Yours Always

by Rhonda Dennis

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “Don’t apologize, Fletcher. I should probably tell you a little more about me, and I guess now is as good a time as any.” He remains quiet as his eyes search mine for a hint of what’s to come. “There are some things about me, things that happened in the course of my life, that make me different from other people. I only have one friend, and I like it that way. My last remaining relative is knocking on death’s door, and I’m not really all that freaked out about it. Don’t get me wrong, my grandfather is one of the most spectacular men to grace the earth, but I know that once he’s gone my life will continue. I don’t need to be touched, to be held, or to be fawned over. I’m very self-sufficient, and if I find myself in a mess, I find my way out of it. I trust very few people, I work hard, and I’m telling you this mostly so you’ll fully comprehend how absolutely uncharacteristic it was for me to accept your invitation to meet, much less for me to be here with you right now. A lot of people mistake my forwardness and lack of social interaction for bitchiness. I’m not a bitch, I don’t think I’m better than anyone, and I certainly don’t have a stick up my butt. I’m just a loner, always have been, and probably always will be. Anyway, I thought you should know.”

  “What made you say yes?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If everything is as you want it, why did you say yes to me when I asked to meet you in person?”

  “I’ve repeatedly asked myself that very question.”

  He smiles. “I know why you said yes.”

  “Oh, really? Care to enlighten me, wise one?”

  “You say you’re okay with your life, but you aren’t. Your cynicism is a defense mechanism, and I know this because you and I are very much alike. I’ve been hurt more times than I care to acknowledge, so I’m not even going to go there, but I learned something over the years: the journey through life isn’t meant to be a solo trip.”

  “Who says?” I counter.

  “Everyone.”

  “Everyone? Really? Everyone told you that?”

  Fletcher lets out a laugh. “Yep.”

  I smirk while shaking my head. “You’re such a nerd. Come help me find a funnel cake.” I feel a little foolish for overreacting to his hand holding by assuming it was an act of intimacy. The man was simply guiding me toward the concession stand, and I freaked. To rectify the situation, and by rectify I mean to save face, I take his hand in mine and practically drag him towards the action. Fletcher doesn’t say anything as he takes large strides to keep up with my fleeting pace. Once we arrive at the brightly lit food trailer, I look over and catch him snickering.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, taking my place in line.

  “I bet you were the bossy kid growing up, weren’t you?” he quips.

  I ball up my fist and hold it in his line of vision. “Yep, and I was the kid who went around giving fat lips, too.”

  “I absolutely believe that,” Fletcher remarks.

  I plant the same fist steadfastly on my hip. “Really?” I ask, incredulously.

  Fletcher feigns fright. “Oh, no! Are you going to hit me right here in front of all these people?” One of the women in line turns to give me a nasty glare.

  “No, I’m going to save that for our second date,” I retort.

  “Ah, so you’ve committed to a second date with me.”

  “I did no such thing. That was a joke reply.”

  “Joke reply. Pffft. If ever there were a Freudian slip that was surely it. You want to date me. Admit it.”

  “I’ll do no such thing, and if you don’t cut it out, our first date is as good as over.”

  He squints his eyes at me. “I call idle threat on that one. You’re having far too good of a time to leave.”

  “I don’t make idle threats, and the jury’s still out on the good time. I’m here because of a sweets craving.”

  “Which you got because of….”

  “You. I’ll give you that one,” I hold up my index finger, “but that’s it.”

  Fletcher chuckles. “Victory never tasted so good.”

  I’m next in line, but before I can order, I’m stopped by a cacophony of pre-pubescent giggles. “Uncle Fletcher, you came!” a young girl with dark curly hair and sky blue eyes exclaims as she throws herself into his arms. The trio of preteens with her say in unison, “Hi, Uncle Fletcher,” before shamelessly resuming the giggle fest.

  “Of course I couldn’t miss your carnival night fundraiser, Molls. Have you been having fun?” he asks, placing her on the ground.

  “Lots! I dunked mean old Principal Collins with my first pitch!”

  “Atta girl! See, Uncle Fletcher’s pitching practice pays off.”

