Or his. Or technically and physically, both, really. Which one was the spare? I didn’t know.
I decided to keep referring to Logan as a her in my brain just because. Until Logan decided which part was the spare, if any.
~~~
After a while, I sat at table by myself. A group of people gave me an invitation to join them in a game of poker but I made up some excuse about being tired from playing mama to a dozen kids. Maybe some other time, I said. They left me alone.
More and more people started arriving and some even sat down at my table so I felt inclined to leave because I didn’t feel like talking. Although talking would have given me a good chance to practice more lying but I didn’t quite feel like it just then. I walked around aimlessly, looking at this worn-down amusement park. Broken glass from the arcade games and enough trash to start a small landfill scattered everywhere. Painted, demonic cartoon characters with smiles stretched across their faces laughed at you from every angle on the walking path.
I might have actually been here when I was really young. I had some moments of deja vu but maybe I was just remembering a commercial that I saw once. The melody of the jingle was playing somewhere in the back of my head.
It wasn’t until the bag seemed to get heavier that I remembered that the boy suggested that I stash my stuff.
I walked further until I got to the water rides. There’s lockers there that I could have used but that was too obvious of a spot.
What I needed was a place that was hard to get to or somewhere that nobody would want to go. The tree house popped into my mind but that was already occupied.
Then I got it. I knew the perfect place to hide my hobo bag but I would have to wait until it got dark. Better I hid it alone than in the presence of that boy, who knew if he was trustworthy.
I thought of his arms. I liked his muscular arms. What I would have traded for a camera to take a picture of them just so I could stare at it before I went to bed. I couldn’t believe I even admitted that to myself. Jim had a camera back at the bath and beauty camp. He took my picture. I looked like such a small, meek little mouse, I made him delete it. He refused. And then its batteries died. Beep beep beep. Dead.
I don't know why, I guess you could call it a fetish, but I have a thing for arms. I loved short-sleeved T-shirts, where you could see just a hint of muscle. Of course, they absolutely had to come with a nice-looking head as well and he fulfilled that requirement.
I needed a name to go with his face. Well, I guess that was an acceptable reason to go talk to him.
~~~
I found a place out of the burning, red sun. I lay down inside the duck pond. No water in its pool, no ducks either. But it still had its awning and shade was a hot commodity around there. Not many places around that gave off shade. Once someone found a nice spot, they tended to sit there the whole day unless bothered with some task from Micah.
I could remember pieces, more like a mosaic than a puzzle, though. I remembered a stuffed bear that I slept with at night. I remembered the wallpaper in my bedroom. I remembered when girl scouts used to sell cookies and not ammunition. I remembered when there were just fifty states. I could remember my moms’ voices and the stories they would read to me. I remembered riding in a car and paisley wallpaper. I almost remembered what money smelled like but not what it looked like. I knew there were presidents on it and a triangle with an eye but I couldn’t tell you which guy was on which bill. My mom had a collection of the paper bills when I was young. She showed me it once and then hid it, since paper money wasn’t used anymore in most areas. She didn’t want me to play with it and rip it up.
I remembered my little fishing game. It had a miniature magnetized fishing pole you’d use to pull out the fish that would spin around and open their mouths. I got so good I could pull out two fish at the same time. But usually one of the little fish would fall back into the pond. Safe. For now.
It ran on batteries. There’s nothing like a fresh pack of batteries. Sometimes with my talking dolls, I’d pretend I was a surgeon or a doctor or whatever and I would resuscitate my dolls back to life with the aid of a battery.
A few odd men were eating some ketchup sandwiches under the shade of a tree, near the octopus that welcomed visitors into the park many years ago until it was bought and then abandoned.
Micah was still working hard on repairing the door on a passenger cart as I walked by.
“They built those gates to keep people who wanted to get in out. Now they use them to keep us in,” he took a huge bite of his sandwich. After swallowing, with a dollop of ketchup in the corner of his mouth, he started again, “This park was the best thing ever when I was your age. I know you probably don’t care to hear any of my old stories.”
“Sure I do,” I lied.
“In elementary school, I was a patrol. We would wear bright orange belts and carry stop signs. We helped the younger kids cross the street. We did that every day, before and after school. I loved it. I loved having a bit of responsibility, plus we all got a free bus ride and ticket to the park. It was one of my happier times in my childhood.”
He tightened a bolt in one of the carts.
“Now, they’ve taken this away from me too!”
He threw the hammer; it dinged off a cart, leaving a noticeable dent.
Micah finished his sandwich and took a swig of water from an emptied ketchup bottle. At least I assumed it was rid of ketchup. Though Micah seemed like the type of guy who would eat weird protein shakes and massive dosages of vitamins, so who knew. He got up and did push-ups with one hand behind his back near the octopus ride.
“Do you know anything about the game?” I said.
“Little. There’s a bunch of rules, but mostly ignored. There are many players, not many winners. When the dice rolls, hope to God it’s not a free trip to Camp Z. Or if a card is drawn, hope that you have a winning hand. Although, it’s already a losing game.” Micah didn’t slow down, one push-up after another without losing pace.
