“Hmm…” I tapped my finger against my lips. “Balloon darts?”
“Sure! I’m really good at that one!” Hayden and I stepped up to the booth together.
“Hi, kids!” the carnival employee, an older man, greeted us. “You wanna play?”
“Yes, please.” Hayden handed over a bundle of tickets. “You wanna go first?”
I pursed my lips, hesitating for a second. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good.”
“Try it out!” The carnie handed me a couple darts.
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I focused on the balloons, trying to decide which one to aim for. Settling on a balloon in the middle row, I pulled back my arm and then threw the dart. It flew through the air then hit the balloon with apop!
“I did it!” I exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement.
“Keep ’em coming! If you pop three balloons, you can win a prize!”
That was all the motivation I needed. I’d always been competitive, and now I was determined to take home a prize, even if it meant I’d have to hide it under the bed or in my closet.
Despite my best efforts, I only popped one more balloon. Shoulders slumping in defeat, I pouted my lips.
Hayden leaned in to whisper, “Which one do you want?”
I pointed to a stuffed tiger with bright-blue fur hanging on the wall. “That one’s cute.”
He puffed up his chest a little as he stepped up to thecounter. “I’m going to win it for you. Three more darts, please.”
The carnie smirked then handed him the darts.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Every single one of the balloons Hayden aimed for popped.
“Congratulations, son. Which prize would you like?”
He pointed to the tiger. “That one, please.”
“Excellent choice.” The carnie pulled the stuffed animal down from the hook, passing it over the counter to Hayden.
“Thank you very much!” Hayden smiled before turning to face me. “Here you go. What are you going to name it?”
My brows furrowed. “Name it?”
“Yeah! Don’t you name your stuffed animals? Growing up, I had a stuffed dog named George. It looked exactly like our family’s chocolate lab, so I named the stuffie after him.”
The truth was, I’d never had stuffed animals growing up. My father thought stuffed animals were stupid, and they were also good bargaining chips for him if I did something he deemed as wrong or disrespectful. If I didn’t want one of my belongings to be ripped up, I’d behave.
After a few moments of thinking, it came to me. “I’m going to name it Haze.”
He laughed, his lips curling up like he knew exactly what the name meant. “Haze?”
“Yeah. Haze.” I smiled back. “That way, I can think of this day every time I see him.”
And you.
