Carnival

by D. M. Thornton

  She fakes a chuckle. “Grandma called, she wants her clothes you stole back.”

  “What is wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask, picking lint off my skirt.

  “You’re wearing blue-colored tights under a skirt that looks like one of those color by number pages and a tan-colored cardigan over a librarian type buttoned-up starched dress shirt. You look like you should be going to a teacher’s convention rather than a concert.”

  “By the way, what concert are you taking me to?”

  Luna’s top lip tugs into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

  The way Luna is devilishly smiling and twitching her eyebrows has me nervous, rightfully so. Oliver’s face plasters the tits of every woman and girl alike. Oh, I’m sorry, Milo Creed and The Gentleman’s Club covers the tits of every woman and girl alike. Regardless of name, I’ve been bamboozled. Tricked.

  “Luna Bear,” I keep my voice playful. “Why in the hell would you bring me here knowing how I feel about Oliver?”

  Luna slams her car door and walks over to me, unbuttoning the top three buttons of my shirt. I swat at her hands, but she jerks at my collar until the buttons pop off, leaving me no other choice but to have the swell of my breasts exposed for the whole world to see. Luna takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd of giddy females thinking they will have a chance of banging Milo Creed, and shouts over her shoulder, “I know how you feel about Oliver Leif, which, by the way, I know is some kinky game you two sickos like to play, not liking each other and all.” She covers a, “Bullshit,” with a cough and follows it up with a, “We aren’t seeing Oliver tonight. We are seeing Milo Creed and The Gentlemen’s Club, so get over yourself and let’s have fun.”

  She knows my weaknesses. Weaknesses I’ve have had since three years old.

  Oliver and music.

  Two

  Oliver

  The beaming bright lights shining down on me on stage cast dark shadows against the crowd, a sea of waves glistening in the night. Within the darkness is a streak of fire, like the burning sun right before it touches the ocean at sunset. I can pick Piper out of a crowd as if she is a fleck of sparkled dust gleaming in a desert full of sand. She carries an aura all her own, my soul drawn to her colors. They have always pumped life back into my veins, and after all these years, it doesn’t seem to have changed.

  She is all I see, the star in the sky that lights up the night. I sing to her, every word hurling over the crowd straight to her. Into her. I can’t see if she’s watching me as intensely as I am her, but I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones, her eyes on me. There isn’t a show where I don’t put every ounce of myself into my music. I leave every bead of sweat on stage, but tonight there is an added swagger in my step all for Piper. I want her to leave here thinking only of my music. Only of me.

  Impromptu music is the best, especially when my band has no fucking clue as to what it is I am doing. I cut off their melodies with a simple raise of my arm and a sudden clamped fist. They know my cue to start back up is when both my arms open up at my sides, so they sit and wait while I take the opportunity to talk to the crowd, to Piper.

  “How you all doing tonight?” I scream, swinging my guitar behind me and bending backwards in a howl. Energy flows through me, pulsing into my pores as the arena echoes with stage-shaking chants. When I can hear myself breathe, I stride to the edge of the stage and stuff my free hand into the pocket of my jeans. “All right, a right, calm the fuck down. I need to tell you a story.”

  I let the screams die down and the stage to go still and throw out a few “love you too’s” before I say, “I think it’s safe to say we all have that one person, that one person who annoys the ever-loving fuck out of us. That one person who pushes every internal button we have until we want to explode. Our arch-nemesis. That one person who we argue with, we pick on, we hate. But also the one person who we secretly love, which really isn’t much of a secret. We hate them so much we love them and we love them so much we hate them.”

  The floor is consumed under my feet, each step of my Converse shoes trekking every inch of the stage as I pace back and forth.

  “I met my rival in preschool, the one who turned my world upside down from the very first word she spoke. From crying about missing mommy and daddy to stealing and sharing toys, from passing notes in grade school, to frogs hidden in lunch boxes, from pulling pigtails and chasing on the playground, to copying homework and ditching classes. Short jokes and freak show references. Pinky swears and a truce in alliances with a shake of spit-filled palms. Lies and truths. Anger and laughter.”

