Cotton Candy and Elephants

by Katelyn Deng, 27'

dancing kween by Angelina Nguyen

“Childhood is where dreams are born, and time is never planned.” — J. M. Barrie

The woman is late, and her phone won’t let her forget it. The device chirps again and again in her hand as she hurries down the street, wondering how on Earth did she get so lost. Business meetings, she thinks, should be held at the office, not at a client’s site in the middle of nowhere. As she begins to feel that familiar aching building up at her temples, her phone vibrates once again, no doubt her boss demanding an explanation for her tardiness. The woman's fingers automatically move to text a hurried apology as she walks, her stilettos click-clacking across the cracked pavement.

A sudden gust of wind cuts through her coat, causing her to shiver. Suddenly, her heels trip over an inconspicuous pothole on the street. The woman stumbles, nearly dropping her phone before finally steadying herself again. She finally looks up. Pauses. Before her is a whole lane transformed by booths and stalls, a brilliant patch of color amid the surrounding gray buildings. A street festival, her brain supplies as she gazes at the vibrant sight.

She knows she should just hurry her way through; the festival is, after all, an inconvenience. An obstacle. And yet she doesn’t. Her eyes roam across the crowds, lingering on the huddles of families and children. The smell of roasting nuts and grilled food floats through the arm. There is, she observes, a certain charm to this scene, its colors almost foreign against the business-like backdrop she knows so well.

Another vibration. Just like that, she tears her gaze away from the festival and back toward her phone, lighting her face up in a ghoulish, blue light. Her feet start to move forward again.

“Cotton Candy!” A voice rises above the clamor, clear and pronounced, halting her mid-step.

The woman glances back, frowning

There, just beyond the row of booths and games, is an elderly man at a cotton candy stall. His shirt, striped in faded green-and-white, and his red cap are like remnants of another era, yet there’s something so vivid and real about him. His eyes pierce into hers, and a chill runs down the woman’s spine.

Cotton candy?

***

The first time she tasted cotton candy, it was because of an elephant-shaped cloud.

That day, the last of summer, her mother had taken her to the circus one more time before

kindergarten started. The girl’s mother, though, was a busy woman, and her eyes were fixated on her Blackberry, typing away last-minute work emails. As they walked in silence, the girl stared at the baby-blue sky above. She wondered what it would be like to live among the stars, never having to go to kindergarten, never needing to grow up. Never having to change.

One cloud seemed to drift toward her. The girl quietly observed the flapping ears, the thick legs, and the waving trunk. It was, she realized, a perfect elephant. She reached out, but the elephant floated an arm's length away, its trunk waggling teasingly. The girl giggled, and before she knew it, she was sprinting after the creature, her mother’s exclamation of surprise quickly fading behind her.

When she finally seemed to have caught up with the cloud, though, it had vanished into thin air. Only then did the girl realize she was standing in the middle of the circus grounds, lost in the bustling crowds of excited visitors. The smells of roasting peanuts and buttery popcorn mingled in the air, and the vibrant tents and booths pulsed with life.

But the stand that caught her eye was the one in front of her: the pink cotton candy cart, run by a man in a green-and-white striped shirt, wearing a red cap on his head. “Cotton Candy!” he shouted in his booming voice as he spun fluffy clouds of sugar. His glowing smile never fell for a moment as he handed the treat to his customer with a gentle “Enjoy.”

The girl’s mother caught up to her, her heels clicking across the cement. The girl once tried on her mother's shoes, but they pinched her toes and wobbled uncomfortably beneath her weight.

When her mother found her, she snatched the heels away. Those are for adults, she had said.

The girl didn't want to wear those shoes after that. Now, her mother was standing over her, Blackberry in hand and forehead pinched in exhaustion. That was another reason the girl didn't like those shoes. To her, they only meant long phone calls, steaming pots of coffee, and a quiet home where she wasn't allowed to speak too loudly. The girl remembered that her mother had a beautiful smile, the kind that made you smile with her even if you didn't know what she was so happy about. The girl wished her mother would smile like that again, just like she used to before she bought her new heels and Blackberry.