  “I wish you’d teach me how to pitch,” one of the trio requests. Two more requests and another round of giggles follow.

  “Is she with you,” the dark headed girl asks loudly enough for me to overhear. Fletcher nods, and before he can speak, she’s thrust her hand toward me. “Hi! I’m Molly. Did you know that my uncle is a hero? He’s even got the medals to prove it.”

  “That’s enough, Molly. She’s not interested in all of that,” Fletcher says, suddenly red with embarrassment.

  I arch a brow. “Hero, huh?”

  Fletcher vehemently shakes his head. “Far from it. Veteran, yes. Hero, no.”

  “Molly! What did I tell you about wandering… Oh, Fletcher. I didn’t expect to see you here.” A woman who looks like she’d just finished sucking a bag of lemons approaches. It’s a shame that she wore such a deep scowl; otherwise, she’d be a beautiful woman. Her hair is golden brown and falls to her shoulder blades, while her eyes are the same shade as Molly’s. Though she has pale skin, it’s becoming on her, not wan looking.

  “Julia.” Fletcher’s greeting matches her icy tone. “Molly asked me to come, so here I am.”

  Julia shoots daggers in Molly’s direction, but once she realizes that Fletcher isn’t alone, she thaws a touch. “I’m Julia Halsey, Fletcher’s sister. And you are?”

  “Savannah Mason. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Julia dryly replies.

  Fletcher pulls a couple of twenty dollar bills from his pocket and passes them to Molly. “Here, share some of this with your friends. Go have some fun.” Before a word can be uttered the group is gone.

  Julia sighs heavily. “I was trying to get her to leave. Now she’ll be on the rides for at least another hour.”

  “Would you mind getting those funnel cakes for us, Savannah?” Fletcher asks, passing me a bill before he shoves the wad back into his pocket.

  “No, not at all,” I answer, overjoyed to have an excuse to get away from the palpable tension.

  Though they aren’t loud, I can tell from their body language that the conversation isn’t lightening up any since my departure. They’re still at it once I have the funnel cakes in hand, so I make my way to one of the picnic tables and slowly begin picking at the pastry. It’s even better tasting than I remembered, and I allow myself to get lost in the sweet memory that accompanies it.

  “Daddy, can I have funnel cake every day?” I ask. Powdered sugar dusts the entire front of my lemon yellow sun dress.

  “You could, but you’d have no teeth before long. Look at all of that sugar. I think you got more on you than in you.” He playfully tugs at one of my pig tails.

  “I already lost four of them,” I say, smiling broadly to show the newly vacated spaces.

  “I know. Don’t remind me. You’re growing up way too fast. I’ll blink, and the next thing I know, you’ll be graduating.”

  I giggle heartily. “No way, Daddy. I’m going to be your little girl forever.”

  He stoops down to my level. “You won’t always be little, but you’ll always be my girl.” He tweaks the tip of my nose and wraps me into his overly large arms as he showers me with kisses. “Sugar kisses!” I burst into peals of laughter. His last kiss lands on my forehead. “I know I’m gone a lot, but you know I love you right?”


  “Yep!” my tiny voice squeaks out.

  “How much do I love you?” he asks.

  My eyes roll around as I recite the poem he made up for me. “You love me more than crawfish stew. You love me more than the roogarou. You love me more than a mosquitoless night. You’ll love me forever with all your might.”

  “That’s my girl! What do you want to ride now?” he asks, tossing the empty paper plate into a nearby garbage can.

  “The Ferris wheel!” I shout.

  “Oh, really? That looks awfully high to me. You sure you want to ride that?”

  “Yes! Yes! I want to ride it, Daddy!”

  He chuckles. “Alright, we’ll ride the Ferris wheel.” A car stops in front of us, and the attendant helps us into our seat. The wheel jerks mightily as it moves to load the next rider and my stomach begins to do nervous flips. By the time the attendant loads four more carts, my heart is pounding.

  “Daddy, I don’t want to ride anymore. I’m scared.” I dig my face into his side.

  “What are you scared of, sweetheart?”

