The fairgrounds are more crowded than I expected them to be, but I guess that just betrays my ignorance.

I know carnivals and amusement parks both always seem to be packed to the bursting, but I didn’t think this many people would care to come and see three or four dozen little artists’ tents and displays, and I’m just grateful I got a chance to assess what I’ll be dealing with before I have to run my own special ‘attraction’ next month. 

Kattar insists that I’m the attraction, arguing that, whether I try or not, everything will go off without a hitch, but all the flirting in the world can’t keep my skin from fizzling like so much static everytime I imagine the sheer amount of voices and eyes I’ll be enduring in less than thirty days. Today’s anxiety might as well be a massage in comparison.

Very few people are looking my way today. Almost no one seems to have eyes for anything but the giant watercolor drenched canvases and multi-colored statues towering beside the biggest tents and stages, the ones run by Rainbow Oceans.

Still, I bristle trying not to wrap my head around the reality of what it’s going to be like when it’s my turn to stand behind an overladen table and smile at dozens upon hundreds of bustling, over-eager strangers- I have to stop and remind myself that we’re here to enjoy this free visit and just-

Breathe…

Kattar seems to have forgotten that too. 

I can practically see the tenseness in every inch of his face and frame every time a stranger gets within 6 inches of his wheelchair, and his anxiety is palpable whenever a large group of chattering college students wearing too much cologne and perfume pours in between us and we’re swamped in the wave of bodies.

He doesn’t say he wants to go home, but I’m almost sure he does.

Should I say something?

He wheels himself further into fairgrounds, so I follow behind, feeling more worried about him now than I’m worried for myself. Maybe just because my little horror fest is a whole month away, while his seems to be living in his chest, right now.

A few of the tents - some of the un-canopied lots too - have artists creating new works on the spot. One is working with clay, another crazy is painting out in the open, like she’s never heard of pollen season. 

Or maybe that’s what she was going for. 

There’s a suspicious amount of yellow on her canvas that might have been her doing, or it may be the work of mother nature spreading her pixie dust every which way.

This chick is either a genius or a madwoman, but I don’t know which.

Almost at the same moment that thought crosses my mind, I notice the next lot, which makes me stop in my tracks and do a double take before I tap Kat’s shoulder and ask slowly, “I am sober, right?”

“If you’re not we’re both in a whole mess of trouble, because you drove us here,” Kat says a little sarcastically, but the glib expression is replaced by bafflement the second he lays eyes on the same thing I’m seeing.

“Is that a chick in a chicken costume?” he glances at me, furrowing his eyebrows for a minute, like he thinks it might be a mirage.

“Yessss?” I start to say, but at the same time I notice a mother and child leaving the chicken’s stall with two little doodles of themselves, and laugh slightly, “Oh, Kat, she’s like a caricature artist or something. We should get our pictures drawn too.”

“No,” Kat says firmly, without a hint of amusement in his expression.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” I grab Kattar’s hands, like a little kid begging for a new brand of cereal at the grocery store. “Pretty pretty please.”

“I’m not about to talk to someone in a costume. This isn’t a Chuck E Cheese,” he argues a little exasperatedly as I don’t stop pulling on him.

“Costumes are just another form of artistic expression. Don’t be a sourpuss,” I smile teasingly, still facing him as I walk backwards a few paces through the grass toward the artist’s stand. 

“I’m going to get my picture drawn, whether you want to be grouchy or not. If you don’t join me, I’ll edit a blob fish’s face onto my body and make it your screensaver next time you leave your phone unattended.”

“You are demented,” he rolls his eyes at me, but gives up the fight, just the slightest smile breaking through his attempts at staying cranky, and as I turn around I see him wheeling his chair up to me.

“Could you draw the two of us?” I ask the artist cheerfully as Kat crosses his arms like a bratty toddler, glancing quickly at the cute drawings on display in the colorful stall.

“Individually or together?” the artist asks brightly as she flips open her sketch pad.

“I don’t want my picture drawn,” Kattar frowns slightly, and this frown is more serious. 

I have to force myself not to sigh, trying my best not to be upset.

“Please, Kattar?”

