Carnival

Carnivals and fairs, like proper federal holidays, serve a very specific purpose on our social calendars—at the same time special and regular. On the one hand, any sort of variation from our standard routine is a welcome and exciting departure into a world in which we don’t have to go to school or work; on the other, we expect them each and every time they arrive allowing us to develop enough of a routine to properly enjoy them. Truly unique events (weddings, graduations, Super Bowl victories) are confusing—we don’t know what we’re supposed to do, and don’t get enough practice to figure it out (unless you’re Larry King or Joe Montana).

A carnival has a further advantage: not only is the day itself unique; the actual activities are sufficiently unordinary to hold our attention. This is why holidays like Independence Day (explosions!) and Halloween (costumes!) will always be better than Thanksgiving (…a bigger meal than normal!) and the like. Where else but the carnival can you win a poorly-made stuffed animal and ride bumper cars? Nowhere, that’s where.

In a town like Clark’s the carnival took on the added importance of providing a rare bit of actual entertainment. Awkwardly sized, the town was big enough to sustain a rudimentary bus system, while at the same time not of a significant enough population to boast a first-run movie theatre. Actual activities, aside from year-old films and an afternoon at the café, could be hard to come by. Even the annual state fair was hosted far enough away as to be prohibitive, meaning that when the carnival set up shop on the outskirts, the town took notice.

Clark took notice as well. He was just old enough to have an idea of what it meant to be adult, without being seasoned enough to actually be one. He was aware of his constraints, but not savvy enough to understand their purpose. And so that spring when the tents rolled into town he never entertained the thought of not attending with Jenny, regardless of the fact that he’d never before cruised the carnival un-chaperoned.

He assumed he loved Jenny; after all, he felt something, and adults apparently felt love, and he was now an adult, so what else was there to think about? Put aside the fact that, until he asked her to join him at the carnival, he had no reason to think she knew who he was—love was love, and he loved her. He had mustered his best eleven-year-old bravado when propositioning her, and had not been the least bit surprised when she quietly nodded “yes.” This was just how things were supposed to work. They would attend the carnival on Saturday.

Being the eldest child, Clark was a bit of a parenting experiment—his guardians were, as it usually happens, making up the rules as they went along and hoping for the best. Unsurprisingly, this led to occasional conflict, as it did in this case. Clark’s casual mention of his weekend plans over dinner on Thursday night led to a standard boundary-pushing back-and-forth, with Clark quite maturely sequestering himself in his study. Obviously, his parents did not understand the importance of Saturday’s events.

But after some consideration, the elder residents of the household began to come around. While they were first-time parents, they were not totally unaware of the town’s upbringing protocols: Clark’s father ran the town’s theatre, and his mother taught in the middle school, so they knew enough about the town’s standard child-rearing protocol. Ultimately, they decided that confining Clark to another carnival of solitude would be counterproductive, a decision Clark found most agreeable. They then retired to their separate quarters for the evening.

The following day, Friday, Clark largely spent in anticipation. Never one to totally give himself over to his studies, he let his mind wander to the unavoidable grandeur that would be tomorrow’s main event. While some outsiders may believe the carnival to be little more than a second-rate state fair knockoff, Clark could see its unique possibility. Tomorrow, as he and Jenny strolled up and down the midway raised from an empty field, the next stage of his courtship would begin. With a little luck, they might even hold hands.

During lunch period, Clark spied his love sitting off to the side with a few other young lasses. From his periphery, it seemed to him that she was watching him fondly as he strolled to his own seat. In keeping with proper decorum, Clark kept his manful gaze forward, striding forcefully across the lunchroom. No doubt, she swooned as he passed.

After staying the course for the remainder of the school day, Clark returned home to prepare for the next day’s romp. After carefully selecting the proper wardrobe, he began to put his bankroll in order. Having accumulated a respectable amount of currency through various odd grounds-keeping-related endeavors, he was sure of his ability to show his lady a properly luxurious time. Soon, having been informed by his mother that the hour was late, he turned in to accumulate the necessary amount of rest. Clark slept soundly.

Rising early the next morning, Clark went about his routine. He took his breakfast (toaster pastries and milk) in the dining room, then freshened and dressed himself. Allowing for a precise seven minutes of travel time, he departed so as to arrive at Jenny’s door at the agreed-upon hour. She lived a few blocks down the street, a straight shot west. After perfunctory greetings, they turned back east for a leisurely three minutes until they reached the bus stop, which was positioned in between their respective dwellings. Obviously, they could have chosen to simply meet at the bus stop, but this would not have been in proper form—to leave a lady to walk unattended would be most out of order.