  “It’s so high. What if we fall?”

  “Daddy will never let you fall.”

  “You let me fall when you were teaching me to ride my bike and when you taught me to skate.” He gently rubs my arm.

  “True, but those times were different. Daddy will only let you fall if it’s to teach you a valuable lesson. There’s a big difference between letting you get a scuffed knee so you’ll be able to ride with your friends and letting you splat off a Ferris wheel, right?”

  “Daddy! That’s gross!” I say with a giggle.

  “You’ve got nothing to be scared of. Daddy’s got you. Look, I think I see our house from up here, but I’m not sure. Look out that way the next time we come around, and you tell me what you think.”

  I became so busy searching for our house that I forgot to be scared. Dad taught me to divert my attention when I became afraid, and that technique still gets me through many tough times.

  “Hey, you okay?” Fletcher asks, taking a seat on the bench across from me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer, shaking off the last few remnants of the memory I’d recently been lost in.

  “I’m sorry for the way my sister acted. She’s a bitter old hag sometimes. I usually just ignore her when I can.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for her. It’s fine.”

  “Eh, still…” He lets his sentence dangle as he bites into his funnel cake. “You looked like you were in deep thought. What’s running through your mind?”

  “Oh, not much. Just remembering my last visit to a carnival is all.”

  “From when you were six?”

  “Yeah. My dad brought me.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  I give a slight smile. “I did.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to him?”

  “He died,” I icily reply.

  “Yeah, I know that, but… never mind. Do you know that you have powdered sugar here?” He pantomimes rubbing his entire chest, and I look down with horror. Sure enough, I’m completely dusted. A white cloud poofs around me as I brush the sugary mess from the front of my shirt.

  “Well, that’s embarrassing,” I mumble under my breath.

  “It’s cute,” Fletcher counters. I give him an eye roll.

  “Any on my face?” I ask.

  “Just a little,” he answers, gently brushing my nose, both cheeks, and my chin with his fingertips.

  “Oh, my gosh! Really! Evidently, I eat like a pig.”

  Fletcher laughs. “Stop being so negative. Do you want to go on a ride? Play some games? What’s your pleasure?”

  I give it a little thought before answering. Rides sound fun, but all the ones I’m seeing intimidate me. “Games.” Without another word, we venture towards the Ping-Pong ball toss. I’m relieved to see little trinkets nestled away safely in water-tight baggies instead of the bloated, semi-alive goldfish that are generally regarded as the grand prize in this activity.

  “Awww, no fish?” Fletcher asks.

  “Too many parents complained, so no fish,” a gravelly voiced septuagenarian with a vapor cigarette tucked behind her ear rasps in explanation. “Got plenty of other crap for you to win, though.”

  A young female with not a hair out of place softly chastises the cantankerous woman with a very simple, “Mrs. Velma, remember our talk?”

  “Oh, yeah. We have plenty of other garbage for you to win.”

  The young woman rushes over. “Mrs. Velma, I think it’s time for your break.” As soon as Mrs. Velma shuffles out of ear shot, she leans over the railing of the carnival booth and apologizes to us, “She’s been the school’s bookkeeper since the sixties, and she refuses to retire. I’m Lollie Evans, history teacher. That’s Lollie, as in Lollipop.” She coyly extends her hand in Fletcher’s direction, but her eyes are burning with lust.

  People like her annoy the hell out of me because they’re so predictable and fake. I figure she’ll be using the old “whoops, I dropped something” tactic soon, and I’m not disappointed. A basket full of Ping-Pong balls conveniently tumbles over, each ball making a distinctive plink as it hits off the edges of the glass bowls. I laugh because Fletcher, completely unaware of the show she’s setting up to give him, asks me if I’d like to try the dunking booth. I nod, letting out a brief snort when I glance back to see Lollipop’s derriere provocatively shifting in the air as she retrieves the balls. She snaps upright and is disappointed to find that her show was pretty much in vain because her only audience is a hormonally challenged group of teenage boys. The look on her face as she scans the crowd while shooing the boys away makes the entire event worthwhile. Yeah, karma’s going to get me good for enjoying it so much.