  I find myself taking a leap off the stairs, security following behind and pushing the fans back to give me space as I stroll through the crowd. My focus straight ahead of me, her, staring at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The same mouth that used to scream at me for stealing her toys, and the same green eyes that would cry big ol’ crocodile tears when I hurt her feelings.

  “See, after all these years, that one person I tormented when we were kids is the same person I wake up and go to sleep thinking about. The cute little red-haired girl with mismatched socks and freckles around her nose who would wear the same godawful pink tutu dress every day if her mother didn’t make her wash it. The same girl who I once spit in her chocolate milk and didn’t tell her until after she drank it.”

  The arena trembles with laughter, hoots and whistles piercing my ears. I stop in front of Piper and push her jaw closed with my finger, and speak right to her. “The girl who I used to call little bird because she once cried so hard when a bird smacked into a glass window and broke its wing, and I stood over it and laughed while she scooped it up and tried to mend it back together. That bird died in her hands, and still to this day, I feel guilty about laughing and not trying to help. So, little bird, every time I hear Ed sing this song, I think of you.”

  I tilt the mic toward Piper and eye her with a playful smirk and bouncing brows until she hesitantly takes the mic from my hand. Nodding my head in approval of her mic holding skills, I shift my guitar in front of my waist and begin to strum the Ed Sheeran song. It’s just the two of us, in this moment, sharing a connection that has never faded. A sold out arena invisible, as if we are in our own bubble, unbothered by life moving around us. Piper doesn’t shy away, holding her focus solely on my lips. Her face shows no emotion, but her eyes shine bright with a glimpse of excitement. She will punch me later, I’m sure, but for right now, she is happy sharing this bubble with me.

  From the last note of “Little Bird,” I switch chords and belt out the first line to “Carnival,” a song I never admitted to writing about Piper. In fact, I have spent most of my career convincing the media “Carnival” is nothing more than a ballad. None of my fans would know the difference. To them, they are words of love and heartache. But, if Piper ever really listened to the words, she would figure it out, and by the way her eyes glaze over, she knows it is about the last night we spent together before I left town, never telling her I was leaving.

  “I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to leave.

  The pain still burns inside me, the flames won’t let me be.

  Your eyes full of valor, under the crescent moon.

  Your lips perched in a smile, on that sugary night in June.

  I remember the way your lips felt, I remember the way you taste.

  Years of running away from love, finally stopping the chase.

  Our world was like a Carnival, never slowing down.

  Until the night I left you, I wonder where you are now.”

  By the end of the song, there is no doubt everyone will know “Carnival” was written for the girl sitting in row 27, floor level. And I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I have spent the whole first chapter of my life playing mind fuck games with Piper and now that I have found her, I refuse to give up on whatever spark there is left between us.

  The guys and I have been doing this meet and greet for two solid hours and this massive line seems to have no end. Don’t get me
wrong, I am forever grateful for our loyal fans, for without them, I would not be Milo Creed, but shit on a stick, I only want to see one person. Countless half-naked girls trying desperately to get into my pants is any man’s wet dream except mine. Unless it is Piper rubbing up all over me, I want to get these pictures with these groupie ho’s over with and get the fuck outta here.

  When I think I can’t take anymore fake giggles and fake boobs, I see the one thing that puts a goofy ass grin across my face. There she is, looking like an underpaid and overworked elementary school teacher. I chuckle despite myself. “The principal called. Said you need to get back to your third grade class before they destroy the classroom,” I tease when Piper and her sister approach the table.

  Luna giggles, but Piper keeps a straight face. “Ed Sheeran called, he wants his riff back.”

  My cheeks are tugged up around my eyes. “So you liked it then?”

  “Just as much as I like the feel of sandpaper across my face,” Piper counters.

