I badgered Mom until she took me into town to buy a postcard to send to him. I knew he wouldn’t get it for months, not until they went to their winter ground, but I wanted to write it.
I sat for ages, wondering what to put, uncertain how much Kes would be able to read.
In the end, I kept it simple and short.
I hoped he’d understand.
It was Spring before I got a reply. There was no message, just a beautifully drawn picture of a small creature with large, furry feet—our hobbit. My address had been written with such a heavy hand that the postcard looked as though it had been engraved. That was one clue that Kes had written it himself, the other was that some of the letters were the wrong way around.
Dad sneered when he saw it, muttering under his breath, cruel words that I didn’t want to hear. Mom didn’t look very pleased either, but Jennifer gave me a sympathetic glance, then went back to reading her magazine.
But to me, it was the most precious thing that I possessed.
Next summer couldn’t come soon enough.
My perch at the top of the hickory tree had grown uncomfortable two hours ago, but I hadn’t moved. The bark dug into my bare legs, and my toes were numb. I was hot and thirsty, and my eyes were sore from staring toward the sun. Sweat streaked my face, and my hair clung to my scalp in clumps, and still I didn’t move.
Last week, the posters had gone up around town—the carnival was coming. Turning 11 was nothing compared to that.
The Right Reverend Shaw spoke half-heartedly about the evils of gambling, which included throwing a ring around the neck of plastic duck to win a prize, a comment that had me rolling my eyes in church. I half expected to be struck down, but when God gave me a pass, I decided that He must like the carnival, too, because of all the smiles it brought to town.
I thought Mrs. Flock had put him up to it, but Jennifer thought that the boring as all heck Right Reverend Shaw had gotten the idea all by himself because he didn’t like fun. I didn’t care and didn’t listen.
But my heart beat faster every time I thought about seeing Kes again. Had he changed? Did he think I’d changed? And since I was starting Junior High in the Fall and all my girlfriends were talking about the cute older boys we were sure to meet, I wondered if Kes would look at me the way boys looked at Gina Sanders who’d been wearing a training bra for a year.
There was nothing special about me. I was an average student, and my body was still thin and childlike. My parents called me pretty. The boys at school called me pretty average. It was a surprise to everyone, most of all me, when he noticed me last summer.
We’d been friends, at least I think we had. The uncertainty made me feel as if my stomach was trying to climb out my throat as I waited in my tree for that first glimpse. I swallowed it back and pinned my eyes to the horizon, squinting into the sun.
Was that a cloud? A slight smudge of darkness? I couldn’t be certain. I waited, tension threatening to send my body into a cramp.
A sudden flash of light made me blink. The sun was reflecting off something bright and shiny, something like a windshield. And I knew—they were coming.
Minutes later, the heavy rumble of trucks shook the ground and I squealed with excitement. They roared past in a cloud of smoke and fumes, shaking the tree as if a tiny tornado had swept through the yard.
Soon, Mr. Peterson’s field had disappeared under a film of red dirt as the earth blossomed beneath the heavy tires.
I ran from van to truck, truck to trailer, asking the same question, “Where’s Kes?”
And then I found him, leaning nonchalantly against the side of his RV, talking to two other boys.
His hair was longer, shaggier, and I think he’d grown a couple of inches, but he was the same.
“Kes!” I called, waving wildly.
He turned towards me, his eyes widening for a second and a pleased smile curling his lips, but then he raised one shoulder in a casual shrug.
“Hey,” he said.
I skidded to a halt. A whole year of wishing and wanting and waiting and all I got was ‘hey’? My heart sank. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I slowed to a walk, trying to swallow the breathlessness of running.
“I’ve come to see Mr. Albert,” I said, lying as carelessly as I could.
A shadow of emotion crossed his face, then he hooked a thumb at the RV behind us, not even bothering to speak.
Dragging my feet with disappointment, burning with resentment and pain, I tapped on the door and heard Mr. Albert’s shriek.
I opened the door and the little monkey leapt into my arms.
“At least you haven’t forgotten me,” I whispered, stroking his warm fur.
He wrapped long fingers around my neck, then tugged on my hair.
“I’m taking Mr. Albert for a walk,” I called over my shoulder, pretending that I didn’t care whether Kes followed me or not.
I’d expected our reunion to be awkward, and I’d expected to be nervous; I hadn’t expected to be so casually dismissed. I couldn’t help hating Kes just a little. I wanted to hate him a lot, but I couldn’t do it.
It was only a few minutes before I felt a prickle on the back of my neck and I turned to see Kes following me, his hands in his pockets, a cocky smile on his face.
“Hey,” he said again.
I ignored him, walking faster, losing myself in the chaos as the carnival slowly bloomed across the dusty field.
“I have to go unload Jakey and the others,” he said.
“So, go!” I snapped. “I’m not stopping you.”
He grabbed my arm and Mr. Albert hissed, not appreciating being jerked to a halt.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his raised eyebrows fighting the anxiety I could see on his face.
