The Wheel of Fates

I hate it here. It’s hot and the mosquitoes suck so much of my blood that I wonder if they want me dead. My husband says that I’ll “adjust” to his hometown in time. I don’t want to adjust when I catch everyone staring at me. Men, women, children. They’ve mastered the subtle stare, quick glances over the tops of their newspapers.

The entire town has been spending the last three days preparing for Carnival. Even the kids help— they get out of school early and head down to the pier.

My husband is there too. He’s been talking it up, as if Carnival is the reason he moved home. I walk the beach each night to deliver dinner to him as he happily builds. Tonight a hush falls over the men as I approach. Maybe the other women let their husbands starve.

My husband speaks on behalf of the silent men, asking me to test “The Wheel of Fates” ride. Apparently this is a time-honored tradition. Only then can Carnival officially open.

I find myself seated alone on the Ferris wheel. Surprisingly, a crowd begins to gather.

Men, women, children. All staring.

The Ferris wheel slowly inches up towards the sky. It pauses at the top. My car dangles hundreds of feet in the air. Down below, everyone claps.

The floor drops out from under me. As my body falls toward the ground, I desperately look for help. I lock eyes with my husband.

He smiles.

They continue clapping.