharon–"
 
She didn't reply, she didn't turn around, and she didn't wait for him. She walked. She remembered where they had parked. Finn could find her there.
 
She heard footsteps coming up behind her. "Excuse me," a man's voice, but not Finn's. She didn't stop.
 
A hand touched her right arm. "Excuse me. Ma'am."
 
Sharon looked over her shoulder to see a man, late twenties or early thirties, disheveled and scruffy from a long day's work, walking alongside her. He looked familiar, but she didn't know him. "What?" she asked, but didn't stop walking.
 
"My boss," the man said, "he wanted you to have this." He held out his right hand, which had a Polaroid picture in it. He held the picture by one corner, his fingers not touching the actual image.
 
Now she remembered him. He was the man who had been putting the new pictures in the display by the carousel. She caught an impression of a little girl's face in the picture, but refused to look at it. "I don't want that picture," she said.
 
"It's not that picture, ma'am. Take it, please."
 
Sharon stopped walking and faced the man. It's not that picture. That wasn't what she had expected him to say. But she didn't take the picture he still held in front of him. She didn't look at the picture either. "I'm not paying for any picture," she said.
 
"It's not– It's a gift, ma'am. My boss says it belongs to you." The man–his blue work shirt had "Johan" embroidered on his left breast pocket–kept his eyes on hers, even when Finn stepped up beside him.
 
"What's going on?" Finn asked.
 
"Take the picture, ma'am. Please."
 
She kept her voice level. "I don't want any more pictures of me at the fair."
 
"It's not just a picture, ma'am," Johan said. His eyes became slightly unfocused as he went on, as if he was looking past her or thinking of something else. "I don't know how he does it–I mean, he's teaching me, but it's– I don't know how to describe it." His eyes focused on hers again. "Take the picture. Please."
 
"Just take the picture, Sharon," Finn said. "And then we can go."
 
Sharon started to reach with her right hand, but then something came over her and she took the picture with both hands, thumbs and index fingers on the corners. And she saw that Johan had given it to her properly oriented, so she could see it.
 
Daddy's face smiled back at her. Slightly lopsided, because he had to bend over to be in the shot with her.
 
"You are a happy girl, are you not?" said the man who took her tickets for the carousel. He held a camera in his right hand. He smiled at her, and Shari smiled back. "Would you like your picture taken?"


"Yes!"


Behind her, Daddy laughed. "That's my Shari. She never misses a chance to say 'cheese'."


Shari looked up at Dad with an expression of mock outrage. "Did you just call me vain?"


"You know I did," Daddy said, smiling.
 
"I'm not vain. I just love my Daddy." She leaped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Or tried to. Daddy was too tall. Her fingertips barely touched as she grabbed his neck and tried to pull him down with her weight. "You have to be in the picture with me."


"Oomph!" Daddy said, and laughed. "OK, OK. I'm bending over."


When he was low enough, Shari wrapped her arms around Daddy's neck and pressed her cheek against his. The stubble of his five o'clock shadow rubbed against her skin as it always did, the way she always wanted it to.
 
They stood there, Daddy on one knee, Shari wrapped around his neck, holding him close, both of them smiling when the flash popped.
 
Sharon found she was touching her right cheek with her fingertips, remembering the rough scrub of Daddy's stubble, her skin tingling as if it had just happened. That was one of her most persistent memories of Daddy, the feel of his cheek on hers when she hugged him after he got home from work, along with the smell of coffee on his breath when he kissed her good-bye in the mornings. Those had been the bookends of her days as a child, mornings and evenings.
 
She looked up from the photo and saw the man, Johan, was no longer there. Finn stood in front of her. She held the picture so he could see it.
 
"That's me," she said. "And Daddy. Here at the fair."
 
Finn looked at the picture, and nodded. She moved the picture to her heart as Finn pulled her close and put his arms around her.
 
She cried. She didn't know how long. She cried for Daddy, and for herself. And even for Mom.
 
Finn was still there, holding her, when she heard someone ask, "Is everything OK?"
 
She felt Finn nod, and the voice didn't ask again.
 
When she looked up again, Sharon saw they still stood where the man had caught up to her, in the middle of a busy path. Families and couples and children moved around them, stirring the liquid heat with their passing.
 
