Heather and Raven

A Killer Whale Named Crow

Even though the fair is an annual thing, I always forget how much fun it is until it rolls back around. And it's surprisingly easy to have fun with Raven. I mean, we're friends and have been for a long time, but we don't really spend that much time with just the two of us, so I wasn't sure how this would go. But we're having fun with all the attractions, and I end up winning one of those cheaply made friendship bracelets at an archery stand. I think the guy was just glad Raven and I didn't accidentally shoot him or something. But the bracelet is cute: just some woven black string with a red glass bead shaped like a heart in the center. It's the sort you just put around your wrist and then tighten by pulling the strings, but Raven insists on putting it on for me.

"I couldn't win anything, and I almost stabbed you in the eye with the back of an arrow," he says. "At least let me put it on for you."

So I let him and laughed when his fingers fumbled with the flimsy pieces of string.

In good fashion, we end the night in the Ferris wheel, like we do whenever we visit with the rest of our friends. By now, the sun has set but the sky is still that beautiful blue-green of the late twilight. When our cart comes closer to the top, I notice that the first stars are just starting to appear. The wheel stops right as we reach the highest point of the wheel, and a tranquility falls over me.

Up here, the lights and sounds of the carnival seem so far away. The Pacific stretches out endlessly, its colors alternating between a deep sapphire, and murkier gray-green where the sandbars are, and my eyes are continuously drawn to the horizon, trying to catch a glimpse of what's behind it, even though I know it's just a whole bunch of nothing for thousands and thousands of miles. The breeze is more noticeable now that I'm not walking between heated stalls and stands and hundreds of people, and I can't suppress a shiver. Before I even realize it, something warm and fluffy lands right across my face. I hastily pry it off and then see it's Raven's flannel. When I look up at him, he shrugs and looks away, fixing his eyes upon the horizon.

"You looked cold."

"I am," I say, a little surprised that he noticed.

"So put it on."

I eye his T-shirt. It's a black Led Zeppelin one with faded colors of what I presume is an album cover. I can just barely make out the 1977 by his left shoulder. "Won't you be cold?"

He shakes his head. The wind has messed up his carefully-styled hair so that it falls in his eyes again. If I'm completely honest, I think I like it better like this.

"I never get cold, remember?"

It's true. I've seen him go outside in nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and his leather jacket in blizzards. So I put on the damn flannel. It's ridiculously soft and smells a little like fabric softener, but mostly like Raven: the familiar scent of apples and pines, on top of something citrusy. I'm surprised at how comforting it feels, but maybe that has something to do with how it's three sizes too big on me.

I lean back in the cart and look around, afraid I'll never be able to take it all in. I know this will be a memory for years to come, and I don't want to miss anything. I want to remember the way this flannel feels and smells, the upbeat and heavily-synthesized song that's playing far below, how beautiful the darkening ocean looks.

I want to remember the way the lights catch in Raven's hair; how they cast cyan, fuchsia, gold, indigo, and lime glows over his face. Name a color, and I bet you there are lights in that color here.

And then he turns to look at me, and those lights reflect in his wide blue eyes, and for a moment the rush of emotions is so overwhelming that I forget how to breathe. Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to have a life this amazing, friends this wonderful, that I already feel melancholy for a moment that hasn't even passed. It's still happening, but I already want to go back to it.