A Really Awesome Mess

by Trish Cook

  “You guys can go on whatever the hell you want,” Tracy said. “I’m going to find some girls.”

  “And who are you tonight?” I asked.

  “I think I’m Hakeem,” Tracy said. “From the ATL, y’all. I’m tryin’ out for the hoops team at state. Gotta get my scholarship on, yo. Make that paper, son.”

  “Parrot them cliché’s, dawg,” Emmy said. “Maybe it’s not everybody else who’s racist.”

  “What the hell do you mean?” Tracy said.

  “Maybe you live in an all-white neighborhood and you do this crap because you hate how different you feel.”

  “Or maybe that’s you,” Tracy said.

  Emmy smiled. “Oh, it’s definitely me,” she said. “But I think it might be you, too.”

  “I think he’s just chickenshit,” Diana said.

  “I am not afraid to go on some carnival ride!” Tracy spat back.

  “Really?” I said. “Because I kind of am. I mean, I don’t have a whole lot of faith in the maintenance of these things—”

  “He’s afraid to be himself,” Diana said.

  “Why the hell would I be afraid to be myself?” Tracy asked.

  “That’s between you and your therapist,” Diana said. “But when you move up a level by identifying that as your core issue, you can thank me. Now are you bitches going to go on some rides or what?”

  Tilt-A-Whirl. Check. Cheesy, completely unscary haunted house. Check. Seats on a big pole that climbed the outside of the pole and then dropped down very quickly. Check. For an extra ten bucks, you could ride the Space Shot, which was a small metal cage attached to two springy cords attached to two giant cranes that shot you like seven hundred feet into the air. I was definitely passing on that ride, but Tracy, who I suspect was still smarting from Diana’s chickenshit remark, ponied up the ten bucks, and once he was on, Diana had to go with him.

  We stood to the side and watched the video feed from inside the cage on a big screen. It was hilarious—Diana laughed hysterically the whole time, while Tracy screamed with a look of pure terror on his face as the cage shot into the air and then bounced on the bungees, up and down for about a minute.

  Of course we all—well, all of us but Jenny, who was not speaking and who had smiled but hadn’t let out a single “whoo” on any ride—teased Tracy when he staggered off the ride. “Dude,” Chip said between guffaws, “your face … you should have seen it. Oh my God I am totally buying the DVD just so I can watch you scream like a little girl—no, sorry, the little girl wasn’t screaming like that …”

  Tracy actually smiled. “Why don’t you put some money down and go on it yourself and we’ll see your face. At least I went on it. I tried something that was tough for me. All you guys did was stand and watch. And at least I’m not puking into a garbage can.” He gestured at Diana, who was hunched over a fifty-five-gallon drum, barfing out the contents of her stomach.

  The noises were horrifying, and I started feeling kind of nauseated myself. And then Diana stood up, wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, and said, “Okay. What’s next?”

  “How about the Ferris wheel?” Emmy said. “It’s a little more … gentle.”

  We ambled over to the Ferris wheel. We stood in the line like everything was normal. And everything was normal for everyone else, but for me, it was definitely not. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might actually pop out of my chest, and this was making it kind of hard for me to catch my breath. It was a cool night but I could feel the sweat popping out on my forehead. “Hey Justin,” I heard Emmy’s voice say. “You okay?”

  “I … I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “I’m … I’m totally freaking out.”

  “Why?” Emmy said.

  “I …” deep breath, “I … well, it’s funny because it’s not like a thrill ride or anything, but this one scares me more than any other ride. Like on the other ones you’re totally strapped in and it’s fine, but this is …”

  “Are you afraid you’re gonna fall out?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m gonna jump out.”

  She looked at me for a long time. “Well. Do you want to?”

  “Not at all. That’s why I’m scared. I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but that’s mental illness for you,” I said. “I mean, okay, like, yeah, go ahead and point and laugh because I’m pretty screwed up and I should be here. Not at the fair but Assland, I mean. It’s like”—somehow I’d started to cry here—“this is something a normal kid should be able to do. Those are not thoughts a normal kid should have. I’m just … I’m fucking broken.”

