by Megan Walker
“Who the hell is—oh, that’s one of those obnoxious dancing poodles, isn’t it?”
“It is. And it pissed on Gwen’s marimba.”
I chuckle. That does improve my opinion of them somewhat. “Whatever. I like Lord Shelldon better. But now I need to get a cat named Snelgrove. Or I could give you that one.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of taking it from you.”
The idea of cats is sounding better and better—it would be nice to have a single living being that notices if I’m alive or dead from day to day. If I could be trusted to remember to feed them. They meow when they’re hungry, don’t they? “Think the humane society is still open?” I ask. “Or maybe someone has kittens available on Craigslist.”
“You’re really going to do that? Adopt kittens and give them those names?”
“Maybe. But this isn’t a layer.”
“Oh, no. Definitely not. Shane Beckstrom doesn’t have layers.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you want to get a drink?” she says.
I emit a noise that sounds vaguely like I’m being strangled. I shut my mouth, but it’s far, far too late. “You don’t want to date me.”
“Right.” She moves her hands to her knees. “You mean you don’t want to date me. Because I’m not attractive, is that it?”
“Oh my god. I said you were beautiful.”
“You said that I know I’m gorgeous. It’s not exactly the same thing.”
I haven’t had a girl work this hard to get me to compliment her in forever, and I’m loving it. “Fine. You’re sexy. And I want to date you. But you’re going to regret it. Trust me.”
“Noted.” Allison says. “So we’re going out, then?”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
We sit there, staring at each other in the dark, and while I’m not sure if I won or lost that argument, I’m back to feeling terrified. But we can’t just sit here all night. I’m going to have to face the world again sometime. “You want to go to that carnival down the street?”
Allison looks confused. “The carnival?”
She can’t have missed it. “Oh,” I say. “You were thinking of something classier.”
“Yes. But the carnival could be fun.”
Shit. I am ruining my chance with this girl. “You don’t have to say that if you don’t want to. We could just go get those drinks.”
She pauses. “Are you sure you’ll be okay at a carnival? It’s been a long time since I’ve been to one, but I remember there being lights and people and loud noises.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know. But I just want to do something that feels normal.”
She laughs. “And a carnival feels normal to you? I don’t think I’ve been to one since I was in junior high.”
I throw up my hands. “I grew up in Everett, Wyoming. A place with so little to do that every time some big blockbuster movie comes out—something other than Pixar or westerns, because we did have a tiny theater that played those—the town rents a bus, and we all carpool over to the only-slightly-larger theater forty minutes away. So yeah, I went to the carnival every year. It was our first big venue with the band, and until just a couple years ago, we went back and played it every year after that.”
“Oh,” Allison says. And I’m sure she’s going to tell me what a loser I am for thinking that someone like her would be interested in something like that, but instead she smiles. “Was this where you took girls to impress them?”
I grin. “No. To impress girls I took them cow tipping. Until this one time Mikey and I snuck up on this cow, all quiet like, and I counted down but Mikey pushed first and his hands went right through.”
Allison looks horrified. “Through the cow?”
“Yes, through the cow. Damn thing was out there all alone because it had gotten loose, then died and rotted right there on its feet. And I about died laughing and Mikey got so pissed that he chased after me with liquified cow all over his arms. The girls ran off, and I made Mikey walk home while I drove the van alongside him slowly, and he kept running and trying to hitch a ride on the bumper, but I stayed just out of his reach.”
“Okay, yeah. In absence of cows, the carnival. Should we get food first? Or maybe after?”
“Um, we will eat at the carnival,” I say. “It’s mandatory. Plus, I saw they have food trucks.”
Allison looks stricken. “You want to eat at a food truck.”
“Are you religiously opposed?”
“My family would tell you I am.”
I look at her, and she looks at me. There’s a story here, and I’m determined to wait it out.
“It’s just,” she says, “food trucks are kind of skeezy, aren’t they? They just drive up and sell you food and then drive away. How do you know if they’re legit?”
“Um,” I say, “I think they have food handler’s permits.”
“How do you know? Have you ever seen one?”
“I can’t say I’ve been looking.” I’m smiling, but Allison is dead serious.
“I mean, really. It’s like, hello, dude in a serial killer van who has shown up to sell me tacos. Are you running a prostitution ring out of the back? Is your van also used to transport the rats you catch and slaughter for meat?”
By the time she finishes this rant, I’m leaning back against the wall and cracking up. “Oh my god, Ally. You are unreal.”
She looks up at me, like she’s surprised. “No one’s called me that in a really long time.”
“Unreal?”
“Ally.”
“It’s short for Allison, right?”
She nods like this means something, but before I can ask, she takes my hand again and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s hit that carnival.”
“Okay.” I feel vaguely like I have whiplash, only not real whiplash, because I can tell you from experience that royally sucks. This feels more like being on one of those theme park rides that cruises along in one direction, then abruptly changes course when you’re turned around and can’t see where you’re going. As we step back into the hallway and I put my glasses back on, JT slaps me on the back.