The bus arrived within an acceptable margin for error, and they prepared to board. With a chivalrous flourish, Clark removed from his pocket proper currency for two fairs. Following Jenny up the stairs, he saw something momentarily disheartening—the city buses to the carnival were operating gratis. But a gentleman never allows himself to be rattled by unexpected events. With subtle precision, Clark returned the coins to his pocket. There was, he thought, a high probability that Jenny would not have noticed the free-of-charge nature of this bus ride, allowing him to reap the benefits of his gesture while bearing no financial cost. Clark took the seat next to her, pleased by his own quick-mindedness.

The bus ride was not a long one, so after a few minutes of pleasant chit-chat the two children arrived at the carnival site and (along with the rest of the bus’s passengers) disembarked. This time, Clark’s noble attempt at payment went much more smoothly, and he escorted Jenny onto the carnival grounds—all noise, flashing lights, whirring rides. The sheer variety of it all was paralyzing, briefly—while both of them had been to the carnival in past years, they never before had been able to direct themselves by their own wills. Seeing this moment as one requiring decisive action, Clark led the way to a nearby fried food stand for some corndog-related fortification. He took approving note of Jenny’s spurning of childish ketchup for the more proper yellow mustard, then dove into his own confection.

The searing pain of the hot breading smashing into the roof of his mouth caused Clark’s eyes to water. Most un-distinguished. A hurried pull on his soda soothed him, and he quickly verified that Jenny’s attention had been turned elsewhere during his moment of weakness. His mouth settled into an uncomfortable stinging, with little raw bits of flesh dangling everywhere like he had been attacked by a delicious cheese grater, but Clark manfully pushed on. He made a couple of wry observations about their surroundings, and was pleased by the relative lack of a speech impediment the infernal corndog had inflicted upon him. Then they turned to wander down the ramshackle midway.

The various carnival games spread out on either side of the path, with semi-enthusiastic purveyors of low-quality stuffed animals barking out their selling points to anyone who happened to amble by. One—a ring-toss game—caught Clark’s eye; after all, Clark was by all accounts the neighborhood’s premier horseshoes player, and how different could this be? Rows of posts extended to the back wall of the rickety stand, getting progressively thicker as the distance grew. A gentleman always elevates his game under pressure, and Clark had no doubt in his ability to gracefully drop a plastic ring around the most distant post—thus earning the handsome panda hanging on the back wall and earning favor with his lady.

After a businesslike exchange of currency-for-plastic-ring, Clark narrowed his gaze on one of the back posts. The sights and sounds of his surroundings dimmed and faded; he was alone with the post. Time seemed to slow. He stood, gauging the weight of the ring in his hand. He envisioned the throw—proper arc, speed, spin, dropping neatly around the post. He drew back and tossed, making sure to maintain the proper follow-through.

It clanked off the front of the post. Too low, by and inch. Curses.

Clark blinked twice, momentarily stunned. Knowing he had an audience, though, he managed to yank himself back into the moment. Composure is key. He put on his best wry grin, shrugged at Jenny, and turned to walk further down the row. He considered trying his hand at one of the other games, but decided that would appear overly desperate. At this point Jenny expressed interest in investigating the rides set up around the perimeter of the carnival, so they turned outward to see what sort of fun could be had.

“Who wants a ride?” bellowed a mustachioed man. Clark turned, and was struck by the character standing in front of the Tilt-A-Whirl. Up to this point, Clark had not taken notice of how bored most of the carnival workers seemed to be. After all, for them, all of these fantastic sights amounted to little more than another day at the office. But this fellow taking Tilt-A-Whirl tickets seemed different. There was genuine enthusiasm in his voice, and a grin framed by a perfectly manicured handlebar mustache. Clearly this was a gentleman from the great vaudevillian tradition.

Clark saw that Jenny seemed equally enraptured by this character’s charisma, so he suggested taking a spin. She agreed, and they approached the entrance. The line proved to be of a reasonable length, and they boarded for the next cycle, the dashing attendant giving Clark a wry wink as they passed. Clark stepped to the side of the Tilt-A-Whirl pod and allowed his fair companion to board, then slid in next to her and pulled the protective bar down over their laps. He noted that, for the first time, Jenny seemed genuinely excited.

And so it began, the pair lurching around in circles and they both tilted and whirled. This was Clark’s first encounter with the ride, having never previously been allowed on due mainly to parental reticence. His father had a bit of a weak stomach. As it turned out, Clark quite enjoyed himself, but tried to keep up a relatively stoic appearance. He couldn’t help but notice how the spinning force was pushing Jenny steadily closer, until they were rubbing shoulders.

The ride came to a stop. Clark lifted the protective bar, but Jenny made no immediate attempt to climb out. He felt her resting her head on his shoulder. Clark stole a glance to his side, and saw that Jenny was smiling contentedly. What was this feeling in his gut? It must be love.

Then, Clark vomited on Jenny’s shoes.