  Emmy put her hand on my back. It felt really nice. I realized that apart from the odd punch to or from Tracy or Chip, I hadn’t touched anybody or been touched by anybody in weeks.

  “I’ll sit next to you, and if it looks like you’re gonna jump, I’ll punch you in the ‘nads really hard,” she said. “Deal?”

  “I’m just gonna sit this one out,” I said.

  “And live with everybody mocking you about it?” she asked.

  “The key word in that sentence is ‘live,’ ” I said.

  Emmy looked at me for a minute. “What if you go up there and don’t jump? And you don’t even try to jump? What then?”

  “I don’t know. What would happen if you ate something here? Something disgustingly fatty?”

  Emmy paused at this. “I don’t know either. But I will if you will.”

  “You will what?”

  “You go on the Ferris wheel and I will buy state fair food and eat it.”

  “You’re gonna chicken out,” I said.

  “So are you,” she said.

  “The hell I am,” I said, and so, with lots of deep breaths, I stood in the line next to Emmy, showed my wristband to the skinny guy with the acne-scarred face and the scraggly beard who ran the ride, and climbed into this easily–escaped–from bench, and sat there as we went spinning into the air.

  I could feel Emmy watching me even though I had my eyes closed. On about the third spin around, I opened them up and saw the whole state fair below us. It was an awesome sight—lots of tiny people milling around in the yellow, red, and purple glow from the lights on the rides and the fried food stands. “It’s kinda pretty, in its own gross way,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Emmy said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I haven’t jumped,” I said.

  “I noticed,” she said. “I’m a little disappointed I haven’t had the opportunity to punch you in the ‘nads.”

  “Well, we’re not off the ride yet,” I said.

  Emmy smiled—the first real smile I’d seen from her in days, maybe even weeks—and we made two more circuits, and I was just starting to feel kind of okay when the ride stopped with us at the very top. I clenched my eyes shut and gritted my teeth and tried to concentrate on taking deep breaths, but it wasn’t easy.

  “You okay now?” Emmy said.

  “Listen,” I said, “I don’t want you to punch me in the ‘nads, but if I could just hold your hand, totally not in a sleazy way or anything, but just because I need …”

  She slipped her hand into mine, and I squeezed it really hard. The bench swung back and forth, and my eyes stayed shut. I blew a deep breath out of my lips. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Thanks for not being sleazy,” she said, and I smiled, but I didn’t let go of her hand, the one that was anchoring me to the world that existed outside of my head.

  And the Ferris wheel moved a little, then stopped again. And again. And again. When we were at a height where jumping out would only cause nonlethal injuries, I let Emmy’s hand go.

  The scary carny lifted the bar on our seat and we went running down the ramp to where everyone else was waiting.

  “Who’s hungry?” Diana said, and I cast a look over at Emmy. She gave me a little nod.

  “Um. Me,” she said.

  “SO WHAT’S ON THE MENU FOR THE SKELETON?” DIANA CACKLED as we walked toward the food trucks.


  “Um, I’m right here,” I told her. “I can hear you.”

  “I guess I couldn’t see you when you were turned sideways,” she said, laughing even harder. “You kind of disappear that way, you know?”

  I stuffed a bunch of wadded-up bills into Justin’s hand. “I’ll take one of those and a Diet Coke,” I said, pointing to the nearest vendor. The food fumes were wafting around me so much I could practically see the salt, fat, and grease in the air. Everyone else was oohing and aahing over how great it smelled, and all I wanted to do was run away so I wasn’t tempted to stuff my face and ruin all my hard work.

  “No way, sister,” Diana said, grabbing the roasted corn on the cob just as Justin was handing it to me. “You’re not gonna get out of this one by eating a friggin’ vegetable on a stick.”

  Shit. It was the only thing I’d seen that would keep me from packing on the pounds. “Seriously, it’s the corn or nothing,” I told her.

  “Honestly, don’t you see how stupid this skinny thing is? You have no tits or ass left. No guy is ever gonna think you’re hot.”

  “She kinda has a point,” Chip butted in.

