Kermesse by Dj Kovak

He parked the car in front of her trailer. It was a faded orange Simca station wagon that bled oil like a wounded animal, but it was his pride and joy. He had worked for his uncle all summer to save up and buy it. He pampered it; he coddled and cosseted it. It was his. She sometimes said she wondered if he didn't prefer it to her. He never answered when she did. He just smiled and gave her that look. He turned off the ignition and checked his hair in the rear-view mirror, then got out and locked the car. He sashayed to her door (he knew she was watching) and knocked.

Today was St George's. The whole village was celebrating. It gave her mother an excuse to indulge in her favourite pastime. Her mother hated her because she reminded her of what she once was. She hated seeing them together because it reminded her of what she once had. What she saw in the mirror in the morning was cracked and dirty. It confirmed what she had left. She wouldn't be back before dawn or midday tomorrow, depending on whether or not she found company for the night.

He smiled when she opened the door. She was wearing the dress that he loved best, the one with the red satin taffeta across the breast. They had to meet friends in an hour, just behind the bumper cars. That gave them some time together. He said he had a surprise for her, something he wanted to show her. Her eyes lit up, she clapped her hands, then went inside to get her jacket. He checked his hair while he waited. She came back, closed the door, zipped up her jacket and pulled her hair from under the collar, casually throwing them back, and shaking her head to let them fall right. She smiled at him. He put his arm around her, and they walked down to the river.

When they got to the riverbank, they took off their shoes, he rolled up his pants, and they ran barefoot to the water's edge, holding hands. He let go of hers and waded knee-deep into the water. She ran in after him and threw herself onto him. He grabbed her and swung her around, and they kissed, standing in the river. Above them, the moon shone on the water, its reflection echoing on across it.

They walked arm in arm along the bank, heading towards the distant lights and the far-off sounds of the fair. They heard someone on the other bank vomiting into the river, the remains of a meal splashing into the water. He whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. She had this feral way of throwing back her head when she did. Someone watched them from the bridge, as she tilted her head back and he kissed her.

The fair was on the other side of the bridge. The lights of the stalls illuminated the night sky. From where they were, they could hear the music and the laughter; they could smell blood sausages and onions frying and candy flossing. They didn't stop. They walked on, slowly leaving the lights and the laughter and the squeals behind them.

A plastic greenhouse glowed in the dark ahead. There were cabins behind it, all the way up the hill to the edge of the woods. His uncle owned some of them; he rented them to tourists in the summer. There was an indoor swimming pool in the last one, the one with a view of the valley. They ran up the hill and crept up to the patio door. He unlocked it, and they slid inside. It was warm. Before the parade, he had come by to turn the heating on. He knelt by the wall and flipped a switch to turn on the pool lights. They stood there, staring silently at the water. She looked up at him and grinned. Their clothes fell to the floor by the side of the pool.

He dived in; she didn't dare. She took the stairs. He rushed over and grabbed her. She cried out as he pulled her into the water. Water lapped the riverbank. Clouds hid the moon. In the pool, they clung naked to each other, kissing. Shadows flickered past the patio door, lengthening across the water. When the lights went out, they both cried out, then laughed. He told her he'd go and take care of it. They kissed, and he swam to the edge of the pool.

In front of her trailer, his car shone in the moonlight. Standing alone in the pool, she pulled back her hair and dipped it into the water. She smiled, closed her eyes and let herself sink in, then float, breasts up. Behind closed eyes, she saw his hand turning on the lights, her hand etching a heart, them wrestling in the water. She smiled, floating naked in the water, a hand pulling up a switch to turn on the lights, their clothes falling to the floor, by the pool.

She realised she was alone, in the dark. She looked around to see where he was. Her eyes searched the darkness. She called out his name. She floated naked in the pool, breasts up, and smiled with her eyes closed, seeing them walk, arm in arm, in the dark, by the river. He parked the car in front of her trailer. She floated naked in the pool, breasts up, eyes open, no smile.

Some people drink, some collect stamps,
some prefer gardening or cross-dressing. This is our thing. This is our two-word gesture
to life as a statistic. In case of anxiety, just infuse longer.

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