It's nine o'clock on Saturday night of Fair week and I'm standing in line for my once a year elephant ear. I limit myself to one a year so I don't balloon up like the animal for which this fried and sugared mouth watering platter of bread dough is named. Looking around at the Fair goers, it's obvious people are happy. Talking, laughing adults, teenagers roaming in herds, kids bundled against the chill of the night, held in the arms of Fair weary parents, weary but satisfied. It's been a good Fair. It's the third week in August, Fair week on the island. Summer's last big event before back to school preparations begin and Labor Day approaches.
I've just come from the beer garden where people are drinking beer, wine, wine margaritas. I've had half a beer myself. The music is good, lively, people are dancing. It's the last hour of the last night of the Fair and there's an intense energy surging through the dancing crowd. It's the last frantic, fleeting chance to get that final jolt of Fair energy for this year. Jam has been sealed in jars, entered, tasted and judged. Livestock has been raised, entered, judged, and auctioned. Wool has been sheared, carded, spun, and woven. Rides have been ridden. Corndogs have been eaten. Fudge has been melted on tongues. Zucchini have been raced. It's the last hour of the last night of the Fair and I am waiting in line for my elephant ear alone. But things are just as they should be.
Friday night of Fair week I went to see Eat, Pray, Love, all by myself. That was a good way to see that movie. Having read the book, I knew the story well. It was luxurious to walk around town in solitude, feeling perfectly safe, walking home, then on the spur of the moment, at nine pm, when many were going home to bed, jumping in the car and dashing to the movies. Something wonderfully self indulgent about buying a popcorn sprinkled with brewers yeast and picking a seat in the middle of the back row, the theater almost empty because of the Fair. Waiting for the lights to dim, the curtain to open, the movie to begin. Enjoying my own company. Perfectly congruent with the theme of the story. Is this my Bali? I thought to myself when the movie was done. No, it's too cold here for that. Is this my figurative Bali? Maybe. Like Liz Gilbert, I'm remembering who I am in this new place I call home.
Feeling much more like I belong than I did last year, now I wait in line for my elephant ear. It's the last hour of the last night of the Fair. There's a nip in the air that says “Fall's here.” How can that be? Summer just arrived. Last year I did the same thing, leaving my elephant ear till last. Waiting until the last minute to buy it, the anticipation of it kept all week in my right front jeans pocket with my Fair pass. Putting off temptation till that final hour. Flirting with disappointment if I wait too long. A little Fair food roulette. I find my excitement where I can these days. There'll be no Eat, Pray, Love excitement of departure from this place, the thing I sometimes fantasize. Except in the darkness of the movie theater. This is my Bali. The place I face my fears. The place I plant my flag. The place I remember who I am. Perhaps the place I find love. The place I eat my elephant ear, and it is...delicious.
© M.E. Rollins
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