  Like I cared what he thought. I had tits and an ass when I was with Mason—with him but not really with him, or whatever the hell we’d been to each other—and look where it had gotten me. Having none was safer as far as I was concerned.

  “Whatever,” I said with a little shrug.

  Justin leaned over and whispered so no one else could hear. “Don’t listen to them. You’re fine whatever way you want to look.”

  I spun around and looked at him closely to see if he was being mean again. He seemed pretty sincere. Thanks, I mouthed at him.

  Somehow, something had changed with Justin. A switch had flipped. Things were back to how they’d been when we first got to Assland—nice, funny, a little flirty—but now there was something extra. Maybe it was that trust we were both supposed to be working on for level two. Maybe we’d figured that one out, at least with each other, up there on the Ferris wheel.

  “Well then, what about your family?” Tracy piped in. “You’re always bitching and moaning about how you don’t fit in with them, but then you do everything you can to make yourself look even more different. Stupid, isn’t it?”

  “It’s already so obvious it doesn’t matter what I weigh,” I told him.

  “Fuck the bullshit, Emmy. It’s time to throw down,” Tracy said.

  “Dude! You just quoted Frey! I mean Frey’s tattoo! I love that guy!” Chip said.

  The rest of us turned to Tracy and Chip like, Huh?

  Tracy high-fived Chip. “That guy who wrote the memoir that really wasn’t a memoir. He’s kinda my hero,” Tracy explained. “Like, he made even Oprah and the whole country believe his bullshit. And anyway, that’s what he has tattooed on his arm. FTBSITTTD. Fuck the bullshit, it’s time to throw down.”

  I thought to myself, Yeah, maybe he’s right. Maybe it is time to try something new. This revenge stuff was getting old. It hadn’t made Mason come back to me, and it certainly hadn’t changed Danny’s life in any measurable way. He’d maybe been embarrassed for a week. As for me, I’d gotten kicked out of school; I kind of hated myself and was starving all the time; I’d messed up my relationship with my parents; and I was stuck at Assland for the foreseeable future.

  “Fine,” I said, a totally badass idea forming in my brain. “I’ll totally go for it as long as everyone else promises to, too. Like Tracy? No lying today. No matter what anyone asks you, you tell the truth. And Chip? No games whatsoever while we’re here. No playing little roulette wheels for prizes, no betting on what horse or pig is gonna win the blue ribbon, nothing. Jenny, you actually have to speak. Not just to me, but to everyone, in front of other people, so Tina knows we’re not making it up. Like … do some karaoke. Or whatever, as long as it’s words coming out of your mouth in a public forum. And Diana? For once, you have to do something nice for someone else. I don’t even care what it is.”

  Diana planted her hands on her hips. “I’m waiting to hear what you’re going to do that’s so great before I decide.”

  I pointed over to one of the gross food trucks. “I’ll eat that thing,” I said.

  “The Whopping Wiener?” Diana asked, a huge smile spreading across her face.

  I nodded.

  “If you’re going to chow down on a foot-long hot dog topped with everything plus the garbage disposal, why not just enter the hot dog eating contest along with my dude Joey Chestnut?”

  It was a completely ridiculous idea. Other than the few I was forced to gag down when I first got to Assland—before I cut the deal that got the guys eating my food on the daily—I hadn’t eaten a full meal in ages, no less downed a zillion hot dogs in a few minutes. I was about to tell her no way when everyone else started chanting.

  “Em-my! Em-my! Em-my! Em-my!”

  “Fine.” It kind of felt like I had friends again, and I kind of liked it—even if my friends here were total psychos and screw-ups. “You’re on.”

  “I bet it’ll be the first time you’ve ever had a wiener in your mouth,” Diana said, waggling her eyebrows at me.

  This sent me into another flashback of me and Mason. In my basement. In his bedroom. In the handicapped bathroom at school. Yeah, I’d experienced quite a bit of what Diana was referring to.

  Diana started pealing out her maniacal laugh like usual, but stopped when she saw the stricken look on my face. “Wait … did some asshole make you do that? I’ll frickin’ kill the douche bag!”

  “He didn’t make me,” I practically whispered.