“Come on,” the girl's mother said impatiently, “let’s go. The show’s about to start; we’ll be late.”

The girl didn’t budge. Her mother followed her gaze to the cart and sighed, checking the time on her watch.

“Oh, well. Why not. One cotton candy, please.”

The man nodded and pressed a switch on the cotton candy machine beside him. As the girl

watched, wide-eyed, candied strands as thin as hair wove together to form puffs of pastel. The cotton candy man expertly swirled a pink cloud around a paper cone and gave it to the girl. His face was as smooth as marble, and his cap fit snugly over his dark black hair. His eyes, the color of chocolate, twinkled warmly.

“Enjoy.”

The girl’s mother tugged her off to see the show, but the girl wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she stared at her cloud of pink, wispy and soft like her grandmother’s hair, and inhaled the ambrosial scent of caramelized sugar. When she finally took a bite, the sticky clump melted instantly on her tongue, leaving a trail of ethereal sweetness. It tasted just like a cloud. The girl’s eyes lit up in delight, and savoring her fluffy treat, she began to smile.

Kindergarten, for now, was forgotten.

**

As the woman stands before the festival, a sigh whispers through the air, carrying echoes of

bygone years. Despite not wanting to, she had changed, she realized. All that time had slipped through her fingers like loose change, spilling into the cracks before she had the chance to pick it up. Memories stir within her, tangled in the faded banners and wispy clouds of pink.

Belatedly, she realizes her three-inch stilettos are just as sharp and pinched as her mother's.

The street, however, seems to have been frozen in time. It still smells of the same roasted nuts, still bustles with waves of crowds, still hums with the laughter of children. Here, the woman observes, she is the only outsider. The one figure of resentful silence amidst all this joy and simplicity.

When her phone vibrates, pulling her back to the present, she glances at the time displayed

across the glowing screen. It's too close to four o'clock for her liking. These days, her time always seems to be running out.

The rational part of her knows that she will barely make it on time for the meeting, and that she needs to leave now. And yet, inexplicably, she finds herself drifting closer to cotton candy man.

Her steps slowed instead of hurried, each one a small rebellion against something she can’t

name.

“One cotton candy, please,” she hears herself say, her voice soft.

The man’s face lights up with recognition, but only for such a short second that the woman

wonders if she imagined it. It’s impossible he would ever remember her out of all those children, she reasons. As she watches, the hands of the cotton candy man fly to start the machine, performing that familiar ritual. The sugary threads spin into a cloud, and for a moment, the woman is a girl again, dressed in bright pink overalls and observing the world around her with wide eyes.

The man picks up the cotton candy and hands it to her. She takes the paper cone, breathes in the sweet aroma, and hesitates.

“How much?”

For the memories?

She doesn't say it, but the man seems to understand. He gives her a small, sad smile, his face wrinkled and hair moonlight-silver beneath the red cap. But his eyes, she notices, are still chocolate-brown.

“Today’s our last day, so this one’s on the house. Enjoy.”

Not knowing what else to say, the woman thanks him. She steps away from the festival, feeling the wind brush against her face. It’s gentle this time, not harsh. Her phone buzzes again, but she slips it into her pocket, ignoring it for once. Instead, she takes a bite of the cotton candy.

The sweetness seeps through her, light and airy, and by impulse, the woman glances up at the sky. There, high above against baby blue, an elephant-shaped cloud raises its trunk at her, as if waving joyously. She can’t help it—a soft laugh escapes her, and for a moment, she wishes she could go back to running across the fairgrounds, chasing dreams and elephants in the sky. An aching sadness builds in her chest.

When her phone buzzes for the final time, insistent and loud, she feels almost grateful for the interruption. Her head clears, and the woman finally thinks about the pressure of her day

tugging at her. Her meeting, her responsibilities, her future. Time, she realizes, will always keep slipping from her hands. But perhaps some moments, like this one, are meant to be held onto.

Perhaps a small part of her will still remain in the summer sky, dreaming of pink clouds and

elephants.

The woman quickly finishes the cotton candy and starts to walk away. Around her, the festival

noise slowly fades with each step, until soon, she is enveloped in silence once again.