The Milestones in Our Fingerprints
Blame Canada (OneHitWondersAnonymous)
“What do you want to do first?” Craig asks, but it’s somewhat of an unnecessary question. Craig knows what they want to do, knows that they do the same thing every year, and yet he asks. Strangers weave around them in droves near the entrance, and he is studying the map they offer at the ticket gate. It is late summer in Colorado and the day is unusually sticky, in preparation for rain that’s sure to hit them by the time they’re in the barns—their inevitable first stop. Craig holds out his hand, Tweek knits their fingers together, and they start walking in relative silence. The state fair is controlled chaos around them.
They ignore the vendors and loop through the barns to look at the prize animals, and sure enough, the gentle pattering sound of rain begins to drip into Tweek’s ears from the rooftop. The creatures here pay it no mind, unaware of the change in weather outside that has people retreating to the buildings with their coats pulled over their heads. Tweek is envious of that, that ability to exist without concern for life’s constant movement, until he remembers that this rabbit is stuck in a cage much too small to be comfortable and probably will be for its entire life. Stagnancy is sad, in this case, and he feels bad for even considering it to be preferable to the life he leads outside of that cage, with Craig’s clammy hand and wet pamphlet to keep him company. Still, he shivers, and something is off.
“You seem upset,” Craig comments, suddenly, amid the silence that had fallen between them while they observed the art on display in the building with extra tall ceilings.
“I’m not,” Tweek replies, but as soon as the words leave him, he’s not so sure. He realizes with some discomfort that he’s hardly smiled all day, so he puts one on to appease Craig, who returns it without losing the worry in his eyes. As soon as Craig stops looking at him, he sighs. Words feel stuck in his throat, but all jumbled up so that he can’t figure out what he wants to say. He follows him outside and watches the feathered split-ends of his hair catch fire in the sunset.
The air around them is crisp now, crisper even the higher they go, and it scratches at Tweek’s cheeks like little claws. He shivers and Craig moves a little closer, instinctively, his bony thigh pressed against Tweek’s thicker one to lend what little heat he can give. The movement makes the seat rock and Tweek grabs for the handlebars, gripping them with a quiet squawk. The metal is still wet from the rain. Craig silently pries one hand from the chilled metal to wrap it up in his own, and the color returns to his knuckles. The touch of Craig’s hand calms him entirely, and he lets his other arm drop at his side, sighing lightly.
“Craig,” he starts, and Craig grunts at him to acknowledge that he’s heard him. “Doesn’t this feel weird?” His heart is pounding as he asks, afraid he’s made the wrong choice in asking. He worries that it’s rude, or it’s just him, or both, maybe more. Craig squeezes his hand and looks at him. The confusion is evident in his glance.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Tweek tries, frustration threading his brows tighter, “this. Doesn’t this whole place feel, mm, strange?”
Craig blinks at him, and at the same time, their seat gets hiked up another position higher into the sky. A new batch of wind scrabbles at his skin and makes it itchy. Craig doesn’t look away. “I don’t know what you mean. It feels like the state fair.”
