A Night At The Carnival
A young boy pointed his hand toward a plush orange fox hanging from the striped rafters of a carnival game booth.
Beside him, an older woman in a denim jacket slowed her pace and smiled, sliding her arm through her purse strap.
She reached into her small shoulder bag and pulled out a narrow strip of pink paper tickets.
As the bright lights of the Ferris wheel turned softly in the background sunset, she fanned the paper strips out across her fingers to count them.
Counting What Is Left
They stepped up to the counter where three wooden balls sat lined up on the worn ledge.
The attendant behind the counter folded his arms over his apron, looking between the woman and the young boy.
The woman smoothed down the pink paper slips and held them up closer to her glasses.
“We’ve only got two left,” she said, her voice dropping as her fingers rested on the wooden counter. “This game takes three.”
The boy looked at the wooden balls on the ledge, then looked back at his grandmother’s face.
He pulled his hand back into the pocket of his dark hoodie and shook his head gently.
“That’s okay, Grandma, really,” he said, stepping back from the counter edge. “If we’re short, we can skip it. I’m fine.”
The grandmother looked down at the remaining tickets in her palm, her brow furrowing as she shifted her purse across her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said, touching his sleeve. “I really thought we had one more ticket.”
“Please don’t feel bad,” the boy said, looking up at her and tilting his chin up. “I wanted the fox, but I don’t want you spending more just because I asked.”
A Choice From The Crowd
A few feet away, a man in a brown jacket set his yellow paper cup down on a high metal table.
He held a single pink paper ticket between two fingers and turned toward the attendant behind the counter.
“Hey, this ticket still gets me one throw, right?” the man asked, holding up the slip.
The attendant nodded toward the three wooden balls. “Yeah, one throw. Knock ’em all down and the fox is yours.”
The man tossed the ball across the counter, striking the target square in the center.
A moment later, he walked back around the wooden counter carrying the large plush fox under his arm.
He stopped right in front of the grandmother and the boy.
“You used your last ticket for him?” the grandmother asked, her hands dropping to her waist as she looked at the stranger. “You don’t even know us.”
“I heard him give up the fox so you wouldn’t spend more,” the man said, offering the plush toy to her hands. “Let him get it from his grandma.”
A Lesson To Keep
The grandmother took the stuffed animal into her arms and turned around to face her grandson.
“You were ready to give this up for me,” she said softly, placing the plush fox against his chest. “So now I get to give it to you.”
The boy wrapped both arms around the stuffed fox, burying his chin into the soft orange fur as a smile spread across his face.
“I only wanted you happy, Grandma,” he murmured, tightening his grip on the toy.
He turned his head back to look at the man who was already walking back toward the crowd.
Later that evening, the grandmother and the boy sat side by side on a wooden bench under the glowing string lights of the fairground.
The man passed by with his drink, pausing near the edge of the bench when the boy called out his name.
“David! Thank you for using your last ticket on me!” the boy called out, clutching the fox to his lap.
David stopped in his tracks, turning around with his hand tucked into his pocket.
“You’re welcome, buddy,” David replied, looking at the pair on the bench. “Seeing your grandma give you the fox was worth even more.”
The grandmother looked at David, her hands folded over her knees as the fair lights reflected off her glasses.
“You gave him more than a toy tonight,” she said quietly. “You gave him a memory.”
David smiled, took a sip from his cup, and strolled down the illuminated walkway as the boy hugged the stuffed fox tightly against his jacket.
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