"Do you want to go now?" Finn asked.
 
She looked up at him and kissed him. "No, not yet. There's something I need to do first."
 
The elderly man who took her tickets smiled at her, but she hardly noticed him. Her Black Stallion was waiting for her. His coat and mane still had their glossy, gleaming polish, reflecting the incandescent lights of the carousel and the neon sparkles of the fair around them, though she could see he had picked up a few nicks and gouges in his travels. She was too big to ride him now, so she simply held his neck as they raced round and round through the night.
 
Finn was waiting for her when she stepped off the carousel. She held out her right hand to him. She still held the picture in her left, pressed to her heart.
 
5
 
Udo watched the woman walk away, feeling a faint smile on his lips.
 
Johan stepped up beside him. "She didn't even say thank you," Johan said.
 
Udo shrugged. "All we do, Johan, is keep the pictures."
 
"She could at least have said thank you."
 
"It was her picture, Johan. We were only keeping it safe for her."
 
"But it was more than a picture–"
 
Udo held up a hand, interrupting his apprentice. "We will talk of this later. After," he added when it looked like Johan was going to say something more. Udo said nothing, waiting.
 
Finally, Johan nodded.
 
"Very good," Udo said.
 
While Johan checked the carousel and mounts for discarded trash and possible mechanical issues, Udo moved to the head of the queue of children and parents that had formed. Near the middle of the queue, he spotted a boy of about six years old. The boy stood there, refusing to hold the hand of the woman he was with, just as he would soon–next year, maybe–be refusing to ride the carousel because it was "too sissy". To Udo, the relationship of mother and son could be read like a purple neon sign. What drew his eye, though, was the umbra of an impending doom that surrounded them, an extra edge of darkness lurking in the shadows around them, building up to the inevitable.
 
Udo stood at the turnstile, taking tickets while Johan helped the younger children with their mounts, waiting until the mother and son were at the head of the line.
 
The boy held up the tickets. "One please," he said.
 
Udo smiled, but he didn't take the tickets. Not yet. He bent down so he was eye level with the boy, then held up the camera. "Say, 'cheese'."
 
The boy put the hand with the tickets to his temple so the tickets hung down beside his face. He then crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
 
"Very good," Udo said, and snapped the picture. He felt the flutter in his heart, as he always did, as the camera recorded the image, and as a bit of the happiness, cockiness, and growing independence of the boy was preserved with the image.
 
"Markus!" the mother said, looking more indulgent than indignant. "I can't believe you did that."
 
"I want to see it," the boy said.
 
Udo held the camera so the picture could be seen. The boy laughed. "That's great. Can I get a copy?"
 
"Tickets, please," Udo said, taking back the camera and holding out his left hand.
 
"Oh, right." The boy handed Udo the tickets, and then pushed through to get on the carousel.
 
Udo smiled, knowing that both he and the picture had already been forgotten. Whether it was the magic, the Fates, or simply the excitement of the ride, he didn't know, but they never came back for their pictures. Not right away. Eventually, though, when they needed to remember, when they needed to reconnect with when they had been happy, they would find their way back. Most would forget him then too. But that was OK.
 
That was how he would know when he could accept Johan's offers for the Bowlus trailer and the repro Dentzel carousel and retire. When Johan understood that children–and the memories of children–almost never said, "Thank you." And he loved them anyway.
 
THE END
 
Inspired by the painting, "Nostalgia", by Don Michael, Jr.
 

"Nostalgia"
 







When her boyfriend's "birthday surprise" turns out to be a date at the state fair, Sharon finds herself face to face with the childhood she's tried to forget.
 
>>> Purchase "Nostalgia" for the Kindle.
 
>>> Purchase "Nostalgia" for other ebook readers.




 

Writing Progress Report

 
Writing progress report for the week starting Monday, September 20, 2010.
 








Writing Project


Words




Monday


"Afterimage"


997




Tuesday


"Afterimage"


1560




Wednesday


"Afterimage"
Edited "Inferno".


1595




Thursday








Friday


"Afterimage" (first draft completed)


968




Saturday








Sunday


















Total



5120




 








Marketing/Submission




Monday


Posted "Nostalgia" Part 1 to the blog.
Ordered proof copies of The Summoning Fire.




