Glittery confetti swirled around the float. Pinks and Purples decorated the makeshift castle. Rachel Miller held the railing tighter just hoping–wishing–believing she would see a real-life princess.
“Oh! Oh! There she is! There she is!” the little girl squealed quietly to herself. Out of the top of the float appeared a fair-skinned beauty waving daintily and smiling jovially.
I wanna be a princess.
“Rachel!” a frantic voice called out from the sea of people thronged around the sidewalks. Rachel held tightly unto the railing. Just a few more seconds. Just a few more moments then she would go.
“Hey! Stop it!” Rachel cried as her sister pried her little hands from the railing blocking her view of the princess float.
“We have to go.” Her sister’s face was flushed from the sweltering heat.
“But–Maureen,” Rachel whimpered.
“I know—I’m sorry.” Maureen began to push her into the crowd.
“Where are we going?” Rachel asked as she tried to keep up with her big sister’s fast pace.
“Anywhere but here.” Maureen murmured.
I hate fairs. I hate parades. I hate crowds and the unwanted tourists who fill the streets. With Rachel close on my heels, I push and shove through the wave of bright-colored visors, dark shades and melting ice cream cones.
“You’re moving too fast!” She complains.
“Climb up on my shoulders.” I order, stooping down so she could wrap her little legs around my neck. I lift my arms to support her back as she places her sticky sweet hands on my forehead. Standing erect, I plunge forward. Sweat droplets cling to my eyelashes. I can smell the funk of copious bodies and too much beer. I am over it.
This is the last time. I tell myself. I said that last year and the year before. This time I am confident in my decision. This day will never excite me. I only do it for her–for Rachel.
“There goes daddy!” She cries. She wiggles trying to get down from my shoulders.
“Stop moving Rachie,” I call out.
“But there goes daddy! He’s getting cotton candy! Hurry!” She wiggles more. Frustratingly, I lift her off of my shoulders and place her on the ground. Before she takes off I see her. I see them together. I see how the tall woman stands intimately close to my dad. I see how the floral skirt hugs the woman’s lean curves. Rachel wants to run to her daddy but she can’t. I won’t let her.
“Rachel stop,” I whisper in her ear.
“But I want cotton candy,” Rachel pouts.
“In a second, okay?” I loosen my grip and she takes off. “Rachel!” I cry out. Will she ever listen?
Mr. Miller was good at hiding his secrets. Today was an exception. Genevieve spotted him by the cotton candy vendor. Sweat rolled down his face. His white business shirt was soaked with the perspiration of parenthood. His gold wedding band played with the rays of the sun.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Genevieve called out to him. Mr. Miller turned shielding his eyes from the sun, his mouth slowly dropping. “Oh please don’t look so terrified.”
“Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here.” Mr. Miller moved closer to her.
“You know how much I love the princess parade.”
“Look, Genevieve—,”
“Save it Gregory.”
“You need to tell the truth.”
“You need to tell the truth.” Genevieve spat back. She leaned in a little closer ready to give Gregory a piece of her mind when he swiftly turned.
“Rachel!” Gregory shouted, spotting his youngest daughter running towards him. Genevieve stepped back. Tourists shuffled by laughing loudly, the closing and opening of camera shutters incessant. Genevieve watched as Gregory hoisted his daughter in the air and playfully kissed her face. Loud, snorted giggles erupted from the little girl’s mouth.
“Who’s that lady?” Rachel conspicuously whispered pointing a chubby finger in Genevieve’s direction.
“What did mom and I tell you about pointing?” Gregory inquired tickling Rachel’s tummy.
“I’m just an old friend.” Genevieve answered the question. Rachel stopped looking at her daddy.
“You are very pretty–like a princess!” Rachel squealed sweetly. Genevieve faintly smiled and took her cue fading into the throng of people.
coffeeshoptuesdays 