Fluke (9 page)

And it’s only been five days.

The words coming from the car’s speakers spoke to me:

“…feels like home…I should have known…from my first breath…”

The moment was perfect. I felt myself on the verge of what I interpreted the definition of nirvana to be.
 
My head rested on the seat back, and I felt giddy, high.

She snapped me out of my reverie by saying, “Hey…you aren't falling asleep on me over there, are you?”

I turned my face away from the ocean and looked at her.
 
She was watching me with those green eyes.
 
The moonlight made her eyes almost glow, and they were beautiful, beautiful like the water.
 
No, it’s the other way around…the water is beautiful like her eyes.
 
“Sara,” I said, “there’s no way that I could be falling asleep on
you.”
 
I think that I love you, Sara.
 
Is that possible?
 
 
“No way at all,” I reiterated.

"Good.
 
You owe me a doll, and you WILL pay up." She told me, and took my hand in hers.
 
She kept her hand on my side of the little car, resting on my leg, and continued to drive.
 

"I will pay up.
 
Yes, ma'am, I will." I replied, surprised by the fact that I didn't blubber when I spoke to her, I was so touched by the gesture of her leaving her hand on my leg.

"
Ooooohh
, look.
 
You can see the Ferris wheel!" She said excitedly.
 
I followed the line of her vision and saw the Ferris wheel myself.
 
A few more minutes and we were in the large grass field that served as a parking lot, hopping out of the car, and making our way over to the entrance.
 
I put my hand in her back pocket as we walked, to be silly, and she laughed, right on cue, at my little joke.
 
I took my hand back out when I felt the warmth from her backside, and I got that familiar flutter in my stomach and groin.

Later, big boy, later.

So I took her hand in mine as we reached the little ticket booth, and I didn't let go even though I had to struggle to withdraw my wallet to pay the elderly lady inside.
 
She smiled at me, the kind of smile that showed she appreciated the magic she saw in us, and gave me one of those pleasant looks that only older women can seem to pull off that convey to you a true sense of appreciation for young people falling in love with each other.
 
Perhaps we made her think of a similar time in her past.

"What first?" I asked Sara, scanning the park, looking at all the rides.
 
The flashing and beeping that normally had a tendency to make me feel a little insane seemed okay tonight.
 
I heard a Red Hot Chili Peppers tune blasting from the huge speakers next to the Tilt-A-Whirl, and offered, "The Tilt-A-Whirl?"

“No, no, no,” Sara said, turning me around to face her and hugging me.
 
She pulled away from me, smiling, and went on with, “I think that I want to go on the Ferris wheel first.
 
We will hold hands, and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you kiss me at the top.”
 
It was all very quick, and playful, and I hardly had time to react except to say "okay" before she was leading me over to the Ferris wheel, "
L’Amour
.”

"
Ahhhh
,
L’Amour
." I said as we stood in the short line, rolling the cheesy name off of my tongue.
 
A large, gruff looking man grumbled "Ten tickets," when we reached him.

Is there anything but gruff-looking men working at carnivals? I briefly wondered.
 
Gruff looking
women, I supposed.
 
I couldn’t recall ever going to a carnival with a nice, clean-cut looking person running the rides.
 
I had always thought that it would make people a whole lot less wary about getting on the rides, but it didn’t seem to hurt business having a member of the Manson gang controlling your destiny.

I shoveled over ten tickets to him and began mentally calculating the equivalent of ten tickets into dollars.
 
"Ten tickets," I said out loud, adding in a louder voice directed at the ticket taker guy, "Wow, that's five bucks.
 
How do you people sleep at night?"
 
The man just grunted at me and continued taking tickets from the few people behind us as Sara and I giggled quietly with each other.
 

"I don't think he likes people…any people," Sara whispered, giggling more.
 
I nodded agreement as another man appeared from the back and ushered us into our little metal box with two bench seats.
 
"Don't rock the cart," he said, flicking a switch, and sending us up a bit so as to allow the next couple to enter.
 
Don't rock the cart, I thought.
 
What a
putz
. I said as much to Sara, and she agreed.
 
Not rocking the cart was as obvious to me as regular brushing and flossing being necessary for healthy teeth.
 
I glanced down at the man in time to see him open his mouth and reveal teeth that were bad enough to be copied in plastic, and sold on Halloween.
 
Maybe, things weren’t so obvious to him.

We positioned ourselves up against one another, my arm around her shoulders, and her forehead nestled against my neck.
 
I leaned my nose close to her hair and breathed in deeply, and slowly.
 
Intoxicating.
 
I thought about pinching myself to see if this was a dream.

"Yay," Sara exclaimed as we started to move again and slowly started our trip to the top.

She looked all around her as we climbed, a small, warm smile pushing each corner of her mouth slightly upward.
 
I just watched
her and smiled back.
 
