This week authors of RWW are asked to write a flash fiction of 500 words containing the words carousal, mud and wine. The words immediately took me back to a spring festival held in city each year. During the mid to late eighties, hubs and I worked the beer tent his company sponsored.
Held during the spring rainy season, our annual jubilee more often than not turned into a mud festival. Beneath my high-top Reebok clad feet, peanut hulls mashed into the boggy ground. My permed frizzed in the evening humidity.
Tonight, a favorite band from my youth will grace the main stage. While I am by no means old, however, the sixties band, popular over twenty years reminds me how quickly early adulthood is passing.
As I head to the stage, a carousal of painted ponies pauses as kids clamor to mount their favorite horse. Sadly, I already realize at this point in my life, I’ll probably never have the finances to own a horse. Another dream dashed along with becoming a photographer. Small mirrors atop All rights one, the merry-go-round spins with the small mirrors gleaming amid the lights of the arcades and Farris Wheel.
Colorful mini-flags decorate white tents where beverage vendors peddle wine coolers of various fruity flavors and domestic beer. They’re not my favorite. I’ve become a whiskey girl since meeting my husband. I have a sippy mug loaded with and my favorite brand and stake a claim on a grassy spot in front of the stage while my husband serves at his company’s tent. This yearly pastime have become a tradition. Stars twinkle on the clear night which will be filled with fireworks after the show.
The crowd thickens while the roadies sound check instruments, included the electric keyboard which will sound the first chords of my favorite Three Dog night song, Chest Fever. The tune was playing on a mixed tape from a cassette player when I received my first and sweetest kiss ever.
Dusk claims the stage and lights swivel and the band appears. Guitar chords fill the air backed by a pounding bass drum to begin the first song. Sounds of youth and rock fill the night. Although Chest Fever was the opening song at the sixties mega concert, Woodstock, they begin with another favorite, Mama Told Me Not to Come. The lyrics are about attending a wild party of which I’ve been to a few. The set continues with other golden oldie hits.
Three songs later, the infamous opening chords emanate from the keyboardist’s fingertips. I’m swept away in memories and flooded with the same passion felt that night.
The darkening of caramel color of his eyes when his face neared mine. The soft strands of his near black hair tangling in my fingers as his lips met mine, amid the spring night that was much like tonight.
Would we have made it, if not separated by distance? I’ll never know, but a vivid memory enhanced by a song will never to be forgotten.
Have a great week!