“Yes,” I said honestly. “You’re a jerk. You acted like you didn’t want me there when you were talking to your friends.” I emphasized the word harshly. “I won’t hold you up.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish and defensive at the same time.
“I liked your postcard,” he said at last.
I immediately melted.
“I liked yours, too.”
He grinned at me, and that darned dimple popped out. I’d already forgiven him.
Then another year rolled by, and I quietly turned 12 as I waited for the carnival yet again. It was the year that Kes taught me how to breathe fire.
It was stupidly dangerous and my parents would have died of shock if they’d known. And I think Dono would have skinned Kes alive, but by the time he found out, I’d already learned the basics.
I was sitting next to Kes as we made s’mores in the campfire, drowsy from sunshine and happiness, my knees pulled up to my chest, listening to him talk with the other carnie boys. When I first met him, it had only been Kes and Con traveling with the carnival, but now there were three more kids. They were nearer Con’s age than ours and I would have described them as rough, but they were friendly enough. And even though Kes was the youngest, it was clear that he was the leader.
Unlike Kes and Con, the other boys didn’t have an ‘act’; they were just there with their parents and helped out on the sideshows and stalls.
Con was in the RV studying, so it was left to Kes to describe the new act. He watched me from the corner of his eyes, his smug smile lazy and contented.
“Tell her about it, Kes,” said Zachary, a tall, thin serious-looking boy of about 16 or 17.
“Maybe she should just see it,” Kes replied coolly.
“I’m sitting right here!” I said, poking Kes with my finger, not at all appreciating being talked about like I wasn’t there.
He’d already let me see past his cool public persona, so I wasn’t falling for that again. Then he grinned, showing me the smile that I was certain was only for me.
“All right, but you’ll scream like a girl.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I rolled my eyes anyway. “I am a girl,
dummy!”
“You sure?” he said nastily, eyeing my skinny body in a way that definitely wasn’t complimentary.
My cheeks heated immediately as the other boys laughed. Part of me was furious, part of me was hurt, and a small but restless part of me knew that I’d brought it on myself—Kes hated anyone calling him dumb, and I knew the reason for that. But still, he didn’t have to lash out.
It was a pattern that would be repeated many times over the years.
I stood abruptly.
“I’m going home.”
Kes barely glanced at me, and it was Zachary who got to his feet.
“I’ll walk you home, kid.”
I nodded and strode off through the parking area and along the midway.
We were silent for several minutes as I gulped and sniffed, forcing the tears away.
“He’s an asshole,” Zachary said quietly.
I sniffed harder and picked up the pace.
“He’s been really excited to see you again.”
I glanced at Zachary out of the corner of my eye. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
Zachary sucked his teeth, then spit at the ground.
“It’s a guy thing.”
“Whatever,” I said from between gritted teeth.
Zachary was silent. I guess he’d said everything he wanted to say.
When we arrived at my house, he shuffled his feet.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you.”
“So…” he hesitated. “See you tomorrow?”
I shook my head, and he sighed.
“Okay, see ya, Aimee.”
“Thanks for walking me,” I called after him.
He smiled quickly then disappeared into the dark.
Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen. I thanked my lucky stars that Dad was watching TV in the living room, because I really didn’t want to see the condescending look he was sure to give me, because I was congenitally unable to hide how I felt.
Mom looked up from her magazine, but her smile slipped when she saw me.
“Everything okay?”
I flung myself into a chair.
“Boys are dumb,” I said, choosing that word deliberately even though Kes wasn’t there to hear it.
“What did he do?” Mom sighed.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Pretended like he didn’t care if I was there or not. And he was kind of mean.”
Mom made a grab for the first part of my sentence.
“How do you know he was pretending?”
It was hard to explain, because when I thought about it, all Kes had said to me was, “You’ll scream like a girl.”
“That’s what it felt like,” I answered uneasily. “And his friend said he’d been excited to see me.”
“So what went wrong?”
“He was a jerk.”
I mashed my lips together, refusing to paint my humiliation in brighter colors.
Mom fixed things in her usual way by giving me a freshly baked cookie and a glass of milk.
Shortly after that, I went to bed. My curtains were open and the stars were a glittering feast in the darkness. The weight of disappointment pinned me to the mattress and I let a few tears trickle down my cheeks before I resolved to forget all about Kes.
Of course, it didn’t work out like that, because some time in the night a soft thud woke me up, and a warm palm clamped down over my mouth. My scream threatened to choke me, but then Kes’s grinning face loomed out of the night.
I shoved his hand away.
“Get off!”
He grinned and hopped up onto the end of my bed, sitting Indian-style.
“Told you you’d scream like a girl,” he snickered.
“And I told you that I am a girl. Dummy.”
I knew that was a low blow, but I was too angry to care.
Kes scowled. “I’m not a dummy.”
“You are when you pretend you don’t want to see me and act all cool in front of your friends. You were mean,” I stated, folding my arms across my chest.
His expression softened, but the apology I was waiting for never came. “I’m not a dummy,” he said again.