She looked at me, and gave me a quick kiss on my lips.
 

"Yay," I said back to her, returning the favor of a kiss.
 
I drew away quickly as she had, and had a look around myself, at the world which was becoming slightly smaller the further we rose above it. The ride continued on in earnest, and we enjoyed it quietly for a few moments before she spoke again.

“I love going to carnivals," Sara said.
 
“Ever since I was a little girl.
 
You know, when we were just becoming teenagers, my friends and I would go to carnivals because we wanted to see the boys we liked from school.
 
We’d wait all night for them to talk to us, but they were always too busy riding any ride that shot them high up in the air or turned them upside down or in the bumper cars, where they could hit each other.
 
Of course, my parents took me when I was young.
 
Did your parents take you to carnivals when you were younger?"

"Yeah.
 
I mean, well, sure, I got to go to carnivals.
 
They were usually pretty busy, my parents, I mean, but we went to a couple.”
 
I continued, “And I went with my friends when I was older.
 
To ride whatever rides we could that would flip us and toss us around. Or to hit each other with the bumper cars.”
 
She smiled.

We continued on in silence for a bit before she continued.

"
Aaaadam
?" she said, drawing out the "A" in my name.
 
"How did your parents come up with your name,
Aaaaadam
?
 
Is it a biblical thing?"

"Umm, well, they had the name planned out for me for a long time," I said, thinking about my parents, and everything they had told me over the years.
 
We hadn't talked about our families much, and I was a little surprised by the question.
 
I had mentally rehearsed telling her about my family life for when it came up, but I still wasn't ready when the question came.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm adopted. They knew for a long time that they were going to adopt a boy, and they knew they wanted to name that boy Adam."

"You’re adopted?
 
Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked, sitting bolt-upright, and becoming what looked to me to be more
than a little tense.
 
Her eyes took on a slight glazed appearance that made me a little nervous.
 
It reminded me of
that
morning.

"I was going to tell you.
 
It's not a secret or anything that I was going to keep from you.
 
I don't know.
 
I just didn't know when it was going to come up."
 
I floundered along, “I mean, I love them, and they are my parents as far as I'm concerned.”
 
I watched her for a moment longer and recognized Distant Sara as the girl who now sat towering above Hazel Beach with me.

"Sara?" I squeaked, spooked by the sudden change.
 
"What's the matter?
 
Did I say something wrong?"
 
I watched her face to see if it would give away anything.
 
Any clue whatsoever as to what took her away this time.
 
Within a few seconds her eyes lost the glazed appearance that had fallen upon them so quickly.
 
They were sea green again as she regained composure.
 
A little duller now?
 
I was as confused as I had ever been.

"Sorry, Adam," she said in a rather quiet voice, almost a whisper.
 
She looked at me, into my eyes for what seemed like a very long time but was probably only a few seconds.
 
It felt like she was searching my eyes for something.

"I don't know.
 
It's, um, kind of personal."
 
She went on, "I don't know…I just got this weird feeling, or idea, for a minute, but I guess it's really kind of ridiculous.
 
Let's just pretend I didn't say anything."

"Was it something I did?" I asked her.

"No, " she answered, and won me for the hundredth time, already, with her incredible smile.
 
"No.
 
You do everything just right.”

I relaxed as we continued spinning slowly in giant, vertical circles.
 
You do everything just right
, she said.
 
That was the first time anyone besides my parents had said anything to me like that.

****

My adoption was something I had quit thinking about a long time ago.
 
When I was a teenager, it was neat to show it off; it was something that I thought made me unique.
 
It never failed to raise interest in whoever happened to be my audience at the time.

“Well, I’m not sure who I look like…I was adopted,” I would say, relishing my moment in the spotlight.

“Adopted?
 
Aren’t you curious about your parents?” was the normal response.

Yes, I always admitted.
 
I was curious about my parents.
 
I wanted a heritage, just like all of my friends.
 
I wanted to be able to say, “I look just like my dad.”
 
Every kid I knew, except me, had that ability.

Somewhere along the line, though, the interest faded.
 
It was around the time I turned twenty-one or so.
 
I remember the less attractive of the two women Sean and I were talking to one night asking me, “Don’t you wonder about your real parents?”

All I could respond with was, “I have real parents.”

I didn’t know if my biological parents were out there or not.
 
I didn’t know if they thought about me.
 
I didn’t know if they were alive.
 
It seemed like a lot for me to wonder about, so I just accepted the fact that I had two parents that picked me, and that they loved me.
 
Maybe I didn’t look like them, and maybe they warned me about diabetes in the family even though I didn’t share the same blood, but they were mom and dad, and it was all I had.
 
The idea of having any other sort of parents became a pipe dream to me, and seemed about as attainable as winning the lottery.
 
My parents had told me that it was better than being the average kid because they had actually chosen me as their son.