  I pull her in for a hug and feel her shoulders relax against my abs. I kiss the top of her head. “Glad you came, little bird.”

  Her head cranks back to look up at me. “I didn’t have much of a choice, so yeah.” She takes a step back and fiddles with the hem of her cardigan.

  Doesn’t seem to matter how much time spreads between us, she still acts just as nervous as when we were young. Not that I’m not nervous, I am, but it’s more an excited nervousness rather than anxious. Piper, on the other hand, is awkward. Always has been. I think that it is one of the things I’ve always loved about her. She is quirky and mysterious and a person all her own. Endearing.

  “Always good to see you, Oliver, but I have my eye on your drummer, so I’ll catch up with you two lovebirds later,” Luna says, giving me a quick hug before pushing a few girls away from the table. Piper and I watch her snarl at the girls then rest her palms on the table in front of Nash, using her arms to push together her breasts.

  Piper rolls her eyes. “Jesus, she is something else.” Her head swivels from side to side, searching for an exit, but I grab her by the hand and lead her into our dressing room.

  “I’m really glad you came,” I admit, pulling her on to the couch beside me.

  Her body stiff, she scoots away from me. “I didn’t have much choice. Had I known, I probably wouldn’t have come.”

  My bottom lip droops on a frown. “Is it that painful to see me?” I ask, even though I don’t want to hear the answer. Deep down, I already know it is. Why would she want to see me after I promised her unattainable dreams then left her to figure life out on her own?

  “No, Oliver, or Milo, or whatever you want me to call you—"

  “Oliver.”

  “No, Oliver, it is not painful to see you. I honestly couldn’t care less. We both have moved on. You’re happy, I’m happy, and that is that.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you have come if you don’t care about me, about us?”

  Piper laughs, her dimple in her right cheek taunting me. “First, there is no us. Never has been, never will be. You made that perfectly clear the day you left. Second, I wouldn’t have wasted my time coming because I don’t care much for your music.”

  I snort, offended. “Oh? Well, what kind of music do you fancy, small fry?” Her nostrils flare and I think she might deck me, but I challenge her with a smirk.

  “I’m more of a Bruno kind of girl. I like a man with real swag.”

  I clip the tip of my nose with my thumb on a sniff and shift in my seat. Bruno-fucking-Mars. Piper has always been good with comebacks, but fuck, she’s hitting below the belt. She is going straight in, bruising my ego. “So what you are saying is you like midgets with a cock the size of a twelve-year-old?”

  Piper casually crosses a leg over the other, her blue tights the color of my aching balls.

  She raises a brow and hums. “That comment alone screams jealousy. I’m guessing with your fascination with Bruno’s dick size, he’s far more hung than you could ever dream of.” Piper stands and swipes her palms over her skirt to smooth out the fabric. “You should know it’s not always about how big your penis is, Oliver. It has a lot to do with how you make a woman swoon. Bruno wets the panties with his music, the passion behind his lyrics. His smooth voice. You, well, all you give is a rash.” Piper swoops down and pecks my cheek with the side of her lips. “Always a pleasure, Milo Creed.”

  Well, fuck. That didn’t go as I had planned.

  Three

  Piper

  I’m really not a bitch, Oliver just happens to bring out that side of me. I’m not proud of it either. I can’t help it. I try, really I do, but it’s a lost cause. Oliver and I go together like cereal and water, Taylor Swift and boyfriends. We do not mix. We never really have, yet we are drawn together like magnets, sharks to seals. Our friendship is beautiful yet destructive. Complicated yet facile.

  I have never hated anyone so much in my life, and I have never loved someone so much either. It hurts. The love I harbor inside my soul for Oliver leaves me in physical pain. I should be over this by now. I should be over him. But how can you be over someone you have always wanted? How do you make the pain of loving him, and the pain of never having him, go away? Oliver leaving me the way he did should have been the cure my heart needed to move on, but it turns out him leaving was merely a Band-Aid ripped from my never healing wound when he showed up here. Seeing Oliver at the coffee shop was like stubbing my pinkie toe, a painful yet quick shake off. Tonight, tonight, was a whole other ballgame. When he parted the crowd, stopping in front of me, and sang to me, every flutter, every swell of emotion I have ever felt for him, rushed back through me. All those feelings I’ve so desperately tried to let go have found a parking spot deep in the hollows of my heart.

