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Carousel

A merry-go-round is, in all honesty, a rather vicious entertainment device. People sit or stand on a turntable constantly being pulled towards the edge. Everytime you slip or slide you move closer to the circumference, and the farther you move out the more intensely the forces pull on you. It's a rickety turntable, one that has become a staple of amusement parks, that desperately tries to make you lose control.

But, no matter how rough, how rowdy, how vicious the turmoil of gravity and forces are on your body, they don't show it. Bright lights and organ fanfare flowing between delicately crafted horses and carriages create a beautiful scene. The flash, the delicacy, the vintage flair that shows that what was once created with unique antiquity has now fallen into a routine of using charms and beauty to hide the turbulent vortex that lives inside.

A merry-go-round is the first sight I notice as I walk into the autumn fair with Jamie at my side, although it may not be the most memorable. Nor were the glittering booths with colorful toys. Nor were the wild, spinning death machines that people call rides. Nor were the performers, or the balloons, or the people.

No, it was Jamie.

Jamie was by far the most gorgeous thing at the fair. His jacket, his shirt, his jeans, his shoes. He looked far too adorable to be real. His light wash blue jeans, his white shirt, his washed out pink bomber jacket, and the fucking flower crown that sat so perfectly upon his head.

And his head, his hair, his face. The glasses he wore, the lights reflecting off of his cheeks, the glint in his eyes. Everything is perfect. He is perfect.

It had been a week since the red carpet event, and while it was such a blessing that Jamie and I didn't have to hide as much, it also kind of sucked that I had to share him with the rest of the world. But I still, at least, got the private moments. I got to see the movies with him, I got to watch as he slept on my lap, when he read books with his chunky reading glasses, when he tended his store.

Speaking of his store, business has been a little more hectic. By no means was it too much to handle, but due to creepy, sleuthy fans and their weird internet magic that had found the location of his store. Everything was shifting, and it was a welcome change.

"Malic," Jamie nudged my arm, "What do we do?"

"What do you mean," I chuckle.

"I mean what do we do here?"

"Have you never been to a fair?"

"Do you forget that my hometown had all of eighteen people in it," he smiled, slightly cocking his head.

"Right," I clasp my hands together, "Well the games are rigged and the rides are pricey."

"So where does that leave us."

"Food?" I offer.

He nods, "Food."

As soon as we broke our gazes and the dirt and straw mixture of the empty lot began to crunch under our feet we were suddenly surrounded by a large group of screaming figures.

"OMG, It's Malic"

"Holy shit get a picture."

Shit, too public, too soon. I need to move, now. I try to grab Jamie's hand but I notice he is being pushed away from me. After a few more desperate attempts to reach him he is thrown out of the circle.

"Enough," I yell, suddenly enraged by their rough treatment of Jamie. The quickly stopped talking, "If you want a picture you can ask politely, but swarming me is unacceptable. How dare you, I'm a person, just like you, on a personal outage. This is not a photo shoot."