“What is Camp Z?”
“Not good, that’s what it is. Where ya headed?”
“Going to see baby Logan and that guy who helped me find the sandwich buns.”
“Don’t get too attached, now. The deck will be shuffled again soon.”
I walked off. I noticed something flying to the right of my eye and saw that my shirt (baby blue with a V-shaped neck and minimal stains) had started unraveling at the sleeve. Damn thing. I’d had this for a couple of years or so. Now I might have to settle for a dorky oversized T-shirt with a screen print of a walrus or something equally as stupid. Figured that the only brand-new, unworn shirt I had across in years would be something that hideous. I guessed I should be grateful.
His words echoed in my brain, “Don’t get attached.” Whatever that meant. And attached to whom? That guy? Logan? Both? I was getting annoyed with all these cryptic messages. Though I no longer thought it was because the adults wanted to protect me, considering that the chance for bombs and sunny skies were high. Maybe they didn’t actually know about the cards, the games, and Camp Z but just pretended that they did.
~~~
I passed the fun house (it had awful, airbrushed paintings of ugly famous people) to climb up a long and winding wooden staircase. I hung out at the top of the water slides, looking at the baby roller coaster. Why people once loved getting tossed and thrown about by mechanical beasts, I’d never know. And why would they let their kids ride on them either?
I knew I should help out with whatever was going on but I was tired. I wanted to take a nap but I knew if I even closed my eyes for a moment, I would fall asleep and not wake up until tomorrow morning. And that would give someone an opportunity to steal my bag. Maybe I should hide my shoes during the night, too. Nah, I’d just use them as a pillow.
I climbed back down from the slide. I couldn’t see anyone until they were a few feet in front of me. Luckily most people were not around. They must have gotten the theater opened and started camping o
ut in there. I would camp out elsewhere but for now, I was stumbling my way to the front of the park.
It was dark and no lights were on. It was very eerie when you turned around the corner and the moonlight was shining off of some fiberglass bear’s face.
I hoped tree girl didn’t see me. I hoped that she wasn’t nocturnal.
I had reached my most undesirable destination.
The octopus.
It stood tall and proud in the night,unaware of the rotting corpse that it held.
I stood still for about five minutes, making sure I couldn’t see or hear any movement. Then I tied the ends of the bag around my neck like some sort of primitive backpack. Then I shimmied up a tentacle and deposited my goods into the bottom of the passenger box.
I hoped this dead woman’s ghost was still around, hopefully the motherly type, and would watch over my stuff.
~~~
I woke up with the sun poking me blindly in the eyes.
My legs felt awful, my back felt worse. It wasn’t until I took the last painful step on the stairs that I realized I could have just slid down the slide.
I walked around, telling myself that I wasn’t looking for the boy I met the other day, but I was. I found my way to the octopus but I didn’t need my stuff right then. Good thing, because there was Margaret pushing a kid on the swings.
I walked over to the fountain, cupped my hands, and started to drink. It tasted moldy. Probably from the dollar coins that sat on the bottom. Like anyone could buy a wish for a dollar. A dollar gets you nothing. And then I spotted a drinking fountain. The water there was even colder. I felt dumb again.
Then I heard this great big splash.
Well, I’d found the boy.
He appeared to be taking part in some sort of bathing ritual, his shirt hanging out of his pocket. He was rolling and splashing around, like he was fighting some sort of invisible monster.
He saw me, stopped, and said, “Nothing like a nice bath to start off the day. Do you have a smoke?”
Gross. I shook my head no. “I heard it makes your breath smell bad,” I half-teased.
“Do you want to find out?” He did a cartwheel in the fountain, fell down, and was back to battling an invisible monster again. Find out how? By him showing me how to smoke or how to kiss?
I saw people mulling around in a dusty gift shop. I walked on over to investigate and I thought about inviting the boy to go with me but why bother? He didn’t need my invitation.
There was nothing in the store. Well, not much. Key chains, stuffed animals with missing eyes, and fanny packs.
But it appeared that people were stocking the shelves instead of looting.
A skinny man wearing dorky khaki shorts and glasses came into the store with a twelve-pack of lemonade in cans.
Micah saw it. “All edibles will go to the Rock N’ Roll Diner, past the tree house.”
The ginger kid from the bus ride before was in the store with his “adopted” dad. “The tree house,” he whined. “Can I go in there?” he pleaded with big eyes.
But the man shuddered, “Never. I don’t want you going in there.”
He must have stumbled upon the creature as well.
“Nor should anyone go to the haunted house. It’s best that everyone, especially children, stay clear of those areas. We are not alone; this was not an empty park when we arrived.” He lifted a box of something from behind the counter. He opened it and held up an utterly useless key chain.
He rolled his eyes and flung it onto the floor.
The child raced over to it, picked it up, and started twirling it around in his finger. I moved back, out of the store, for I did not care to get smacked in the face by a plastic timber wolf.