  “If you didn’t really want to do it, then it’s just as bad,” Diana insisted, even though I’d been perfectly happy to do whatever Mason wanted to when we were together (or I guess, when I thought we were together but he was just using me). “What else did the douche lord make you do?”

  I wasn’t sure whether I was going to laugh or cry, so I ended up doing a little of both: Laughing and crying. “Send him a titty shot,” I choked out.

  Chip stared pointedly at my chest. “But … you don’t …”

  I crossed my arms across my noexistent boobs and let out much more of a laugh than a cry this time. “I used to, about twenty pounds ago.”

  Tracy threw an arm around me. “Truth? I never thought of you as, like, a sexual being before. But now I’m getting kind of horny picturing you twenty pounds ago, getting your freak on with that nasty white boy.”

  I chucked his arm off my shoulder and laughed some more. It felt good, and real, for the first time since Mason got rid of me like so much trash. “I think I’m gonna regret making you tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth for an entire day,” I told him.

  “Too late now,” Tracy said with a wink. “So we’re all in, right guys?”

  Everyone agreed except Justin. “Wait, what about me?” he asked.

  I smiled at him. “You already went balls out today on the Ferris wheel.”

  “I call bullshit!” Diana yelled. “We all went on that stupid Ferris wheel. It was a total baby ride.”

  “Yeah,” I told her. “But Justin was the only one who thought he was going to jump out of it once we got to the top, and he still went on.”

  Diana considered this, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s totally badass. Not killing yourself even when you think you want to. Takes a lot more balls to stay alive, don’t you think?”

  We all smiled because it was the truth: Living did take a lot more guts than giving up.

  I HAD TO HAND IT TO HER. EMMY WENT UP TO THE BOOTH NEXT TO the stage like she did this every day and tried to enter the hot dog eating contest.

  The woman seated in the booth looked like she had won a few eating contests of her own in her day, and she shook her head. “Darlin’, this is the state fair. You don’t just walk up and enter a contest with Joey Chestnut! Every farm boy with a big appetite for two hundred miles figures, well, if that kid can win, so can I. They started signing up right after the last one
ended. And bless your heart, you’re no bigger than a minute. Unless you’ve got a hollow leg, I don’t see how you’d stand much of a chance against this field. Now how many tickets do y’all want?”

  Emmy walked away looking dejected. “Well, I tried.”

  “The contest was a chickenshit move anyway,” Jenny said.

  We all walked on for about two steps before any of us realized that Jenny had just spoken.

  “Wait wait wait,” Tracy said. “You just talked!”

  Chip went up for the high five, but Jenny left him hanging. “I mean. I thought this was, like, we were all trying our things, and you talked, so …”

  Jenny looked at us like it was no big deal, and Emmy was in her face right away.

  “Like hell it’s a chickenshit move! You know what’s a chickenshit move? Not talking for months at a time! That’s what’s chickenshit. Hiding from the world behind a wall of silence.”

  “I’d just like to jump in here and compliment my friend Emmy on the excellent metaphor,” I said, and while neither she nor Jenny even seemed to notice that I said anything, Diana nodded in agreement.

  “Entering an eating contest is a chickenshit move because everybody barfs in eating contests. It’s kind of expected. It’s part of the sick reason sick people watch them,” Jenny clarified.

  “Hey!” Diana yelled. “That’s actually a big part of why I like ‘em. Can’t resist a good puke scene, you know?”

  “So,” Jenny continued, “that way you were gonna get to eat without having to worry about the food staying with you and giving you boobs somebody might actually want to see.”

  Emmy sputtered, and Jenny, seeing her opponent on the ropes, went for the KO. “So the whole time you were giving us a pep talk, you were thinking about how you could weasel out of your thing.”

  Emmy looked kind of ashamed.

  “Damn,” I said. “That is some freaking brilliant manipulation! I would have thought only Tracy could have done that. My hat is off to you. Or it would be, if I had a hat.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Emmy said. “I mean, it wasn’t really a conscious thing. And I’m not chickenshit. Diana. Order me a Whopping Wiener with everything.”