Tuesday


Announced "Nostalgia" on the Kindle Boards Book Bazaar.




Wednesday





Thursday


Approved proofs of The Summoning Fire.




Friday





Saturday


Published The Summoning Fire on Smashwords.




Sunday


Published The Summoning Fire on Amazon DTP.




 
Reading List

On My Way to Paradise by David Farland.

 

Of Two Minds: Gush or Trickle?

 
Now that I've taken the plunge and released my first ebook–and have my second nearly ready, and a good idea of what numbers three through six will be–it's hard not to just open the floodgates.
 
I've accumulated a lot of material over the past few years, especially since my short story a day project in 2006. The other weekend I had some free time and worked out that I had written nearly 600K words of fiction since 2003. Those words make up three complete novels, a novella, and a lot of short (and short short) stories. Today I might have finished the first draft of what could be a novella-length collection of related short stories. So, yeah, I have a lot of stuff just, you know, lying around [*]. Some of it (I think) really good.
 
So, now that I know how to publish ebooks (and even print-on-demand paperbacks), should I go into full-scale production mode and release every novel or story I think is worthwhile, one after the other? Or should I take a more measured approach, and only release new works according to a schedule, like once or twice a month/week?
 
One reason to get more and more ebooks out there is that each one that is available helps promote all the others.
 
One reason to take it slow and steady is that I'm still learning and it's easier to fix mistakes made one at a time.
 
Another reason to get a move on is that this could be a "gold rush" period for ebooks. You get in now and make a big impact, or be just another fish in a sea of fiction in the all-too-near future.
 
Another reason to be more measured is that it might be better to have a steady release of new work over a period of time rather than just dump everything out there all at once.
 
I'm open to discussion on this. And while you write me your opinion in the comments, I'm going to go look over my next Smashwords submission and maybe do some editing…
 
-David
 
[*] Exactly why all those words have been lying around is a topic for another discussion.
 

Amazon Author's Page

 
It took a bit longer than I expected, but I finally remembered how to tell Amazon that I'm the author of my new ebook. But it's done now.
 
View my Amazon Author's page.
 
This blog should even start showing up there soon.
 
Wee!
 
-David
 

Three Conclusions and a Small Marketing Plan

 
Over on his blog, fellow indie Mark Fassett has posted three conclusions about ebook sales:

You need to write well, and make sure you have a compelling sample available.
You need to have more than one ebook for sale.
You need to be patient.

 
I'm working on the first (and hopefully making progress) and the second (coming soon). I would joke about how I'm working on the third–and how I want it now, dammit now!–but, really, I figured out patience a while back (except in regards to manuscript submissions; the whole process still irks me horribly; which is probably a clue into my "indie fiction" and "indie anything else" tendencies).
 
My marketing plan for my ebooks is pretty simple. Here is how I summed it up for another friend last week:
 
The marketing plan at the moment is to promote on Guns & Magic (of course), probably mention it on Joe Indie. Also to link to it on Facebook. There are some ebook communities on the Web that I'll wander through and see if I can make an impact. Plus, I'll be releasing more and more ebooks as the season continues. So they'll help promote each other.
 
So far, the only "ebook community" I've gone to is Kindle Boards. They're huge. And busy. Almost daunting. I have plans to look for more such communities.
 
For "Nostalgia", I've now:

Posted part 1 here on Guns & Magic;
Posted about my new "indie fiction" initiative over on Joe Indie;
Linked to both of those posts on Facebook; and
Posted an annoucement of the book to the Kindle Boards Book Bazaar.

 
There's probably something I can do over on Smashwords to promote the ebook. And, of course, there are other ebook-oriented communities around and about. I'll find them.
 
The next big promotion effort for "Nostalgia", though, will be the upcoming release of The Summoning Fire. And then the release of the next ebook. And the one after that.
 
Which means my Plan for World Domination through Fiction boils down to:
I will drown the world in words…
 
-David
 

I'm Falling in Love with Virginia Woolf…

 
Not the woman (though she may have been very interesting). And not her writing (of which I've read very little). But her picture. On my Kindle.
 
