The circus: Threshold [VII]

Often in the following weeks I occupied my time idly, walking, reading and full of thought, waging one-sided wars with Fas, working and finding my mind becoming further removed from Parsons as it shriveled into an indistinct speck of black hole memory, an automaton with no regard for the present. Fas, Abe and Kat had all started school again, and I opted to work longer hours. With each paycheck I contributed my portion to Mother for assistance in family necessity, the rest squandered endearingly in a round clay pot I'd fired in the 8th grade that bore the inscribed phrase "whistletoe feet" on it - obviously meaning something to me once, the nature of which evaded me now.

My family, preoccupied with usual routine and typically inane banter, was currently high-ridden and giddily awaiting the annual Erid Carnival and Bazaar, held in that town 35 miles to the northeast. Not to be confused with the Erid County Fair which was occurred in June, the carnival was highly anticipated and attracted more spectators and retail booths and attractions for a wild week of small county celebration that I figured must have rivaled that of Mardi gras. By day there was bartering and flea market stands with popcorn and Styrofoam lemonade cups freckling the grounds, while the nighttime aroused the lighted Ferris wheel and the shotgun bursts of game attendants shouting enticement at every smiling, wandering soul. Each year it seemed that all grotesque beings rose from their graven, forgotten dwellings just to visit. An unprecedented swarm of detestable proportion.

It always came the final full week of September - welcomed openly - and in my recollection we'd never missed a year, not after Father died, not when Abel was white with deathbed pneumonia, not once.

It was Thursday night when I found Kat monopolizing the bathroom. Only thirteen and already determined to fancy herself up for prepubescent pseudoromance. It was an age that defied much of my memory, and somehow its importance to her was beyond my ordinary comprehension.

"So, who is it tonight? Jordan, Nate? Who are you trying to impress? I bet it's that new kid who moved in on the other side of the park..." I braced myself in the doorframe, trying to look as intimidating as possible, one hand slung up by the hinges, feet crossed.

"Get out Clay!" Kat shouted, slamming the door as she kicked at my shins and nearly severing two of my fingers.

"I'll be watching you!" I yelled back, laughing and leaping around the corner.

At seven we all piled into the family station wagon, each of us into our respective space - it was fascinating that the thing still ran after all these years - and with a growl it started and we drifted off and up the highway like blood cells through an artery, trailing our grey translucent exhaust in the haze of waning daylight. I was to inherit the car once Mother had saved enough to purchase something else, but that had been the promise since I turned sixteen. Occasionally I drove it on an errand, but only when utterly necessary, as we'd sold Father's truck three years ago and only had this to rely upon.

The hills sauntered by in dull blurry streaks of sagebrush and forestry and earth; Fas was telling Kat about his run-in the week prior with a sheriff whose idea of recreation differed drastically from Fas' own. I chose to adhere to familiar silence, envisioning the boredom that would envelop my evening, and the carnival that marked the occasion of another year's passing, another steady lapse of significance in my simple young life, another frivolous event to occupy the recurring leisure of the unoccupied.

Ah, the fancy town of Erid - visualize Parsons, only add a few thousand more people, fairgrounds, and some additional shopping attractions. Centered in the fencing of the fairgrounds, steel gates protruded skyward and its two thick dark doors were flung open, catapulted in opposite directions.

We left the car seemingly miles away and approached on foot, Near those dark wooden doors, Mother took me by the shoulders and stared the matriarchal stare that attempts to anchor the soul.

"Clay," she whispered over the dawning sounds audible past the entranceway, her green eyes warming me as they always did but equally nurturing a sensation of impending catastrophe, a feeling that made me jerk myself backward from her grip - a movement that provoked a sigh and downward look.

"Just enjoy yourself," she concluded, once more sighing, obviously withholding most of any intended discussion.

"We're all going to be back here at eleven o'clock!" she hollered at the batch of us. "Keep track of the fairgrounds clock's chime - it's loud enough for you all to hear, so be sure to be on time!"

Oh, Mother. What a laugh. She treated us as if we were still small, incapable children. Luckily it seemed that the pressures of single parenthood hadn't exacted much on her, its toll mainly apparent through extreme watchfulness and careful paranoia.

We muttered goodbyes in near unison, with Abe's "See you then!" perceptible as we broke group and went our separate ways.

Hidden deep in my left pocket was a weathered leather pouch I'd found by the haystacks some time ago while scavenging the farm fields. In it I'd placed ten dollars and some change for the night's activities. A silly maneuver, as I wasn't much of a spender, especially at this sort of gathering. There were, however, a few things that could intrude upon my fickle desires.

Rows of booths stretched past the entrance as the far as wandering eyes could perceive, looping about and circling the grounds until almost connecting again. Hours could be spent just observing their varying peculiarities and contents.

A confectionery stand offered varieties of licorice, and I purchased an exquisitely packaged bundle, touted as Australian and authentic. I didn't know any better, but I fancied it all the same.

Enrapturing as this entire event might have been, the night was both suffocating and saccharine, drawing out slowly, a snake encompassing its prey. Acquaintances both recent and historic sought me out, with each minute of our revealing, phony appreciation for each other as awkward as it would sound.

Sure, fine; I laughed, I smiled. But persuasive and convincing this attraction would never be.

Fair little fair in the breadth of nothingwhere, your wiles and tomfoolery cannot sow complacency in me! No, oh no no. No, because I've been reading. I've been dreaming. I've been biding my bides and timing my times, and eventually you will not remember me, little fair, little town, my footprints and I will have vanished and we'll be beyond you and your inconsequential mockery. Mark these words. You'll not see me again.