11.3 Carnival

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It was only after the incident with A.J. that I realized the carnival had been evolving. An hour after we first arrived, the mechanical beast had taken its first flopping step from the primordial soup, evident in the new layer of afterbirth smeared beneath the gleeful façade. I noticed flypaper--black with dead insects--lining the inside awning of every game booth. Upon closer inspection, most of the insects weren't dead, but flapping and struggling, unsticking one leg only to discover their wings were also glued to the paper snare. I accidentally touched the bottom of a portable bench when I stopped to tie my shoe; the underbelly seethed with discarded bubble gum like rubber scales. And as we waited in line for the Tilt-a-Whirl, I spotted a loose panel at the base of the ride. Every time the carts completed a rotation, a rusty seam appeared between the red and blue panels, exposing the black innards, sputtering gears, and churning elbows that tilted and whirled the kids atop the machine.

Worst of all, my kinship with the great beast was beginning to seem like a ruse; I had the feeling of being watched, as if the tents, rides, and kiosks had eyes.

Again, we came across the row of goofy mirrors. The girls weren't with us the first time around so we stopped again to play. Kimmy looked like a troll with a frizzy orange mane. Haley held up her arms and I recalled a picture from my encyclopedia of a medieval device that pulled people apart at the seams. Livy didn't move, but scrutinized her warped reflection until Kimmy yanked her away.

As we said goodbye to our shape-shifting alter-egos, I discovered the source of my paranoia on the top step of the Super Slide. Four boys were leaning against the rails; coke-bottle glasses and rampant acne marked them as outcasts, yet their faces seemed vaguely familiar, as if they were enemies from a previous life.

I ignored them the first time; boys oogling Mara was nothing new. But twenty minutes later I saw them again, six of them now crammed two at a time at the top of the ferris-wheel.

Later, they appeared behind us in line for the swings. They were distracted this time, chattering amongst themselves, splitting their attention between the girl beside me and an elderly woman across the way.

It was them. It came to me in a flash; the face in the leaves, the body that fell at the sound of my father's gun; it was them, the ferrets, the boys on bikes and the boys in the trees; and not just the boys, but the women too! Four of them at least, perched throughout the park, inconspicuous without their purple hats, but un-missable with their beady eyes trained on Mara.

“It's time to go,” I said. “We need to get outta here. Now.”

*  *  *

“Hey weener-wrinkle,” said Whit. “I wanna ride the swings!”

“Not now,” I said.

“James?” Kimmy said. “Haley and I are gonna meet some friends--”

“Not now,” I said again and pushed Whit faster through the crowded midway. “We need to find my parents.”

“I swear,” Livy added, ”my brother is so flippin' weird.”

The giant mallard bounced on Mara's back as she jogged to keep up. “Can’t we stay a little longer?”

“Somethin's not right. I'm takin' you home.”

“But we're having a good time!”

“Listen to the lady,” Whit said. “The night’s still young!”

We emerged from the midway, passed the Gravitron and the mini roller coaster and found ourselves caught between the carousel and funhouse. “Crap!” I said.

“Uhh,” Kimmy said, “isn’t this the end of the carnival?”

I scanned the horizon to find my bearings. We were at the tip of the carnival’s longest arm. The Salt and Pepper Shaker was behind us and to the left. The Community Center was at the opposite end of the park.

“I think we had to turn that way.” Whit pointed behind us.

“I'm not going through the midway again,” I said, then nodded to the far sidewalk. “We'll follow the storefronts to the Community Center. Mom and Dad'll be looking for us there.”

“Whatever.”

I scoured the perimeter for hostiles, then led the group past the blazing carousel with its joyful children and angry horses. The funhouse was on our left. Cartoon animals advertised a rotating hallway, silly slide, and house of mirrors. “Looks like fun...” Haley said, making her disappointment clear.

“Can you at least tell me the time?” Mara asked.

I checked my watch without slowing my stride. “Eight-fifty-five,” I said.

When I looked up, I saw the first jock. It was Jon the lock-picker--friend of Ryan Brosh--watching us from the tin roof of a cotton candy concession stand. He was wearing a basketball jersey and his hair was parted as if he was attending a cotillion instead of a night at the fair.

Mara grabbed my shoulder.

Kimmy and Haley locked arms to form a shield between my sister and the towering jock, then shot me a look that said, “Told you so.”

When Jon was certain we noticed him, he raised his arms and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the rollicking mass, “may I have your attention!” His words were stilted as one might expect from a basketball player.

The crowd slowed and turned their attention to the delinquent on the roof.

“What the heck is this...” asked Whit.

Jon pointed right at us. “There's a special lady in the audience tonight,” he said. “She was hurt by a good friend of mine, and there’s something he’d like to say.”

Scattered “awws” arose from the onlookers. I felt the horde shift around me as every eye fell to Mara.

Two more jocks materialized from the crowd. The skinny one stepped between me and Mara and knocked the duck off her shoulders. He placed a silver tiara on her head. 

The second boy skipped in, bowed over Whit's chair, and dropped a bouquet of yellow roses in her arms, prompting another round of “awws” from the onlookers. The boys pranced away.

In slow motion, Mara twisted and found my eyes. Her look was a grab-bag of possible emotions and I struggled to sort the real from the ruse. This is it, said her final glance. See ya later, alligator.

Jon was pointing to the row of shops. “Please turn your attention to the third balcony and join me in welcoming a great friend, a true humanitarian, and the raddest kid in the ninth grade... Ryan Brosh!