It's a photograph with haunting qualities. She seems very vulnerable, very quietly beautiful. She could be about to cry. Or about to smile a little smile. Or maybe she's just being pensive. You look at this photo and you can imagine she was pensive a lot.
 
I know next to nothing about Virginia Woolf, except that she was a famous early 20th century author.
 
But I know I like this photograph.
 

 
 
-David
 

Nostalgia (Part 1 of 2)

 
by David Michael
 
1
 
Udo reached down and pulled open the flaps of the box on the floor beside his chair, exposing the faces of children. Shy smiles and bored looks and gaptooth grins and oh-so-serious pouts shone out at him from yellowing Polaroids and fading inkjet prints. Udo closed his eyes, touched his left hand to his heart, and took a deep breath. He let the breath out slow and took another.
 
Through the thin, metal walls of the antique Bowlus Road Chief trailer, he could hear the other carnies and ride operators and fair officials calling out to each other in the already-warm, pre-dawn gray, getting ready for the day. He felt the trailer shift as Johan leaned against the only door, keeping guard while Udo performed his morning ritual.
 
When he was younger, when he had first "inherited"–through years of service and a bank note–both the Bowlus trailer and the reproduction Dentzel carousel from his retiring mentor, Pytr, Udo had thought the little trailer the perfect size. A small, portable house for a small, portable life. Thirty-five years later, though, and more than thirty-five pounds heavier, he had begun wishing for something newer and bigger than his vintage 1936 trailer. Something designed for one of the newer, bigger Americans of the 21st century that he had become. Maybe it was time to follow his mentor's example and sell out to Johan.
 
Maybe. But not yet.
 
Eyes still closed, Udo reached deep down into the box with his left hand, pushing through the layers of photographs until his fingers brushed the cardboard bottom of the box. Gripping as many of the photos as he could, he pulled his hand back out–slowly, so as not to scatter photos all over the narrow floor of the trailer. He placed the stack on the table in front of him and opened his eyes.
 
Udo spread the pile flat with his hands. Rheumatoid arthritis no long let him spread the fingers of his left hand, and he felt clumsy as he flipped the white-bordered images so they were all face down. In spite of the pain and the clumsiness, though, he could still feel the stirrings in his heart and the tingling under his fingertips as he opened himself to the Fates the way that Pytr had taught him–the way he, Udo, had begun to teach Johan.
 
He pushed the photos around on the table in overlapping circles using both hands, then he brought the images together into a tall, awkwardly leaning deck. He straightened the deck with his palms.
 
Still using his left hand, he dealt the top photo face up onto the table before him. A girl of about ten smiled out at him. She was cheek to cheek with a man of about thirty, also smiling, the girl's skinny arm around the man's neck. They were obviously father and daughter, with the same happy crinkles around their eyes, the same cheekbones, and the same little hooks on the bridges of their noses.
 
Udo smiled and dealt the next photo, putting it beside the first.
 
He sat up straight, his smile gone. He leaned over to get a closer look at the picture. There was no doubt. It was the same girl. About a year, maybe two, older than in the first picture, her expression now one of guarded wariness, her eyes dark behind the hair that hung over her face, but very definitely the same girl. On her shoulder rested a man's hand, the man's shirt visible behind her head, but as much of the man as possible had been cut out of the shot. Because it wasn't the same man as before. In this second picture, only the little girl mattered.
 
2
 
Sharon held it together through finding a place to park. She didn't even complain about paying $10 just to park. She thought Finn should have noticed that and realized it was a sign that not all was well. That maybe he had picked the wrong 30th birthday gift. But he only smiled at her and said, "Surprise."
 
She managed a weak smile in return, and climbed out of the car without saying anything.
 
As they walked to the main gate of the fairgrounds, the setting sun throwing their shadows long and jumpy over the black asphalt and parked cars, she held herself together, arms crossed across her chest, head down so that her chin was almost touching her collarbone, fighting a chill that couldn't possibly come from the hot, humid air of the Oklahoma summer.
 
This wasn't the birthday present she had expected. Not at all.
 
"Are you OK?" Finn asked. Finally.
 
