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22
Rocky Hudson
The Florida State Fair was a massive event that attracted huge crowds almost every night of the week. Tonight was no different, the lines leading up to the ticket booth wrapping around a couple of times. There was the mouthwatering smell of elephant-sized turkey legs and turkey-sized elephant ears wafting through the air. Music was pumping through the speakers hidden inside the hedges that surrounded the main gate. Thankfully, Angel and Peter had already gotten in line, so we found them by the front and apologetically cut in, the dirty looks only lasting a couple of seconds.
“Y’all are so cute,” Peter said, resting his head on Angel’s shoulder and looking between Sam and me. “Sorry, I know we just met, but I have to say it. Like, the cutest.”
“Hey, I thought we were ‘the cutest,’” Angel said.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Peter said with a laugh. I looked to Sam, whose cheeks were turning a rosy pink. “How long have you two been dating? Wait, wait, let me guess. Three years? Four?”
“About three months,” I said.
Peter’s face cracked. “Are you—well, fuck me with a buttered-up biscuit and dip me in gravy.”
That got us all laughing. Even the couple behind us was giggling. Something about Peter, speaking in his Southern drawl, talking about being fucked by buttered biscuits, really drew the laughs.
We reached the ticket booth. I made sure to buy everyone’s ticket, even though Angel was about to tackle me down when he realized. I waved him off and told him to just buy me an elephant ear and we’d be even.
Once through the gates, the energy of the fair seemed to explode. There were souvenir stands on either side of the wide path, shifting into big whirling rides that were bound to have guests running toward the conveniently placed garbage cans waiting for them right at the exit of each ride. Excited screams filled the air as the Spin-o-tron did exactly as its name suggested and spun its riders in a wide, open-air circle, making me nauseous even just looking at it. There were tents that promised to have jaw-dropping aerialist shows and magic shows, while another red-and-white-striped tent held the petting zoo, the scent of goats and hay and hand sanitizer drifting out from the flaps. Kids ran past us, and teens clustered in groups were drifting around with their phones aimed toward the perfect shot for their social media.
“Okay, who’s a rider?” Angel asked.
Peter shot him a look before saying in a loud theatrical whisper, “Give me a few whiskeys and I’ll answer that question for you, babe.”
Sam laughed. “I can do the tame rides. But I’m not sure about all that.” Sam pointed to a rickety wooden roller coaster that climbed up about fifty feet before dropping like a stone and disappearing inside a long, dark tunnel.
Secretly, I was relieved. I would have ridden it for Sam, but I wasn’t exactly a roller coaster fan either.
“All right, you two can hold my purse, then.” Peter pushed Angel toward us before running off to the single-rider line. We could hear him laughing over the sound of the roller coaster speeding into the tunnel.
“He’s wild,” Angel said. “I love it.”
“How long have you two been together?” Sam asked as we moved over to a covered area where there were benches of people waiting for their friends to get off the ride.
“It’ll be a year this weekend, actually.”
“Oh, congrats. We’ve got to get a drink to celebrate.”
“For sure,” Angel said. “I’m glad you invited us out tonight, Rocky. I’ve had some double-date disasters before, but I can already tell us four are going to get along great.”
“Disasters?” Sam asked, perking up. “Sounds like an interesting-story territory.”
“Oh it for sure is.” Behind Angel, a group of kids were trying to shoot a basketball into a moving (and most likely way too small) hoop. “The craziest one was a few years back. I was dating this guy back then, who had a few issues, and those issues had come up on the date. He ended up preaching to a table next to us, where two guys were kissing and holding hands, about how they’re destined to go to hell. Two minutes earlier we had been playing footsie under the table. His closet had dead-bolt locks on the doors.”
Peter came back, and we made Angel repeat the story for him because of how crazy it was. While we talked, we walked, exploring the fair, taking in all the fun stands. The conversation turned to us all trying to decide what fried food we were going to eat later.
“I think I’m going for the fried Oreo stack,” Sam said.
“A fried Snickers sounds good,” Angel chimed in.
Peter waved his hands in the air. “I love that journey for y’all, but I’m ordering about a dozen fried pickles and no one can tell me otherwise.”
