Cotton Candy

I see you, at first from the corner of my eye. You are walking, focussed on your thoughts. The people around you don’t seem to exist, you simply walk. You come fully in my field of vision simply because by virtue of public transportation, you end up sitting in front of me. And while moving my leg is the only outward sign of my acknowledging your existence, from the moment you sat down, you captivated me. It is a very silly thing to say about a stranger, but it is not unique to you, strangers fascinate me. It might be that young couple who can’t help but show the world their affection, or that person over there reading a book that has seen better days. Strangers are the most fascinating people there is, because strangers are the only people whom you cannot know anything about.

And so you sat down, and from that point on, you were real. You no longer were a possibility, you became a real person. The world is filled with these possible people. About seven billion of them. They exist but you can’t know anything about them. You know they are there because you are told they exist. The city is filled with people like that. You see them driving, you see them live, but they are not real. That is the line you crossed by sitting in front of me that day. I had no choice but to see you as a real person, and a piece of me hopes that you saw me as real. I have so many questions for you. However, I cannot ask them. It would be rude, it would be impolite, it would seem odd. Even these words are strange, because this is what I was thinking, when I saw you, when you sat down. You started existing and then you stopped. I know you are out there, and I don’t want to seem creepy or strange by writing this, I just want to ask you one question:

Why are your eyes sad while you eat cotton candy?

It is the food of carnivals, of celebrations. It is the treat that puts a smile on any children’s face. Grown men and women smile at the idea of eating cotton candy. When I was a kid, I remember begging for it, and I remember the sweet taste of victory as my parents decided to buy it. Cotton candy would only come once a year. Its taste would have to survive in my memory for twelve long months until I could eat some again. The first time I had cotton candy was during the day, a sign of how old I was. We had been petting farm animals that seemed so strange and alien to me, when we walked in front of one of these cotton candy booths. It was so strange, blue and red, and so impossibly cloudlike. I had to taste it. Again the following year, the taste, the texture, all of that had gained a hazy dream-like quality, and so I had to taste it again. The years passed, and one day I stopped begging. I had my own money, it was later in the day, and I decided to buy some. It was that day I learned that some rides don’t mix with food. But cotton candy never lost its charm. And one year I was not with my parents, and I still bought cotton candy. Still as sweet as the first time.

One day, I stopped going to the fair. But that year, I simply bought cotton candy. To skip a year would have seemed impossible. But as I explore my memories, I realize that it happened more than once. Cotton candy seems irreversibly locked in my childhood. It is made of sugar and memories. This leads me back to my question:

Why are your eyes sad while you eat cotton candy?

I was fascinated by your eyes, after you sat down, after you became real. The blue color seemed so odd that I was wondering if I was not seeing them as blue because you were blue. To see your lips part to accept the cotton candy and to not have them turn into a smile seemed unnatural. Just seeing cotton candy almost made me smile. But to smile at something that you seemed to eat in pure sadness would have been wrong. And when I realised that I was paying you this much attention, I was worried. Worried that you would notice, worried that I would seem creepy. Behind your sad eyes, I hoped to see the hint of a smile, as you tasted that soft and sweet treat, but that won’t happen. And now I am left to wonder what happened to make you sad as you eat cotton candy.

[This story almost made me add a "stalker" label. It seemed so odd to write about a stranger, but when I started thinking about it, I knew I had to write it. This happened on the bus on the way home. I will not share the details, but this is the questioning that I had, when I saw this complete stranger eat cotton candy without smiling. I think I am also trying to write about anything, and this experience allowed me to try some new tone that I don't think I have used at this point in my career. What also helps with the writing of this "story" is the fact that I know the person it is about will never read it.]