We stared at each other, his eyes holding their secrets.
I sighed, remembering how much I’d missed him.
“You don’t treat friends like that,” I explained. “I’d been looking forward to seeing you all year and then … well, you were mean.”
“Will you come and see my act tomorrow?” he said, his voice grudging and sullen, as if asking that small favor was almost more than he could bear.
“Do you want me to?” I pushed.
He nodded, but wouldn’t look at me.
I sighed again. “Fine, I’ll be there, but you’d better not be a jerk.”
He laughed quietly, and I could see the white gleam of his quick smile.
“See you tomorrow,” he said.
Then he swung himself out of the window and landed on the ground with almost no sound at all.
I would have doubted that he’d been there at all … except for the fact I was smiling.
Mom’s face showed her confusion over breakfast. She’d expected a sulky, sleep-deprived daughter; instead I was suppressing a private smile and itching to get out of the house.
Dad had left for a sales conference early that morning, so we were all much more relaxed than usual. Which was why Mom just sighed and shook her head when I said I was going to the carnival and would be gone all day.
She tossed me an apple as I squirmed to get away. “In case you want to eat something healthy,” she said, shaking her head.
As if.
I walked down the dusty road quickly, smiling when I saw the poster advertising the carnival. My bare legs were coated with a fine red film, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t see Kes at first, so I collected Mr. Albert and spoiled Jacob Jones with my unwanted apple. I was sure he’d enjoy it much more than me anyway.
Eventually, I found Kes helping set up a small tent draped with colorful scarves. This time he grinned and waved me over, introducing me to the hatchet-faced woman carnie who eyed me coolly.
“This is Madame Cindy, but you can call her Bev.”
I smiled shyly and gave a limp little half wave.
“She’s a fortuneteller,” Kes added, his dimple making a quick appearance before he hid his smile.
I must have looked doubtful because Madame Cindy raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.
“You don’t believe in the Fates, girl? You think you are immune to their perverse laws?”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but her intense stare made me take a hesitant step back.
Kes snorted. “The rubes love it.”
Madame Cindy frowned at him. “You shouldn’t mock, Kestrel, the Fates are listening and they hear your scorn.”
Kes rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand, towing me away. When I glanced over my shoulder, Madame Cindy was still staring after us.
“She’s scary,” I whispered, even though she couldn’t possibly hear me from that distance.
Kes shrugged. “I don’t really believe all that stuff, but she’s a really good guesser. Anyway, she’s Grandpa’s friend.”
The way he said it had an odd inflection and I narrowed my eyes as my feet shuddered to a halt. “You mean, like a girlfriend?”
Kes shrugged and looked away.
“How do you know?”
He pulled a face. “I just know.”
I was shocked to think that someone who was a grandpa could have a girlfriend.
“But … he’s really old,” I scoffed.
Kes shot me a look. “Yeah, he’s nearly 60, and that’s kind of ancient. But I don’t say anything so he doesn’t give me a hard time about you and…”
His words trailed off and I wondered what else he was going to say. He shook the thought away and we sat down in our old spot beside the Ghost Train.
Kes stretched out and closed his eyes, his face peaceful.
I sta
red at him for a moment, then peeled Mr. Albert off my back and lay down next to him so our hands were nearly touching.
“Have you been practicing?” I asked finally.
Kes turned his head and cracked an eyelid.
“Practicing what?”
“Your reading and writing,” I said, trying not to sound irritated. What else could I have meant?
“Ah, not so much,” Kes admitted. “It’s boring without you.”
I sat up quickly. “Then we’d better get started,” I said.
Kes looked at me, and I suspected that his reluctance was more pretend than real, otherwise we wouldn’t be hiding out behind the Ghost Train.
I took him through the basics again, disappointed that he’d forgotten a lot of what I’d taught him the last two summers, but he could still write my name and address as well as his own, and he was proud of that.
Then I made the mistake of showing him a book I’d brought with me that I thought would help him.
He took one look at the pictures and tossed it into the dirt.
“That’s for babies!” he growled.
I twisted my lips to the side, realizing I’d just insulted him. But I wasn’t going to apologize for trying to help him either. Instead, I pulled out my ratty book. We’d finished ‘The Hobbit’ the previous year and had gotten halfway through the first ‘Harry Potter’ as well, so I just began reading from where we’d left off. There was comfort in the magical words, and Kes was soon listening with a rapt expression on his face.
We broke off when my throat started aching and my stomach rumbled loudly.
Kes laughed and sprang to his feet as if his legs were made of springs not flesh and bone like everyone else. He pulled me up and Mr. Albert climbed my body, his very own jungle gym.
When we got to the RV, Con was there, sitting outside in a deckchair. I hadn’t seen him clearly the night before and I was stunned to see how much he’d changed. In the space of a year, he’d gone from being a boy to a man. Instead of the lanky adolescent of the year before, hard muscles and thick shoulders pushed against his torn t-shirt.
The Traveling Man Page 5