Small Carnival

The smell of old books
Lingers in my nose
The beat of my feet slap-slap-slapping the pavement
Echoes in my ear
As I follow my little sister, running ahead.
She sprints towards the lights, enthusiastic and expecting.
I jog behind her, and though I don’t show it, I’m excited too.
Another sister, younger than me, older than the one that runs ahead,
Has stayed behind for better things
She believes happiness cannot be found at a small carnival.
Cannot be found in the smell of books or the company of strangers
Cannot be found in the grilled-cheese sandwich
Grandma used to make for me.
But she doesn’t know our excitement as Dad buys a handful of tickets,
Excitement as we strap ourselves into the first ride
Excitement as we grip the metal bar keeping us in, waiting for the ride to start.
And she is wrong about not being able to find happiness
At a small carnival.
‘Cause now, we’re flying through the purpling air of twilight
And it’s exhilarating.

She is wrong.
Because this?
This is happiness.