He just looks at me but I can see the conflicting thoughts battling in his expression, and I know…

I’m ready to relent if he asks me too, but I don’t want to…

I’d really like to just be able to do something fun like any ‘normal’ couple without everything being one more reason to remember…

But I don’t think I have the right to be the one complaining, so I just bite my tongue, though I’m sure he can read all my thoughts written in my expression.

There’s only a second of silence, and then Kattar sighs almost inaudibly, addressing the woman in the costume, “Could you do a sketch of the two of us together, ma’am?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and her voice sounds like it’s smiling. “This’ll just take a minute.”

Kattar doesn’t exactly look happy, but he doesn’t seem upset or angry either. Just determined to get through the process. I don’t know if I should feel relieved or not, but regardless, I find myself sighing a little more audibly than I intended. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.

Shifting awkwardly in the short grass, I try to figure out a way to stand slightly less awkwardly, while we wait for the woman to make our sketch. Standing in one place just feels so unnatural.

“Hey, can I sit on your knee?” I ask Kattar out of the blue and he turns his head sharply to look at me before remembering that the woman is drawing us, and turning back to face her quickly, with his knee-jerk model smile.

“Why?” He asks with a raise of his eyebrows, not relaxing his smile.

“I don’t feel like standing the whole time,” I shrug slightly, as he squints at me sideways. “So can I?”

“Fine,” he shakes his head mildly, “If it’s okay with the artist.”

“Works for me,” she laughs slightly, “Just try to slide your hair out of the way so it doesn’t hide your boyfriend’s face.”

I give her a thumbs up, pushing my hair back behind me as I sit down on Kat’s knee and his face reddens half a shade.

“Don’t tell me I’m that heavy,” I laugh teasingly

“Well, for one knee, there have been lighter things,” he shakes his head, but his frown is replaced by the hint of a grin as he looks back at the artist, wrapping both his arms around me. And this smile is a little more genuine.

“I’m going to start bellyaching if my leg falls asleep though. You know that.”

“Fair enough,” I try to frown a little, but I can’t even feel mad through the embarrassment and flush washing into my own face that I’m sure is ruining the picture.

Kat laughs slightly, and his eyes disappear into those lines on his face again, but the expression quickly changes when he notices the artist making two brisk lines on the sketch of him.

“Hey hey, don’t make my eyes too small, now,” he frowns with mocking defensiveness. “All my friend’s sketches never give me anything but two caret symbols.”

 The woman shakes her head at him and I imagine I can see her rolling her eyes.

“I can only work with what you gave me, and that’s not a lot in the way of eyes, dude.”

“Fair fair,” he sighs slightly, readjusting me carefully so as not to ruin the positioning in the picture, but in what feels like two seconds the sketch is done.

I jump up to get our picture and am handed two little stylized cartoon characters that almost make me laugh and cry at the same time.

“We look so CUUUTE,” I smile over at Kattar, turning the picture to face him.

When I do he seems to get quiet really quickly, the smile disappearing off his face as he takes in the tiny dramatization.

It feels like too long before he says anything, and I wonder if the artist is holding her breath the same way I am.

“We look nice,” he says softly, after a minute.

“Do you like it?” I ask for the artist's sake, noticing her still-attentive posture, like she’s waiting for him to say something a little more definitive.

“I like it. It's just,” he stops now and covers his mouth slightly, as his flush deepens another shade, “I guess I never thought I’d be getting a couple’s artwork made with you.”

I can practically feel the sigh of relief from the artist, as she laughs, putting her hands on her hips with mocking exasperation. “Dude, you scared me. Here I thought there was something wrong with the picture.”

Kattar is laughing now, apologizing hurriedly.

“Yeah, yeah. Get on with you, you ridiculous love birds,” she shakes her head, waving her hand as if to shoo us away, “You new couples are always like this.”

“Thank you very much,” Kattar laughs again, as I fold up the picture and put it in his medical bag.

“Yeah, thank you,” I laugh back as the artist nods and shakes her head intermittently before greeting another couple, or brother and sister, approaching to get their pictures sketched as the girl bounces up and down, hugging onto the man's arm.

“Ooh! Dominic, let’s get the chicken lady to draw us!”

***