“Dude,” he says. “That was perfect.”
I shoot him a dirty look, because I wasn’t playing any of that for sympathy.
But as Allison checks to make sure Carlyle didn’t change his mind about canceling practice, I lean against the wall outside the auditorium.
For the first time since the accident, I feel like I’m lucky.
Six
Shane
The carnival is actually decently impressive for one of those pop-up deals that close down streets. They’ve brought in rides and dozens of vendor booths. An enormous network of bounce houses takes up half the neighborhood block.
I take off my sunglasses, and Allison looks up at me in surprise. “I thought you needed those,” she says. Her eyes get caught in mine, and I smile at her knowingly before she quickly looks away.
“No,” I say. “It’s the fluorescents that give me a headache. I’ll be okay on stage, too. The stage lights are incandescent.”
She steals a look at me again, and I smirk at her.
“Okay,” she says. “So you also know you’re gorgeous.”
I laugh. The real danger of going without my sunglasses is getting recognized, but it’s early enough in the afternoon that the place isn’t crazy busy, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. Plus, I feel more confident being out with Allison, less like I’m going to get cornered alone. It’s weird how claustrophobic the world can feel when you run the constant risk of people wanting to photograph you on the street. It’s another thing I should feel lucky for.
Once upon a time I did.
We approach the carnival along a line of food trucks, Allison still in her red dress and high-heeled boots, which I assured her were ap
propriate carnival attire. “So,” I ask. “What are you having?”
Allison eyes each as if it’s more dubious than the last. “Hmm. Linguisa Forever. Fajita Mia. Sushi Taquito. This definitely inspires confidence.”
“You don’t have to have any,” I say. “We could go somewhere for food when we’re done.”
Allison looks the trucks over with determination. “No, I’m going to try one of these. As long as you’re paying, of course.”
I smile. “Of course. Pleasure’s mine.”
She looks like she’s not sure if I meant that to be an innuendo, and I give her an innocent expression in return. Not that I meant it like that, but it’s my policy never to deny a double entendre, and it’s served me well.
“Okay,” I tell her. “The carnival tradition is you have to walk from one end to the other and survey the whole place before deciding what to do first.”
“Oh, really. In these boots. Which you were so sure were appropriate.” She looks around at everyone else in their flip flops and cargo shorts and t-shirts.
“Looking like that,” I say, openly checking her out, “is always appropriate. Plus, it’s going to be hilarious when I talk you into going in the bounce house.” I indicate over her shoulder at the enormous bounce house that’s big enough for adult occupants. Allison whirls around and then turns back to me, looking mildly horrified.
I laugh. “Come on. I’ll let you mess up my hair as much as you want.”
Allison smiles and plays with the ends of my hair, resting her hand lightly on my shoulder. Another few inches and we’d be touching down the length of our bodies, and I can already feel this heat coming from her, this stirring of something I haven’t experienced since long before the accident.
“Oh my god, this ass,” JT says, coming up behind Allison and putting his hand on her butt. “You have got to feel this, dude. She’s keeping it tight.”
I want to glare at him, but Allison’s looking right up into my eyes, so instead I just step away, taking her hand and leading her across the carnival. JT walks way too close behind Allison, and it’s all I can do to keep from wheeling around and punching him in the face.
Allison’s right about the lights and sounds, but the late afternoon daylight is better on my headache, and the noise is spread out evenly, though I’m not in a big hurry to stand right next to the game with the big hammer and the lighted ball that shoots up with an air-pressured whizzing sound. Even that is drowned out amidst the whirring and humming of the rides and the murmur of people talking, punctuated occasionally by shouts.
It’s loud, but not loud like the accident. That was the quiet of tires on the road, followed by the loudest sound you’ve ever heard in your life, followed by minute after minute of silence, with only a few voices reaching through.
Hey, are you alive?
Are you okay in there? Can you move?
Oh my god, that’s Shane Beckstrom.
“Okay, you also have to try that one,” I say, pointing to a spinning ride. “It’s just like the tea cups at Disneyland, only—” I squint at it “—something vaguely more phallic shaped.”
Allison eyes what appear to be various colors of spinning cucumbers with suspicion. “Yeah, what are they? Gourds? Dildos?”
“Clearly we cannot miss that. Unless we find something even better.” I lead her all the way to the other end, where we find a square of tents full of carnival games.
“Okay,” Allison says. “You have to win me something.”
“Ha. These games are all rigged. You can’t win.”
“I know. Which is why you definitely have to.”
“I’d probably spend less if I just bribed the person running the game to sell me one.”
Allison shakes her head. “Have you no honor?”
“None,” I tell her flatly. “Absolutely none.”
Allison giggles. “Those game people are vicious, though. When I was thirteen, I wanted a giraffe from one of those, and I offered them all of my babysitting money for it. They wouldn’t sell it to me, so I played away all my money and I still didn’t win one.”