The carnival cheered.

I released Whit's chair. I wanted to grab Mara’s wrist, tear the flowers from her arms, and get the hell out of the fair (the street, the city, the world)! Instead, I ran three steps into another pair of greasy jocks in jerseys. I looked up at their pimpled faces and twisted grins. They didn't speak, only sneered, but the message was clear: “Stay.”

Ryan appeared on a wooden porch above a novelty t-shirt shop. Either he was friends with the owners or he paid them off, either way, his entrance was grand. He wore a ruffled tunic with bulging, pleated pants and a feathered cap. A work light was clamped to the railing beside him and created a harsh but attention-nabbing spotlight; an idea he stole from my movie.

“But soft!” he began. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Mara Lynn is the sun!” (Somehow, the carnival beast calmed its clinking and shrieking to give Ryan Brosh his moment.) “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she!”

The multitude was growing around Romeo’s balcony, buzzing with the novelty of a spontaneous public performance.

Whit bobbed his head to see between the legs of the pimpled jocks. I stood on tiptoes to see over their fortress of chests. I saw Mara, tiara still adorning her head, facing away; facing the balcony and Ryan's desperate play.

He thrust his arms toward my girl and continued his monologue. “Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return!” He kicked a latch and a metal ladder dropped to the ground with a series of clanks and a final whack on the concrete below. He relished his words as he descended the rungs. “What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright, that birds would sing and think it were not night!” Ryan’s feet hit the sidewalk and he turned to face Mara. The audience parted between them, creating an open runway for his gallant approach.

He sauntered as he spoke, and as he spoke, he unbuttoned his faux-velvet tunic to reveal a number-seventeen jersey and a trim pair of biceps. “See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand...” He stopped and raised his hand to Mara’s face. “...that I might touch that cheek.”

The pimpled boys raised their shoulders to block my view. I discovered later that they were unpopular seniors, coaxed by Ryan Brosh to participate in his disgusting scheme.

The crowd cheered again, now a thick wall of bodies foaming to see the high-school sweethearts.

“Mara,” Ryan's voice was normal, but still loud enough to overcome the sound of the distant rides. “There's something I'd like to say to you, but words alone cannot express how I feel.”

“You're gonna love this,” grunted one of the pimpled towers. He nodded to the ride behind me.

As I turned, the world turned with me. The carousel. A thousand jocks held formation--some on foot, some on horses--around the entire merry-go-round like the closing shot from The Birds. I recognized several boys from my sleepover.

With perfect timing, the carousel operator hit a big green button and the ride lurched forward.

The frontmost jock raised a square piece of poster board above his head revealing the word “MARA” scrawled in giant yellow letters. The ride continued its meandering rotation as the jocks raised their assigned cards to complete the spinning message: “MARA LYNN, WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS HOW SORRY I AM. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. PLEASE LET ME BACK INTO YOUR LIFE.”

The audience erupted into delighted applause. I rammed my shoulder blade into the torsos of the pimpled henchmen while Whit punched at their knee caps. They didn't flinch.

On the carousel's second rotation, the boy with the “MARA” card flipped it upside down to display a hand-drawn daisy with petals that filled the page. The next card turned to reveal the word “I.” Another daisy card, then the word, “LOVE.” Another daisy. “YOU.” Another daisy. “MARA.” Another daisy. “LYNN.”

Another daisy.

The ride twirled faster and faster until the words and flowers pulsated into a visual poem: “I LOVE YOU MARA LYNN, I LOVE YOU MARA LYNN, I LOVE YOU MARA LYNN.” The pupils of the jocks pulsated too; swelling and contracting like inkblots in the flickering light of the carousel's bulbs.

“Kiss him!” somebody shouted.

“Kiss the poor boy!”

Whit pulled back his fist and slammed it into the ball sack of the closest guard. As the boy keeled forward, I could see my girlfriend, still wearing that delicate crown, grinning from East to West, transplendent in her joy, and I too felt pain in my groin.

Was her smile another charade? Or had Ryan Brosh actually impressed her with his spectacle, discovering some hidden nerve that made Mara--after weeks of dating me--reconsider our love?

Mara cradled the roses in her right arm and formed her left into a sideways V, inviting Ryan to link his arm through hers. He did. Together, they walked side-by-side, appearing as boyfriend and girlfriend to the spectators when I was her boyfriend and he--that heartless Ryan Brosh--was a liar, racist, and whore.

A gargled shriek swept my attention back to my sister, thrashing against the grip of her friends, ready to charge the happy couple. “I'm going to kill you Mara Lynn! I'm gonna find what makes you special and I'm gonna cut it off!”

Without breaking her smile, Mara abandoned her friends and her stuffed duck, leading Ryan arm-in-arm toward the funhouse entrance. They bypassed the line without dispute, and the carnie in charge gladly waved them through the gate.

Livy released a tirade of unintelligible curses. With a final heave of her limbs, she broke free of her friends, but dashed in the opposite direction, sobbing and stumbling down the sidewalk with Kimmy, Haley and a band of concerned parents trailing behind.

The show was over. Livy’s outburst stifled the excitement and the crowd began to disperse. To my horror, Ryan and Mara had disappeared into the mouth of the carnival funhouse, and I was still held captive by the towering henchmen (though one was still massaging his crotch after Whit's cheap blow).

It was in this moment of panic that we heard the first howl. Behind us... a child? Then, peppered throughout the horde it came, a thunderous reply like an army of invisible apes.

And then they attacked.

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