After a long year of waiting - finally - the time has come. He is coming!
colorful procession of trucks enters the city. The cars painted with
fantastic scenes in shamelessly clashing colors. They bring beautiful
promises of spectacle and fun. Gather around the main market square and
then slowly but steadily unpack it. Tough guys busy with planks and
beams. High into the posts and tension ropes from left to right.
The Boy lives not far from there. In a quiet street where cars rarely
drive. Less than a five minute walk from home to market. For him - after
all, he is already nine! - a piece of cake. The Little Boy looks
forward to the building up of the fair every year. He admires the
muscular lugging and the constant running back and forth. He immensely
enjoys the godless whining and the thunderous laugh that resounds across
the square. But most of all he is looking forward to seeing him again.
devilishly fast it all goes again: suddenly everything is in its
familiar place. The caterpillar, the high Ferris wheel, the
merry-go-rounds and the bumper cars. The candy stall well stocked with
cinnamon sticks, red wine balls and soft nougat blocks. And don't forget
the freshly twisted cotton candy. Pink as it is. Long ribbons with
lights are hung everywhere, exuberant decorations have been applied, the
sound installations have been tested again. The merry go rounds are
doing their last test round. Let the customers come now! One more round!
Three balls for a quarter! Children always prize!
Boy knows his way around the fair like his own pocket. He knows where
all the stalls are standing and knows very well where to go. But he
doesn't go straight for his target. He prefers to take a detour. Don't
get to it right now. Not yet. And there - look! - there is the stall
where treasures are up for grabs: a harmonica, the set with bow and
arrows, the plastic water pistol. And of course there is also his
favorite: the funny monkey, made of feathers and fur. But that should
never be taken home because 'there are definitely fleas in it'.
large hand holds reaches out the bundle of ropes to him. One pull and
the loot is in. You always know what you want. You never know what
you'll get. The big hand belongs to a father and there is also a mother
in the stall. In the front left corner - yes, there he is - stands the
son. Ten years now, maybe eleven, and still beautiful.
Just like last year, our Little Boy just gets warm and soft inside. He
averts his eyes, though he doesn't want to. His nose fills with the
strangely familiar smell of sweltering sweat mingled with that of dust
and mothballs. And immediately there is again that unutterable wish: I
want to go with the fair! To join the guy from the tug-of-war. Out into
the wide world together.
the distance, father's call is heard. The Boy turns resolutely and
walks back home. Away from the boy, his friend. Full of longing and
forever in love.
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