  We’re standing in line at the dunking booth when Fletcher looks my way. “Tell me more about yourself, Savannah. What deep, dark secrets do you harbor?”

  “None. You pretty much know all there is to know about me. What about you?”

  “Same here. Pretty boring for the most part.” We fall silent again. I’ve inched two places forward in the line when Fletcher speaks. “Look, I’m just going to say it. It’s obvious that we both have pasts that we’re not ready or willing to share. Let’s just agree that as far as we’re concerned, the only past we have is the one we’ve created together.”

  “Agreed,” I say, extending my hand out to seal the deal with a shake. We grow quiet again.

  After a couple of minutes, Fletcher asks, “Hey, do you remember that time we went to the pizza parlor with Lizzy and Ben?”

  I laugh so loudly that I quickly cup my hand over my mouth as I get odd stares from the people around us. Fletcher grins broadly. “I got you to laugh again!” he says, eagerly pointing an accusatory index finger in my direction.

  “You did,” I admit once I remove my hand. “Consider yourself very lucky because it’s pretty rare for someone to get a laugh out of me.”

  “Why? Are you depressed?” Fletcher blatantly asks. I’m uncertain if he’s joking or serious.

  “Nah, I’m just dull,” I answer.

  He leans in closely like he wants to whisper something to me. “I just think you haven’t been hanging around the right people.”

  “Perhaps,” I agree with a shrug as we’re suddenly bombarded by the giggly trio.

  “Will you dunk her, Uncle Fletcher? She’s my mean science teacher, Mrs. Gibbons. I kept missing, and she laughed at me,” Molly says with a pout.

  “I’ll do my best,” he promises, tossing one of the softballs up and catching it in his palm. He does it again, but this time, I snatch the ball mid-air and rocket it squarely in the bull’s-eye before anyone has time to react. Molly is stunned, Fletcher is impressed, and the mean science teacher is letting everyone within a two block radius know exactly how cold the water is.

  “I want YOU to teach me how to pitch, Miss Savannah,” Molly excitedly requests.

  “Maybe one day,” I say, launching anoth
er ball as soon as the teacher sits on the bench. She plunges back into the tank, and when she comes up this time, she shoots an evil glare in my direction. I figure I’d best slack off, lest Molly end up with perpetual homework. I hand the remaining softballs to the girls. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got, ladies. Oh, and Molly, you don’t have to call me Miss Savannah. Just Savannah is fine.”

  “Not according to my momma. She’d be so mad if she found out I called an adult by her first name,” Molly explains.

  “I understand because I grew up the same way. It’s a Southern thing. I don’t want you getting in trouble with your momma, so Miss Savannah is fine. Now, show me your best pitch.”

  They each lob their balls, and they fall way short of the target. The shivering science teacher looks relieved as we move away from the booth. “We’re gonna ride the bumper cars. See ya later, Uncle Fletcher!” And as quickly as they had arrived, the trio disappears into the crowd.

  “What would you like to do next?” Fletcher asks.

  I steal a glance at my watch and realize that it’s nearly nine-thirty. Though it’s early for most, it’s the equivalent of an all-nighter for me. “I think I’d like to go home now,” I answer.

  “Is it the company?”

  “No,” I say with a smile. “This is late for me. I should be in bed nodding off to the sound of the TV.”

  “It’s inexcusable for someone your age to publicly admit that. Okay, I’ll bring you home, but first, how about dinner and a movie tomorrow night? And I’m not talking about the early feature, unless it’s a deal breaker. Then we can have lunch and a movie.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Come on. You know you want to.”

  “Okay, we can do dinner and a movie, but the movie can’t be one of those super sappy love fests, nor can it be a shoot ‘em-up-guts-all-over-the-place movie. Also, there are no guarantees that I’ll actually watch the entire movie; I might sleep through it.”

  “Okay, got it. Anything else I need to know? ” Fletcher asks as we make our way to the parking lot.

  “I loathe sushi.”

  Fletcher laughs. “Okay, no sushi.” Almost as an aside, he mutters, “But you like hamburgers and pizza.”