  “You can park right over there,” I say to the Uber driver, pointing to the curb outside the security gate. I step out of the car and lean my head down. “Thanks.”

  If it wasn’t so chilly, I would take a walk around the block, clear my head, but for California weather standards, fifty is too cold. My cardigan doesn’t give me the extra layer I need to stop my teeth from chattering. It could be nerves. I’m always high-strung after an encounter with Oliver, always high.

  I’m relieved when I’m greeted with silence. I gander the whole house to find empty space. Fletcher is nowhere to be found. His company was once longed for, all those years I’d rush home so we could make love, excited to be wrapped and tangled up in each other. Now, coming home is dreadful, except when I find myself alone.

  I sigh, kicking off my shoes in the closet, then undress and shove my clothes in the overstuffed laundry basket. I pull my nightshirt over my head as I crash onto my oversized mattress. My arms stretch out to my sides, still having inches of space on either side of my long fingers. I’ve never noticed the crack in the ceiling. A small hairline fracture running from the base of the chandelier to the edge of the crown molding, and I wonder if my house is on the verge of crumbling much like my life.

  Sometimes, when I’m alone, wasted time allows my thoughts to wander. I think of all the happy memories Fletcher and I have made and wonder where they all went. To long walks on the beach and passionate sex, to long periods of not talking and no sex, we have come to a standstill in our relationship. It’s lonely in the apartment by myself, but it is even lonelier when Fletcher is home.

  We have never once talked about the divide happening between us. We ignore the signs of distress and bury them with the lies of Fletcher’s infidelity. We don’t pretend to be happy. There is tension thick enough to break the blade of an axe. It’s uncomfortable and unbearable at times, and I swear one day I will leave. I have it planned out in my head, but I have yet to find the courage to do it. I’m not sure what is holding me back, but I’ll get there, soon.

  In these moments, when I start to feel sad…depressed, I think of Oliver. I close my eyes and see his face, the way the brim of his porkpie hat casts a shadow over his eyes. He could leave me a h
undred more times, to cry a million more tears, and I’d still smile at the thought of him. To try and drown out his memory, I grab my laptop from the side table next to me and set it on my lap.

  RAINBOWS

  Ever wonder why relationships are so hard? I feel like I’ve been lied to me whole life. Every Disney movie shows a prince and a princess riding off in to the sunset living happily ever after. Does happily ever after even exist? I was under the impression when you fell in love life was full of happiness and rainbows. Every day, laughter and lovemaking. After a while, it takes effort to even speak to each other, to share what happened in your day. Have sex? If you’re lucky, maybe you get it once a week. And that’s being generous. That’s if you still like each other.

  When life happens, everything else gets put on a shelf until someone is willing to dust it off. It takes both people in the relationship to be on the same page. What happens when one of them isn’t interested in seeing the rainbows anymore?

  I would love to hear your happily ever after. Share your story on my Facebook page. Give hope to those who are living under a stormy cloud waiting for the rainbows to brighten up their day.

  My thoughts aren’t as coherent as I’d like, so I save my document and put my laptop back on the side table to finish the draft tomorrow. When I close my eyes, my mind goes back to him, and I’m not sure why, but I do. I dream about Oliver.

  I’m woken by a loud thump and a muffled curse, the bed jolted under me. No matter how many times I blink, my eyes won’t adjust to the darkness of the room. But in true Fletcher behavior, one that lacks the slightest thought for others, he flips the bathroom light on, assaulting my eyes with a piercing flash. I roll over to my other side and fold my pillow over my head.