The Carnival finally came to town.
They arrived during a light morning Summer rain shower, and by the time the tents
were open, and the rides were set up they had a wet glistening hue sparking in
the afternoon Sun, flickering like the facets of a diamond. The humming generators to power the many rides
were hidden away, but the faint noise of electricity could still be heard. An
electricity that filled the air with anticipation as the Sun dripped below the horizon.
Every Summer the Carnival came to
Maynard Point, and every Summer night the carnival grounds were alive with
mystery, infecting the town with mischief and the occasional bar brawl between
the Carnies and the Townies. The smell of machine oil and popcorn wafting
together in the midnight air of crowded cavalcades and promenades in a mixture
of roughnecks and folks, looking for adventures or some respite from the long
hectic hours of road life or the mundanity of small town life.
The flickering lights and flashing
neon, all just an illuminated façade over a dirty and often dangerous ramshackle
collection of various deviants, lifelong Carnies and part-time Roadies. All
hungry for the small town girls and boys with big city dreams to prey upon with
tales of life on the road and their nostalgic romances of bygone times. Shared
over a $8.00 hot-dog and a $3.00 watered down soda pop. A few broken hearts,
perhaps more, left in their wake.
The young boys in town, seeing the
Ferris wheel lit up against the dark summer night sky, playing siren to their
desires for a young girl to ride with, maybe steal a kiss, maybe a little more
as they rode up and over the crowds. A rumble in their loins as the very
thought of that special person of their imaginings actually agreeing to ride
with them. Maybe not who everyone thought. Their fanciful longings lingering on the
potential of young love, lasting forever, all from a kiss on the carnival Ferris
wheel.
Cotton candy fingers, sticky with
sugar and Summer humidity, play boardwalk games, squirt guns filling balloons,
too large basketballs shot into too small hoops, ring tosses for a goldfish
doomed to die in days. Amid the joyful laughter of old husbands and wives,
grandchildren and teens, as a giant stuffed panda toy is awarded to a young girl
at the target range. It’s filled with fiberglass and packing materials, but she’ll
never forget it until her mother crams it into the rafters of the garage once
she moves to college and then Delaware for her job at the hospital. Until then
though, she’ll cherish the padded panda monstrosity, stuffed in a corner of her
bedroom, ignoring that odd smell it gives off.
The headbangers and the gangbangers,
heckle and posture; while big belt buckled cowboys and tight jeaned hipsters wander
through crowds of wildly different political landscapes and ideologies, aware
of each other, but unaware. There’s a line for the Italian Ice and Big MAGA
Galoots and Top-knot Liberals stand in orderly procession. While a seven-fingered
carny fills little ice cream cups and toothlessly smiles at the women in their
jean shorts, charging $6.50 a cup. Little wooden spoons litter the walkways and
seem to trail off in every direction of the carnival grounds like oars for
fairy-boats.
The bumper cars bump and buzz, and
passengers squeal and shout, while a teenage girl takes her first sip of a half
warm beer offered to her by her older brother’s friend as they pretend to smoke
by the back of the ticket counters. She fakes liking both the beer and the
cigarette, but really she just wants to puke and go home and remember what it
was to be young and not so worried about the boys. And if they think she’s as
pretty as Liz.
There’s fireworks on the third
night. Rows of townsfolk ooh and ahh as ½ price fireworks explode dangerously
close to the ground, deafening the older residents who managed to stay out past
eight o’clock, and thrilling the 7 and 8 year olds before they begin to drift
off into light night sleepiness, yet deny they are tired. Teenage hearts beat as high school crushes
turn serious with a night of hand-holding, or break into a million pieces when
during the fireworks they see their special Johnny or Janey making out with
someone else, but they try not to cry, and bite their lip and watch the sky
explode, like their broken hearts.
Three nights and four days, the
carnival carries on like this, electrified amusements crowded between so many
stories. Quickly gone the fourth afternoon, as if run out on a rail, by the
sensibilities of cooler heads and those less inclined to mysterious, perhaps
criminal proclivities. Gone until next Summer and then into memory.