Sharon shook her head, then nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Finn had his hand out so they could hold hands. He could be insensitive and thick, but he was also trying very hard to be sweet. She forced herself to uncoil, to stand up straight, and to reach down with her left hand and take Finn's right. His hand was warm and dry. She hoped her hand wasn't too clammy and tried not to squeeze too hard. "I'm fine," she said.
 
Sharon was surprised how fast she had been walking. Now she slowed down.
 
"Was this a bad idea?" Finn asked. He came to a stop and pulled her to a stop too by not letting go of her hand.
 
Around them, other couples and families were threading their separate ways across the massive parking lot and through the neat lines of sedans, pickups and RV's.
 
Sharon risked a quick look at Finn's face. He still had his sunglasses on so she couldn't see his eyes. She could hear the concern in his voice, though, and a hint of disappointment. She had left her own sunglasses in the car, in the cupholder between the two front seats. Now she wanted them back, so she could hide her eyes.
 
"I'm fine," she repeated, lying a second time. She looked away. She tugged on his hand and they started walking again.
 
"I thought you would like coming," Finn said.
 
"I was just," she started. Then paused, looking for a word that wasn't as negative as underwhelmed-irritated-panicked. "Surprised. I was just surprised. I haven't been to the fair since … for a long time."
 
"You've always talked about how you went to the fair as a kid," Finn said.
 
Sharon nodded. "Almost every year," she said, impressed at how she could sound so calm.
 
"And today is your thirtieth birthday. You're not a kid anymore."
 
"Says you, old man."
 
Finn laughed, but it was a weak laugh. "After today, anyway. So I thought … I thought it would be a good, you know, one last hurrah of childhood. Ride the rides. Eat greasy food. The works."
 
He sounded so sweet, Sharon found herself smiling. She tilted her head and looked at him to show him the smile, share it with him. Because he didn't know. She had never told him. Hinted at, talked around, sometimes even almost mentioned. But she had never told him. Her childhood had ended much earlier than he supposed. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks," she said.
 
And she meant it. She would like more than anything to give her childhood one last, final good-bye. Maybe coming to the fair would do that. Clinging to that thought–and now clinging to Finn's hand–had been how she didn't break down in the car as soon as she understood what Finn's "Birthday Surprise" was. And gave her the strength to keep walking to the gate. When what she wanted was to run the other way and find a dark, cozy closet to hide in. Or a bed to hide under.
 
They reached the gate and joined the line to pay.
 
Finn, still holding her hand, pulled her to him. He let go of her hand and hugged her close. Closer than she was comfortable with in public, his legs against her legs, her breasts against his chest, standing in line with so many people, but she didn't stop him.
 
"We can still go," Finn said, his mouth right next to her ear. "Just say the word, and we'll take off and go somewhere you actually want to be."
 
Sharon felt herself love him even more than she already did and hugged him tight, no longer concerned with who might be watching and/or scandalized. Someone behind them might've cleared their throat. She didn't care. "It's OK," she said. "I want to be … with you." She pulled back so she could kiss him on the lips.
 
"So," Finn said once they had entered the fairgrounds, "where to? What do you want to do first?"
 
Sharon held onto his arm, holding herself up. She hadn't been prepared for the memories that washed over her as she stepped through the turnstile.
 
Randal, Mom's new boyfriend–or maybe it Tod, or Steve, or Mackie; they had ceased to be individuals long ago, blurred together beyond separation–holding her right hand tight in his left, looking down at her, his eyes hidden behind mirrored aviator sunglasses, his forced smile making his bushy mustache fan out. "Here we are, Shari. Your mom said you liked to come to the fair. What do you want to do first?"
 
"Sherrie! You made it!"
 
Startled, past overlaying present in her head and before her eyes, Sharon jerked her head around. She saw a thin blond girl, maybe twelve, in white shorts and a matching mini-tee, throw herself at another girl the same age and similarly attired, hugging her tight, her head bouncing like a bobblehead doll.
 
Sharon realized she had been holding her breath and let it out. Her heart pounded in her chest and she tried to will it to slow back down. No one had called her Shari since college. She hadn't answered to the name in years. For longer than she had known Finn.
 
As if on cue, Finn pulled her close to him again, his hands on her waist, his face close to hers. "It's still not too late," he said. "We can go."
 
