Hurry Hurry! Step Right Up! (Part 2)

There she goes
There she goes again
Pulsing through my veins
And I just can’t contain
This feeling that remains

- There She Goes
- The La’s

It was late August, and the last time the carnies would be in my town until next March.  I was still on this side of the glass - though they felt within arm’s reach. But two busy streets, a forest of trees,  heavy metal gates, and over-protective family members proved to block me from being a part of their world.

And then SHE passed into view.  She had brown shoulder-length hair and huge brown eyes.  She crossed the street, and moved towards the metal gates of the carnival.  She was one of them…she could stay, way out there, where the world forgot time, frowned on misery, and favored happiness.   She was nothing more than a dancing flash of yellow cotton, so appropriate in this summers heat.  I wanted to be out there so badly - I needed to be with real people, and escape the sound of people sobbing just inches from my door. 

I was just fourteen, and looking back now, I realize I was certainly not old enough to know what I was feeling, if I, indeed, felt anything at all.  My leaving no longer mattered.  One constant had been killed by a heart attack, so it was time to make sure that the other constant stayed exactly that.  I went out into the hallway and into the living room.  Most everyone had gone home, and the table was piled high with half-eaten plates of food and mostly-drained plastic cups, featuring nothing but sips of what they once contained. 

No one one was there.  I knocked on my Mom’s door.  Through sniffles, all I heard was, “Not now, Ben, i’ll be out in a bit.” My Mom and my Aunt, could not, so didn not, see me leave my windowed room behind me as i walked towards the tents, smells, and the dancing..  I remmber thinking how they’d be sure to look for me in the morning. 

All the while, I would be taking part in the careful choreography of the raising of the tents, assembly of the monstrous rising rides, and the rehearsals of maintaining the secrecy involved in the false stage-witches and gypsy fortune-tellers.  I passed right through the gates and walked up to the big man with the shirt-turned-said.  He looked at me, “Hi, I’m Ben.”  He stuck out a big, meaty, rusty hand.  I shook it.  He patted me on the shoulder and walked to a nearby tent.  Noise and commotion moved me back to reality.  Dust had kicked up and I covered my face and walked.

The trucks began to pull away, and once, almost even ran me down.  I don’t know where they went, but when gone, the tents stood as they should, as they always did, and according to my hopes, would be forever.  It was proper for me to watch, sitting, cowering really, viewing the carnival, MY carnival as it assembled in my town - and wishing to join them.  Not just be a bystander, like the tourists and watchers that would clog the streets and leave their beer cans near my house, but to actually join them.

I went back to the tent where the man with the shirt-turned-sail walked to, and poked my head through the flap. “Sorry champ, ” said the shirt-turned-sail man, “we don’t open until tomorrow.”
I cleared the nervousness and dust from my throat and said, “I know.  I’m Ben…Ben Carlisle. I live in that house right there.”  I pointed, realizing how ridiculous I must have looked, pointing through a tent that couldn’t be seen through, but i’m sure he knew the house I meant.  He didn’t even blink; he just looked at me like I was annoying him.  “I want a job,” I proclaimed.  I’ve done a lot of proclaiming since then…but that was the first.
“You wanna work for the carnival? Well, the person you wanna be speakin’ to is Anton. Anton Pitrelli. He can put you to work.  Find him in the tent right by the back gate.”

That’s it - I was in.