“Damn,” I say. “A giraffe, huh?”
Allison looks embarrassed. “Yeah. I might have a thing for giraffes.”
God, this girl is adorable. “Please tell me your apartment is full of them.”
“It used to be. I got rid of most of them a while ago. But I still have a set I’ve had since I was a kid—these little porcelain giraffes wearing different outfits.”
“Well, clearly we have to see if they have a giraffe,” I tell her, and we begin circling. “Have you ever thought about going to Africa? To see giraffes in the wild?”
“Definitely. I may have done some research into it.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “But you’ve never been? What happened to realizing how little time you might have to accomplish things?”
“That’s it exactly,” Allison says. “It’s a lot of time to take off work when I’ve got so much to do. I have an opportunity to possibly get my line into Nordstrom, which would be huge, but first I need to make sure that my manufacturing is in place and that my investors are all on board and the designs are perfect, and I’ve still got to do the costuming and this pageant thing to pay the bills in the meantime—”
“Yeah, okay, that’s a lot. But still. It seems like you should take that safari if you’ve researched it so much. Please tell me you at least go to the zoo.”
“I have a membership,” she says. “But I don’t make it as much as I’d like to. Do you travel much?”
“I’ve been all over with the band. Not Africa, but a lot of places in Europe and a couple in South America.”
“Nice,” she says. “But tours are crazy. Did you get to really see places?”
“I did. We didn’t sleep as much as we should have, but every city we went to, I got online and figured out what was best to see and then dragged Kevin and JT along with me. They’d whine the whole way, but every once in a while we’d get to talking about all the cool places we’d been—three idiots from redneck Wyoming, you know? I think they were glad we did it.”
“Anywhere you always wanted to go but have never been?”
I shrug. “I’m not picky. Everywhere’s better than Wyoming. Africa would be cool.”
I bite down on my tongue. That sounded like I was suggesting she would go with me, which is obviously not happening, because I’ve probably got a maximum of thirty minutes before she realizes that A) I am bat-shit crazy or B) she is way out of my league.
We reach the end of our loop through the games. “No giraffes,” Allison says. “But don’t think that gets you out of winning me something.”
“I maintain it would be better to try to buy one. You were refused, but I’m guessing your thirteen-year-old babysitting money wasn’t terribly impressive. Am I right?”
“I have three younger siblings,” Allison says. “I babysat a lot.”
“Fifty dollars?”
“Sixty three.”
“Right,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I was thinking of starting the bidding around two hundred and going up from there.”
“Two hundred dollars,” Allison says. “Are you serious? For a carnival animal?”
“Two hundred to start, to impress a girl with a carnival animal. You saying you aren’t worth it?”
Allison narrows her eyes at me, but I’m dead serious. “Hey,” I say. “I recognize a good investment when I see one.”
She flushes a little and smiles. “Okay, we’ve seen everything. Let’s ride the dildos.”
I grin and follow her back to the spinning ride, where I buy some tickets and Allison selects us a bright pink phallus, and we climb in. Allison buckles one of the seatbelts around her waist, even though I’m pretty sure those things are mostly to keep kids from feeling like they can climb out. She grips the w
heel in the center. “Oh my god, what have I done?”
I laugh. “You’ve boarded the train and there’s no getting off.”
She cocks her head at me. “Is that your prediction for the evening?”
“No, actually. It’s Sylvia Plath.”
The operator is circling, making sure everyone’s dildo doors are secure, while Allison stares at me. “Sylvia Plath,” she says.
“Yeah.” I smile at her. “The poet.”
“I know who Sylvia Plath is. Why are you quoting her?”
I shrug. “I told you I can read. It’s a poem about pregnancy, actually. Seems appropriate for riding in a phallus.”
A bell dings and the ride starts to spin. Allison clings to the steering wheel so tight I think she’s afraid I’m going to spin it as fast as it can go. I scoot around on the bench and put an arm around her, leaning back and enjoying the ride.
“You read poetry,” Allison says.
This is not something I generally share with people, which is basically the theme for the day. “I do. I write most of our music. But I used to suck at it, so when I wanted to move beyond Mouserat, I started reading poetry. It’s awesome. And it helps.”
Allison leans into me as we spin, and her hair smells like rose petals and fabric softener, and that, more than the spinning, makes me dizzy. “So in the absence of cows, you quote poetry to impress girls?” She looks up at me, her hair blowing back from her face in the spinning breeze, and I push it over her ear.
“No,” I tell her. “No one knows about that but the guys in the band.”
Kevin. It’s just Kevin, now that JT is gone.
Speaking of, where has he gone? I look around and see him standing with one sneaker on each side of a nearby spinning dildo, straddling the air over the heads of a couple who are clinging to each other in the vessel beneath. He gives me a thumbs up and grins as he goes round and round, and the operator doesn’t stop the ride like the one at the carnival back in Wyoming did every time JT and I would try that stunt.
“What are you looking at?” Allison asks, and I snap my attention back to her.