"But you already paid."
 
Finn only shrugged.
 
"No," she said. "I just thought … she was calling to me."
 
Finn smiled. "No one calls you Shari. Not any more."
 
She forced herself to smile back at him. "No. Not any more." Not even Mom. She reached up and took off his sunglasses, and put them in her handbag. Now she could see his eyes.
 
"So where do you want to go first?" Finn asked. "Do you want a rubber duck? That sign over there promises everyone who pays a dollar wins a rubber duck."
 
Sharon laughed, surprised that she didn't have to force it. She felt herself relaxing. "Maybe later we can get a rubber duck," she said. "For now, let's just walk."
 
3
 
"So, is this what you did when you were kid?" Finn asked. "Walk around?"
 
"It depended," Sharon said. On which of Mom's boyfriends brought me, she didn't add.
 
Finn had been a good sport so far, even though she had refused to get on any ride.


How about the Tilt-a-Whirl? How about the Starship 2000? How about the Power Surge?
 
He couldn't hear the echoes his questions created in her head.
 
She tried to stay relaxed, to enjoy the bright lights and the laughing-happy-screams of children on the spinning rides and the banter of the various callers. And especially to enjoy Finn walking with her and holding her hand and smiling at her and the fair as it swirled around them. She wanted to be relaxed and happy for Finn. It was her birthday, and this was her birthday present. It wasn't Finn's fault he was repeating a script, walking in the footsteps of Bad Birthdays Past.
 
"Your Mom said you used to love the fair," Finn said as they walked past a pool full of miniature speed boats, their little engines racing, pushing them in tight little circles as a crowd of boys looked on, cheering and jeering.
 
"Yeah," Sharon said, her voice noncommittal. "She says that a lot." Poor Finn. He must have asked Mom what would be a good special, 30th-birthday gift for Sharon. Or maybe Finn hadn't asked at all. Maybe Mom had just told him. Mom didn't always need to be asked to give advice. Especially about her little Sharon.
 
"Shari loves the fair," Mom said. "Don't you honey?" Then, ignoring Shari's shaking head, speaking to Randal–or Mackie–or Steve–or whoever, Mom said, "She used to go every year with her Daddy, before he died, the poor thing. You'll take her, won't you Randy-Stevie-Tod-Mackie-dear? It'll help the two of you become close. I want us all to be close. Like a family."
 
They had come to the end of a double row of games of chance, a sort of limbo land of crisscrossing power cables and hoses before the next cluster of rides.
 
"Did you come with your friends?" Finn asked.
 
"No," Sharon said. Mom's boyfriends or husbands had never been her friends. She saw Finn's head turn to look at her and she realized how flat and cold her response had been. She added, "I mean, yes, I sometimes ran into my friends here." She didn't think she was lying. It must have happened once or twice, seeing other kids from school. Even if all it amounted to were awkward waves and the occasional brief greeting as the men in Mom's life pulled her from Crazy Wave to Kamikaze to Orbiter, trying to bond with–and sometimes trying to cop a feel on–the reticent, standoff-ish daughter of their widow girlfriend. The bonding always failed–and she wished she could say about the other. But Mom wouldn't listen to little Shari about the groping hands and lude comments any more than she would listen about anything else.
 
"Shari loves the midway rides," Mom said. Not because Shari told her that, but because that's what she wanted to believe. "Especially the roller coasters. She used to love the merry-go-round too, but she grew out of it. You know how girls are, once they hit ten or eleven. Wearing makeup, piercing their ears, getting all grown up."
 
"How about the carousel?" Finn asked.
 
Sharon realized the calliope music had been playing, threading through the other sounds, getting stronger, for the past few minutes. She hadn't noticed. Or she had been blocking it, not wanting to hear it. Now, though, she heard it. She couldn't not hear it. The music seemed to wrap around her and squeeze, making it hard to breath. And when she looked up, she saw the polished wooden stallions and mustangs and thoroughbreds rearing and leaping through the night under golden lights.
 
