‘I love the smells of festival,’ Jake said.
The Last Ones Standing by
Ken Whitson
‘Yeah, yeah. The woodsmoke. The fried dough. Even the damn straw. You say that every year, Jake.’
‘Doesn’t make it wrong.’
The woman snapping the bands on their wrists interrupted their annual argument with the same look she’d given them when she’d caught them in her henhouse trying to “turn chickens back into dinosaurs.” The same look she’d given them each time she’d seen them since. It said, Can the two of you try to stay out of trouble for once. Please. The hmmph the woman gave as she dropped Jake’s wrist said she knew her plea was useless.
‘What, do we look like Calvin and Hobbes?’ Jake said settling the band on his wrist.
‘Maybe not in looks,’ Sarah replied. ‘But our legendary escapades over the years have certainly painted us in that vein. Besides, I’m ok with C&H — minus the GROSS club, that is. The real question this year is who gets to be Hobbes.’
They walked through the gate.
‘I’m older,’ Jake said.
‘By an hour.’
‘An hour’s an hour, and yellow’s yellow.’ He waggled his adult wristband at her. ‘First one to drain the flight gets to be Hobbes.’
‘Fine. What do you propose then?’
A slight pause followed by the smile Jake recognized as preceding every other questionable decision they’d ever made.
‘Last one standing wins.’
Jake looked at his own wristband before deciding. ‘Done.’
***
Auntie Mae’s cider stand claimed its usual spot between Sam’s Funnel Fries trailer and the scarecrow-guarded corn maze entrance. A look between not surprised and lord have mercy crossed her face as the two planted themselves at her counter.
‘Well, look what the festival cat dragged in. I see your cohabiting hasn’t split you apart yet. Good. But a ring’d net you both a better tax break, you know?’
‘Hey, Mae,’ they replied in unison, ignoring her ring comment with practiced efficiency. ‘You two really old enough this year?’
Jake waggled his wristband. Sarah waggled hers.
‘Damn. I’m too old for this. Hold on a sec. If I know you two—and everyone in this town does—my normal small sample cups are going to have you wearing a trail to my counter before half the night’s out.’
Sarah grinned at her back while Jake mumbled something about first the ticket lady, now Mae.
Mae returned, looked at them both a beat longer than politeness demanded, slid the laden tray across the counter, and looked to her next customer.
The first flight went the way of first flights—and seconds and sometimes thirds. The rest went somewhere else.
***
‘You sure you can handle that one?’ Jake said at some point, watching Sarah drain a cup without stopping.
‘I can handle whatever you’ve got.’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘That’s what she said.’
They cracked up, setting their empties on the counter. Mae did not.
‘Last one, kids.’
They rolled their eyes in unison.
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Thanks, Mae.’
She watched them take the tray and said nothing more.
Jake made it about halfway to their table before he stopped and handed Sarah the tray. ‘I gotta hit the head.’
‘You just went.’
‘Cider goes through me.’
‘Cider goes through everybody, Jake, that’s how cider works.’
‘Whatever. Just don’t go pouring your cider into the hay while I’m gone, loser.’
When he came back, Sarah was looking at the hayride wagon.
‘Finish up, loser. Wagon’s about to leave and I, for one, could use some time away from this noise.’
‘Lead the way,’ Jake replied, emptying his side of the tray before following. ***
Jake and Sarah sat, as they usually did, back-to-back in the rear of the wagon—pretending and failing to ignore the two couples in front of them.
‘Remember when you and Freddy snuck off to his dad’s barn and did something like that?’
‘Shut up, Calvin. I should never have told you about that. Besides, what about you and horse-face Suzy?’
‘That’s not fair. She cornered me. What do I look like, someone who would go out of his way to make the poor girl feel bad?’
‘Actually, you look like someone who’s about to piss themselves again. Wanna sneak off this rig and find a pumpkin to pee on?’
‘I do need to pee. But what if I accidentally let loose on a baby or something.’
Sarah bumped the back of his head with hers as she’d done at least as many times as there were pumpkins in the field.
‘You know that’s not where kids come from, right? We had that talk in fifth grade, Jake. Keep up.’
‘Ouch. That hurts. But not as bad as my bladder. Let’s go.’
***
‘Sarah. Are you purposefully trying to annoy me by hiding straw in my stuff? I just found another piece in my boot.’
‘Dude, I was about to ask you the same thing. I found some in my bra this morning. It’s like it’s multiplying.’
‘Ew. The festival was like three weeks ago, girl. How often do you do laundry?’
Sarah snorted, threw a towel at his face, and got a juice box out of the fridge. Her cheeks were pink. From the insult, Jake told himself.
‘Well, if you’re going to be that way, I’ll just leave you to your silly juice boxes. BTW, didn’t you give those things up in like the sixth grade?’
Sarah grabbed another dishtowel, but before she could launch it, Jake beat a retreat to his bedroom.
As he turned to close the door, he glanced across the hall into Sarah’s room and noticed a single piece of straw nestled in the dish reserved for her best jewelry. Stuff’s everywhere he thought, closing the door and settling on his bed. He pointedly ignored the piece poking from the flannel shirt he’d worn to festival—but hadn’t yet washed.
***
Jake dropped his keys in the dish by the door and headed for the fridge with a sideways glance at Sarah.
‘Want one? Looks like you could use it.’
‘No thanks, dude. I think my body is still trying to metabolize all that festival cider.’
‘Now who’s the wimp? Coffee, then? I bought fresh beans yesterday. Your favorite.’
‘No thanks. Upsets my stomach these days, for some reason.’
‘Anything you say, Calvin.’ Then, pointing to a pharmacy bag sitting on the end table, ‘Hey, what’s that?’
‘It’s the candle you just had to buy at the festival. Six weeks it’s sat there and you haven’t put a match to it once.’
She snatched up the bag, jostling the candle in the process, and walked out of the room. Jake looked at the candle.
Well, that was weird, he thought and tipped his beer.
***
Jake chuckled at the cat video on his phone before moving on to the next.
‘Shit.’
He stopped scrolling.
‘Sarah?’
Nothing.
Jake set the phone down and sat straighter.
The bathroom door opened.
Sarah came out holding something like it might break. She looked at him, looked at the thing she held again.
‘How did this happen?’ she whispered.
He saw the two pink lines as she let her hand fall.
He tried for a laugh. It was the only thing he had.
‘Apparently Mae’s cider does more than make us dance on tables?’
‘This isn’t funny, Jake,’ she said, launching the test at his head.
Jake yelped as the test hit the back of the couch—right where his head had been planted watching cat videos just seconds before. It lay there on the cushion, its two accusatory pink lines still showing, daring him to make another joke.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Sarah crossed the room, nudged Jake over and sat down, her back to his, head bumping his lightly, toes tapping the opposite armrests—as they always did.
‘We always knew we’d attend each other’s weddings, right?’ Jake said, now holding the test. ‘And this’ll certainly make syncing calendars easier.’
‘Jerk.’ She rapped the back of his head with hers, more gently than he expected.
‘Hey, we’ve been a team since our parents moved next to each other. We’ll figure this out.’
A piece of straw lay between them on the cushion. He didn’t know where it had come from. He didn’t pick it up. Neither did she.
‘Maybe it’s fate,’ he said. ‘You know. Giving us a little nudge.’ She was quiet for a long moment.
‘Serendipity?’ she whispered. ‘You think?’
‘I think that’s a perfect name. It’s certainly better than Hobbes.’ He waited for the headbutt that never came.
Sarah laughed, then said, ‘Apparently kids really do come from a pumpkin patch.’
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