Short Stories

Michael Fedo: The Carnival

   It was just the way he had pictured it.  The bright lights, the scuffling noises of the mass of moving people, the laughter and the shrieks of those who had dared board the death-defying rides.

   Jerry's heartbeat quickened as he walked along the midway.

"First time, sonny?" an ancient carny called to him.  "Chance your life on this little spin, why don't you?"

   Jerry gazed at the whirling machine high above his head.  "I might late," he said.

"If you're lucky," the carny replied.

   Jerry found himself being swept along with the crowd.  Ahead of him a police officer was leading a young woman by the arm.  She was sobbing and telling the officer she didn't want to leave her husband.

   Jerry hardly noticed. He had more important things on his mind. HE was attending his first carnival, and he had to make the most of it. He inhaled deeply, then reached into his pocket and clutched his pass.

   The crush of the crowd took Jerry several hundred yards south of the main get. Hundreds of attractions awaited the customers.  Jerry sat down on a bench to study a map of the carnival grounds and decided which amusements he wanted to chance.

   No sooner had her removed the map from his pocket than two burly men, struggling with something in a large plastic bag, passed him.  They half-dragged their load to a huge pit and tossed it in.

   Jerry wandered over to the edge of the pit. It was enormous—a hundred yards square and not telling how deep.

"The odds are one in eight you'll make it kid," one of the men said with a crooked smile.  "One in eight today."  Both men laughed and walked away.

   Jerry peered into the pit.  There seemed to be a mountain of black plastic bags rising from the floor of the abyss.  Jerry shuddered briefly, then turned away.

   He didn't look back, but sought cheerier sights instead—the flashing neon lights all about him. The spectacle was breathtaking. Jerry had never in his life been so excited.  But then he would never known such cause for excitement, either.

   He felt in his pocket for his pass and stopped for a drink from a water fountain, then continued along the midway.

   The sky was darkening slightly, but Jerry didn't expect rain.  The forecast had said no rain, and the Weather Control Center was never wrong.

   Jerry got into the line of people who wanted to ride on the Thunder Clapper.  In front of him stood a young man with glasses. He was sweating profusely; although the temperature was on the cool side.

   The young man glanced over his shoulder, "First time?" he asked, nervously rubbing his hands together.

"Yes," Jerry answered.

"Good luck," the man said. "This one's a real killer."

   Jerry saw the contraption resting fifty feet ahead.  "You ever been on it before?"

   The man cleared his throat. "Nope. But I've gone on a lot of the other ones."

"This is my first ride," Jerry said.

   The young man laughed.  "You sure picked a good one for a starter."

"I hope so," Jerry said.

   The riders grew funereally silent as they came up to the boarding ramp. Jerry took a deep breath. He could feel the pulse in his throat. He stepped on to the ramp and selected a seat next to the young man he had met in line.