Welcome to E. Mayberry

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“If you win, will you choose to be an owner?” he asked.

“What would you do if you were in my position?”

He didn’t reply.

“You can’t answer because you know what you’d do,” I said. “Besides, what would be so bad about me being an owner? We could still be together just like this, only I’d own my own home.”

He rolled over and turned his back to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know that’s not the answer you want. What if we lived in a combined house, us with our pets, like a big Brady Bunch? We could build onto the back of this one and…”

“That’s not funny,” he said. “You’re turning it into a big joke or something.”

That led to an awkward silence. I lay there on my back looking up at the dark ceiling and wondering how many pets I’d have to compete with in the drawing. What were my chances anyway? I thought Bastian had fallen asleep when he suddenly spoke.

“You asked me what I’d do,” he said. “I’d choose you. If you were my owner and I had the option to become one myself, I’d choose to be with you. I’d stay your pet.”

That was how our night ended.

Chapter 13

Even the birds perched at my window seemed excited the next morning. The inside of our home seemed brighter than usual. Then I realized Bastian had woken up before me and pulled all the drapes open to let the light in. He wore only a towel and stood looking out at the neighborhood below.

“This has always been the oddest day of the year,” he said. “Some people can’t stop talking about it all year. As soon as it’s over they’re already planning for the next year. Then some…well…some aren’t so excited about it.”

He turned to look at me and I could barely see his face. He was a dark silhouette framed in the brightness of the morning sun fighting to reach my naked body under the blanket. I stretched and yawned. He sat next to me and pulled me in tight to his body.

“Why would anyone not be excited about the festival?” I asked.

His silence made me even more curious. He had to think about his answer.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s all the mess after. The cleanup is a bitch. Everyone chips in and does his or her part.”

The festival started at noon but Bastian didn’t want to be the first to arrive so we didn’t leave the house until after one. He assured me none of the games would start until at least two since everyone would be busy setting up and getting everything going. He’d lived in the neighborhood for going on ten years and knew all the ins and outs.

I’d seen the preparation for the festival the whole week leading up to it but the finishing touches hadn’t been put up until the previous night so I was pleasantly surprised when Bastian and I walked toward the large park on the outskirts of the community. Our street was adorned with white wicker arches

that crossed from one side of the street to the other. Red and blue balloons were tied together about a foot apart, reminding me of a Fourth of July celebration but in October.

Placed on our front lawn, about five feet from the sidewalk, was a floral arrangement chosen by the two of us. I’ve always been fond of irises, even though they’re not the best smelling flower, so Bastian agreed we’d put a blue arrangement in front of our house. Attached to the flower pot was a big picture of us, the selfie we took on the day of the garage sale. Every home had the same display out front.

As we walked along the street, we saw a photo of Tina and Dave tucked behind a bunch of dandelions. Two gay guys were in the next house over, looking sharp in matching black dress shirts and red ties. I’d never met them before but according to Bastian their names were Gregory and Robert. Every couple looked great in their photo and it reminded me of my family’s New Year’s tradition growing up. We had to buy brand new clothes that couldn’t be worn until New Year’s Eve. To greet the New Year in old threads meant you were fine with sticking with old ways and didn’t care for anything new. It appeared the people in Erotic Mayberry had a great respect for this Harvest Festival and saying hello to it with a great photo of two people in love.

By the time we reached the park, the party was in full swing. What was usually a soccer/football field now looked like any traditional town fair you could imagine, minus mechanical rides. The chain link fence door was wide open but a clear path was set up with wooden booths to both sides, making sure those entering the fair went in the right direction. Trees formed a canopy overhead keeping us shrouded in shade, making me feel like I’d entered an enchanted forest.

The right side was lined with wooden snack shacks. Barbecue chicken, sausages on a stick, hot dogs, cotton candy, cheesesteaks, and chili. These were some of the scents mixing in the air and drifting our way on the breeze.

“You have to try Regan’s slaw,” Bastian said with a playful squeeze of my hand. “It’s not your usual coleslaw. I don’t know what she does but it’s fucking amazing. Oh and Billy’s piping hot Frito chili pie.”

“Sounds like someone’s finally getting excited,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

The left side of our dirt path was lined with traditional games. The ring toss and the one where you throw the baseball at the bottles and the one where you throw darts at balloons and the one where you try to collect the yellow rubber duckies with a magnetic fishing pole…all the games from the church fairs of my youth were side by side and suddenly I was excited too.

Everything was run by a community member. No visitors or vendors were allowed into the place which told me things would eventually heat up. I couldn’t imagine the big fair being a typical day at the park. Surely there’d be some outlandish shit going on before the thing ended.