I ran into the guy again. He acknowledged me and walked over.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“You can call me Calvin.” He did not look like a Calvin. Not with his long hair and everything. He looked like the type that would mosh at metal festivals. Actually, he looked like the type that would shred on stage at metal festivals.
“Is that your real name?”
“No, but you can call me that if you want.”
“Well, I’m Pearl.”
“People risk their lives for pearls, you know. That’s a fantastic fake name, by the way.” He took my hand and shook it. His hands were twice the size of mine, and divine. They looked like they belonged on the wrists of someone much older.
“It’s my real name.”
He stopped shaking my hand, “I’m not surprised.” He stared straight at me, smiling. Then he burst out laughing. “You’re a hard one to tease.”
“I don’t like being teased.”
“Yeah, well. In my experience, it’s mostly the girl doing the teasing.”
Um, wow. So did this mean he had been with a girl before or is this another joke? Or half a joke?
“Just kidding! Glad to meet you, Pearl.”
“So what’s your real name?”
“I told you my real name, it’s Calvin,” he cracked up.
I folded my arms. This was just getting annoying now. I turned my back and started to walk away when I felt his hand touch my shoulder.
“Okay, it’s John. Dumbass is my nickname. Whichever, I answer to both.”
“Glad to meet you too, dumbass,” I said.
So his name is John. What an unusual name. Well, at least for someone my age.
He smiled a quiet smile, probably pleased to find a girl willing to play his game.
An awkward silence passed. I tried hard to find something to say, something to ask.
Finding nothing at all, another awkward silence passed.
“So, um...do you know anything about cards?” I asked, not just for the sake of asking but trying to poke a hole in the great unknown.
“Like card games?”
“Not much. I heard some men talking about cards every once and a while. But I didn’t get a chance to ask them what they meant. I thought maybe you’d know.”
“No, sorry, I don’t know. Well, from what little I’ve heard of them, it’s best not to have them. I haven’t really heard much about cards. Do you wanna see this thing that I found?” He leaned against a fiberglass trashcan shaped like a clown. Its mouth was actually a hole where people would discard their food wrappings once upon a time. Was this supposed to be a metaphor for something? It was kind of creepy.
Cautiously, I considered what this “thing” might be or what it could reference. It took me half a moment to say, “Sure.”
He smiled and simply said, “Follow me.”
We walked through the park to the end. Once we were almost to the point where people used to line up to get on Something Wicked, he started crouching behind bushes, rolling over to a nearby garbage can, and crawling up a hill on his elbows.
I didn’t follow suit.
“Hey, get down, so they don’t see you!”
I looked around and saw no one. Nothing but empty space with the occasional remains of a ride.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Chances are that they can see you.”
Finally taking my delayed cue, I got down on my elbows and knees and looked over the hill.
“Let’s get closer.”
We did a combination of crawling and running and then hid behind a pillar of a building that people must have used to eat hotdogs and onion rings with their families.
He stood stiffly, nodding towards the waterless water park. “Check it out.”
I looked and saw nothing, at first. Then I saw some movement in the waterless cement ditch, the one where on the brochures you’d see parents lounging lazily on inflated inner tubes.
“I see people,” I replied. In fact, there were several handfuls of people, maybe a couple dozen.
“It’s them,” he whispered.
“Who?” I asked.
“Them. The Nomads. They were here before us. They conglomerate here into one massive swarm.”
“I
imagine the creature is one of them.”
“Who,” he asked, clearly half-listening to me.
“The ‘artist’ back from the tree house,” I halfheartedly teased.
“Oh, yeah,” he was too fixated on what was happening before him than to catch the humor in my comment.
“I don’t ever see anyone of them during the day, except for that one chick we stumbled upon. I wonder if the others back at the theater even know about them yet,” he added.
“The theater?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s where everyone slept. Hey, where were you last night?”
“I guess I missed that memo. I slept at top that one water slide, near that baby roller coaster.”
“Do you want to head back?” he asked.
“Sure.” I followed him back, retracing our steps, minus the militaryesque maneuvers. We started to walk like normal humans once we get back to the sidewalk. We stopped at the theater. On the red and gold shimmering marquee, it said in black block letters, “SUM ER SPECTA ULAR NOON 2:30 & 7:30.”
He turned back to look at me as I followed him into the theater. “The men are working on some of the rides, hoping to get them up and running again. Do you think they can do it?”
“I don’t care for rides. I have never been on any, I mean. Wouldn’t want to.”
“Not even Something Wicked?”
“Especially not Something Wicked.”
~~~
“So what’s on the agenda?” John stopped to ask a man with a big nose and graying hair.
He shrugs his shoulders, “People are starting to eat lunch. Most are apt to explore today.”
John turned to me, the big nosed man was already gone. “Hey, how about you and me go on an adventure?”
“An adventure?” No idea what that could entail.
“Yes, let’s go,” he tugged on my arm. My heart skipped a beat, I thought he was going to take my hand in his.
“Say, it just occurred to me,” he started, “that you don’t have your bag with you. Did it get stolen?”
The War Game Page 3