Drowning

First

Looking up, above this noise, this falsely lit row of carnival games and overly loud children, I could make out the scenery that I would much rather be enjoying than that in front of me. There are too many people here for me to find myself actually enjoying my current atmosphere. Maggie is next to me, pulling me along with her, as per usual, forcing me to fake enthusiasm towards the midway. I usually enjoy the pier; it's always nice being out of the apartment, away from all the school work, away from all the things that remind me how far off the perfect future is, away from reality.

The pier serves as more than it appears tonight. When the games are cleared and the people disperse, there's a quiet, a lovely, constant rolling, quiet that cannot be achieved anywhere but along the coast. Lake Michigan is its own wonderland. How many nights have I spent along the edges of this soothing sanctuary? More than can be expressed before Maggie has already pulled me through at least ten more, exceedingly large, groups of people.

“Enjoy yourself this once, please? I need you to stop all of –-this.” I sigh. Maggie knows. What's the point in trying to put on the fake face for her? She reads me like a book, but only her. “Sit here,” she tells me, pointing to a bench to my left and forcibly pushing me down. She looks me over, almost like an unspoken command to a dog to stay put.

She doesn't get it, but how could I expect her to, she thrives off of others. One thing I will never fully understand is how easily Mags fits in with so many diverse groups while all I can manage is one friend, and even that proved difficult in the beginning.

A cool gust reaches me and I let loose a small smile, the wind feeling lovely against my skin. How long will it take until the cool gusts turn into freezing snows and frozen ponds? Winter is my favorite. Many ask if that is an oxymoron, since I actually live where it's cold almost year round, but no, it's only the truth. I peer through the planks of the pier and watch the slivers of water below me pound each other relentlessly. This moment is what I live for, this quiet moment within the chaos that only I enjoy.

I do not require the acquaintance of others in order to be content, no, the times alone prove the most valuable. Even studying is more enjoyable than this gathering I was brought to. Again, the pier is one of my favorite places; it's just much more enjoyable when I am able to think of more than the smell of corn-dogs and avoiding the exit of the tilt-a-whirl.

Maggie returns with a huge stick of cotton candy and I immediately reach for a handful, and am just as quickly pushed away. She hands me a small piece and smirks smartly. “No way, you're already making this night hard enough. Giving you sugar will only make it worse.” Maggie holds the stick of fluffy goodness far away from my reach, and I consider violence as I stare at the one thing that might actually make this night better. “Come on,” I draw out the words as if I were a five year old begging for a toy in the middle of the store. Maggie looks at me and huffs, handing me another rather scarce piece. She has no idea how much more fun I would have if she would just hand over the stupid cotton candy. “You know that you'll feel terrible tomorrow.” She looks at me with a face that would probably mimic that of the mother of that terribly spoiled child begging for the toy.

“It's a good thing that it will be me feeling bad and not you then, since you're already in a sour mood,” I quickly reply and yank the stick from her before she even knows what is happening. “Grace, I swear,” she promises, “if I hear one complaint from you tomorrow about your sugar being high, I'll call Mark and ask him to come talk to you.” I laughed so loud that people started to stare. “We both know that if you had ever gone through on that promise we would have ended this friendship years ago, Magnolia.” She grimaced. “Alright fine. Just don't say that out loud again.” “What?” I asked her with an evil smile across my face, “Magnolia?” I know she hates it, but it always worked. It also helped that I had already eaten half of the mound of fluff in my right hand, since sugar hit me harder than alcohol.