Page 94 of Bliss: Part 1
I looked up at him, my eyes showing him just what I felt for him. “I love you too.”
Twenty-Nine
Bliss
Today’s an unusually hot day.
Dad had asked me to head out and grab a loaf of bread. He had handed me a crumpled ten-dollar bill from his wallet and said to get the biggest one they’ve got.
He was making spaghetti with his home-made tomato sauce. The slow-cooked one he always claimed tasted better the second day, and he knew how my brothers loved to dip bread into it until there was no more bread or sauce left. I didn’t go too crazy for it because I always felt so bloated after eating too much bread.
Still, I was hungry, and Dad’s pasta dishes were always satisfactory.
I hadn’t planned on walking through the carnival again, but the parking lot behind it was the closest place to leave the car, and I figured I might as well take the long way back from the store. It felt weirdly quiet for the last day of the carnival. It seemed that people had already gotten their fill of funnel cake and neon lights earlier in the week, and now it was winding down to its final hours. Everything smelled like a mixture of fried food, kettle corn, and something vaguely metallic. Kind of comforting, in a strange way.
Although I was a bit tired, and this heat wasn’t making it any easier, I didn’t mind going to get the bread. I hadn’t done much all day anyway. I read a little, watched a few videos. The guys had been outside since late morning, repainting the outside of the barn in a fresh, white color.
I’d offered to help earlier, but they said they had it. I didn’t argue. I hated painting anyway.
So I drove into town, went to the store, grabbed the bread, and took my time coming back. I wandered past the rows of food trucks and watched a group of teenagers try to win a stuffed animal at one of the rigged carnival booths. The guy running it didn’t even try to look convincing. He just stared into space while they kept throwing their money away, one crumpled dollar at a time.
What a waste of money…
I didn’t stop for long. Just watched for a few minutes, adjusted the loaf of bread under my arm, and kept walking.
“Can’t walk that way, sugar.”
I stopped and turned at the sound of a not so friendly, rough voice. Already annoyed because he called me sugar, I looked at the bulky man standing there. He was bald, with a thick, overgrown beard that looked more like something he’d been growing out of laziness than style. He had on a white tank top stained with something brownish and a pair of oversized camo shorts that sagged just enough to show too much.
I blinked, feeling exhausted. “I’m just going through to get to my car.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Can’t go through right now.”
I didn’t move. “Okay…why?”
He sighed, like I was the one being difficult. “There’s a leak over there.”
“A leak?” I asked, looking over my shoulder to check if I could see something. “What kind?”
“Oil. Slippery as shit. We’re redirecting folks so nobody busts their ass.”
He pointed vaguely toward the back of a trailer that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned or inspected in a decade. Just like him.
The man had a bored and tired expression on his face, and the longer I stood there, the more his body odor crept hit me. He smelled of booze and sweat, and I bet he hadn’t showered in more than a week. The hot sun wasn’t making him any favors either.
It was disgusting.
Two girls walked ahead, already making their way around the trailers without questioning anything. Maybe there was a sign I didn’t see, or maybe this guy had been standing here for a while saying the same thing to everyone.
I nodded then, trying not to wrinkle my nose. His smell was fully hitting me now. Sweat, cheap beer. It made my stomach turn.
“Okay. Thanks,” I said tightly, already walking past him.
“No problem,” he muttered.
I kept the two girls in my sight as I moved past one trailer, then another, but they disappeared quickly around a corner. I figured they turned left toward the parking lot. That’s where I needed to go anyway, so I kept following the row of trailers, expecting the path to curve.
“Hey!”