"So … is it time for the horses?" Daddy asked, smiling down at her, his big hand with his long fingers wrapped around her hand. The two of them had been at the fair for hours, since before the sun went down, riding damp logs, throwing lopsided rings, gnawing on overcooked turkey legs, doing everything possible in his-turn-her-turn order, walking in ever tightening circles around night's Main Event: the Shari Rides the Horses Extravaganza.


Shari had known he was about to ask, but still she felt herself smiling in happy surprise. "Yes!" she shouted.


"Then let's not keep your horses waiting!"
 
Sharon tried to keep the sob in her chest, and failed. The music and the memory forced it out of her. She had been defending herself against bad memories. She had no defense against the good. Against the memory of the last time she had Ridden the Horses with Daddy. She let go of Finn's hand–threw it away from her–and spun and tried to walk away from him and the fair and the friendly, happy music of the carousel. She pushed her way through indulgent parents and excited children and happy couples. She resented them all. And she resented Finn for making her have to see them.
 
She seemed to burst out of the crowd and into a small pool of darkness, a triangular cranny formed by two booths not quite back to back, empty except for an overflowing trashcan. She put her face against the back of a booth, blocking out as much as she could.
 
"Sharon." She felt Finn's hand on her shoulder.
 
"I didn't want to come here," she said, keeping her face turned away from him. Just like she had told one man after another. Then, though, she had been able to say it without crying, without hiding her face. She had been stronger then, angrier.
 
"I'm sorry." After a long minute, Finn added, "I thought you liked coming to the fair–"
 
"With my father," she said. Now she turned to face him. The words came in a rush. "I liked coming to the fair with Daddy–" She stopped to take a breath, to reassert some kind of control. "I came with–with my father." She rubbed at her eyes, trying to push the pain away along with the tears. "It was our special day. Just the two of us."
 
"I'm sorry. I didn't know–"
 
"I didn't tell you." She sniffed. "So stop saying you're sorry. It's not your fault. You're just trying to be sweet and be a good boyfriend. And I'm babbling." Sharon paused and took a deep breath. She ignored Finn's extended arms. "It's not your fault," she repeated. "It's … it was Mom. She never understood. I wanted to go to the fair with Daddy. Not … not … with some guy she was dating or married to. But she wouldn't listen. Every year, until I was sixteen, she would send me …"
 
"It's OK," Finn said.
 
He extended his arms again and this time Sharon moved to accept his embrace. She didn't put her arms around him, though. She kept her arms folded in front of her, her clenched fists just under her chin. She didn't look up at his face either. She turned her face to the side, looking at the nothing where the two booths came together.
 
"Every year," she said, "on my birthday, I had to go to the fair with the last man on earth I'd ever want to be there with."
 
"I'm sorry."
 
She twisted to face him now. She would have pushed out of his arms, but he held her. And she didn't push that hard.
 
"But you liked coming with your father," Finn said. "Before."
 
She could see he was trying to understand. He was hearing her. Unlike Mom. Sharon let herself relax, some, and rested her forehead against his shoulder. She could smell his soap and his anti-perspirant. And, under all of that, him. "Of course. It was our Special Day."

"And they ruined it." He shifted his arms, so his right hand stroked the back of her neck and his left hand pressed against the small of her back.
 
"Yes, they ruined it. Tod and Mackie and … damn it, I don't want to start crying again."
 
"It's OK."
 
"No, it's not. I'm ruining my makeup, and ruining your birthday present–"
 
"I think I messed up your birthday all by myself–"
 
"No. No. It's not you. You've been … you've been wonderful." She looked up at him and kissed him. "You can do what I always do," she added, trying to smile, "and blame my mother."
 
He gave her a supportive chuckle, and she unwound her arms and put them around him, pulling him close.
 
"I miss Daddy," she said after a few seconds.
 
"I know."
 
"No, you don't," she said. But she tried to say it kindly. "And on my birthday, I miss him most." This time Finn didn't say anything, and she squeezed him just a bit tighter to show her appreciation.
 
After a few minutes, Finn asked, whispering in her ear, "Should we go?"
 
Sharon surprised herself when she said, "No. Not yet. I want to see my horses. I mean, I want to see the carousel. And then I might want to get a turkey leg."
 
TO BE CONTINUED

Part 2 of "Nostalgia" will be available next Monday (27 September).
 
 







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