Meanwhile, Lucy and Jay were flopping like rag dolls, hanging on just above the muck.
The truck eventually came to a stop, and they clung like spider monkeys, eyes closed, breathing hard.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Chapter 66
Sneller had also spotted Lucy as she fled from the port-o-potty. He followed her to the Monster truck, then back to the stage, then lost her when she was taken away by his new singing enemy.
Downtrodden, he stopped at a food cart for some lemonade and deep fried chili fries.
Sip after sip he looked, side to side from underneath his umbrella table, for signs of Lucy. He was very good at following her, even though he was prohibited by law. He had some sort of special geo-location device for her.
Polishing off his chili fries, tossed them in the trash and then used his dingy Texas Rangers t-shirt to wipe off his dripping beard. Dust from his shirt went up his nose, triggering a sneeze. This sneeze triggered a series of sneezes, following by a hacking cough.
He took a huge sip of his lemonade to try to calm his hacking throat, not realizing there were actual lemon seeds at the bottom.
One came up through the straw and lodged itself firmly in his throat.
His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. His hands went to pound his chest. When that didn't work, he began to clutch his throat. He abandoned the lemonade cup and staggered away from the table, in search of another human.
He naturally, when thinking about or following Lucy, steered clear of other human contact. And so, when he sat down to eat, he'd chosen a table in an empty alley, around the corner from any foot traffic.
He was beginning to lose consciousness.
He stumbled as far as he could, thoughts of Lucy flashing through his brain, his eyes seeing blurs and blinking black screens.
This was it.
He had no more air.
He tumbled forward.
He fell squarely on his gut.
The impact of the fall performed a Heimlich-esque manuever, popping the lemonade seed out of his throat. He watched it skipping along the asphalt in front of his face, cheek resting heavily on the ground.
He watched it until it stopped, and he would have closed his eyes then to take a post-catastrophe cat-nap, but he saw two shadows flit across the empty area beyond the seed.
He blinked.
He focused hard, trying to see.
IT WAS LUCY.
AND THE COWBOY.
Downtrodden, he stopped at a food cart for some lemonade and deep fried chili fries.
Sip after sip he looked, side to side from underneath his umbrella table, for signs of Lucy. He was very good at following her, even though he was prohibited by law. He had some sort of special geo-location device for her.
Polishing off his chili fries, tossed them in the trash and then used his dingy Texas Rangers t-shirt to wipe off his dripping beard. Dust from his shirt went up his nose, triggering a sneeze. This sneeze triggered a series of sneezes, following by a hacking cough.
He took a huge sip of his lemonade to try to calm his hacking throat, not realizing there were actual lemon seeds at the bottom.
One came up through the straw and lodged itself firmly in his throat.
His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. His hands went to pound his chest. When that didn't work, he began to clutch his throat. He abandoned the lemonade cup and staggered away from the table, in search of another human.
He naturally, when thinking about or following Lucy, steered clear of other human contact. And so, when he sat down to eat, he'd chosen a table in an empty alley, around the corner from any foot traffic.
He was beginning to lose consciousness.
He stumbled as far as he could, thoughts of Lucy flashing through his brain, his eyes seeing blurs and blinking black screens.
This was it.
He had no more air.
He tumbled forward.
He fell squarely on his gut.
The impact of the fall performed a Heimlich-esque manuever, popping the lemonade seed out of his throat. He watched it skipping along the asphalt in front of his face, cheek resting heavily on the ground.
He watched it until it stopped, and he would have closed his eyes then to take a post-catastrophe cat-nap, but he saw two shadows flit across the empty area beyond the seed.
He blinked.
He focused hard, trying to see.
IT WAS LUCY.
AND THE COWBOY.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Chapter 65
Carlos had lost sight of Lucy when the truck holding her hostage bounced out of view behind a firetruck.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Chapter 64
Meanwhile, Lucy's nephew was waking up in a most unfamiliar place.
This boy loved everything electrical: fans, motors, gears, outlets.
As he came to, he looked around... and he was quite happy with what he saw.
This boy loved everything electrical: fans, motors, gears, outlets.
As he came to, he looked around... and he was quite happy with what he saw.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Chapter 63
Jay and Lucy climbed as far skyward as they possibly could, hanging on for dear life as the pigs roared and the farmers slammed the trailer doors ominously closed.
The darkness closed in around them, punctuated by pig squeals and streaming pockets of light poking through the ventilation holes.
An engine roared to life.
Lucy and Jay's eyes, growing used to the semi-darkness, locked onto each other, and broke into smiles.
The world roared around them.
Their hearts rattled.
Their eyes found quiet.
The darkness closed in around them, punctuated by pig squeals and streaming pockets of light poking through the ventilation holes.
An engine roared to life.
Lucy and Jay's eyes, growing used to the semi-darkness, locked onto each other, and broke into smiles.
The world roared around them.
Their hearts rattled.
Their eyes found quiet.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Chapter 62
Smiles were shortlived.
A sound akin to a heehaw disturbed the almost-lovebirds. Suddenly they were shaking.
Earthquake?
No.
That sound.
Jay and Lucy lifted their heads off the hay to look down past their toes towards the source of the noise. The noise was rapidly coming towards them.
Their eyes widened.
The biggest pigs the pair had ever seen proceeded to continue their sprint into the opened trailer toward them with an echoing cacophony of squeals, oinks, and screams.
Jay and Lucy picked themselves up rapidly, climbing up the trailer walls backwards, together, like very frightened spiders.
A sound akin to a heehaw disturbed the almost-lovebirds. Suddenly they were shaking.
Earthquake?
No.
That sound.
Jay and Lucy lifted their heads off the hay to look down past their toes towards the source of the noise. The noise was rapidly coming towards them.
Their eyes widened.
The biggest pigs the pair had ever seen proceeded to continue their sprint into the opened trailer toward them with an echoing cacophony of squeals, oinks, and screams.
Jay and Lucy picked themselves up rapidly, climbing up the trailer walls backwards, together, like very frightened spiders.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Chapter 61
On the other side of the world, Lucy and Jay ditched a giant monster truck, abandoned and keyless.
They ducked behind a shed, racing for cover, finally choosing a parked, covered trailer full of hay.
Falling breathless into the sweet smelling pile, Jay and Lucy fell quiet, suddenly listening hard beneath the silence.
After a few moments clarity, and discovering no audio evidence that they'd been followed, Jay and Lucy each inhaled a breath, turning their heads in the hay to face each other.
They breathed the longest breaths.
Their wide eyes softened. Their cheeks smiled.
Their souls smiled.
They ducked behind a shed, racing for cover, finally choosing a parked, covered trailer full of hay.
Falling breathless into the sweet smelling pile, Jay and Lucy fell quiet, suddenly listening hard beneath the silence.
After a few moments clarity, and discovering no audio evidence that they'd been followed, Jay and Lucy each inhaled a breath, turning their heads in the hay to face each other.
They breathed the longest breaths.
Their wide eyes softened. Their cheeks smiled.
Their souls smiled.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Chapter 60
Meanwhile, in their wake, a stunned management team stood, jaws open, watching the exhaust and scream trail float behind a rapidly minimizing monster truck.
The crowd, first baffled, then broke into cheers.
This was a planned stunt, they thought, by the most handsome and charming white boy ever.
He could drive MY truck, they thought.
Their roars eclipsed the entire fair.
The crowd, first baffled, then broke into cheers.
This was a planned stunt, they thought, by the most handsome and charming white boy ever.
He could drive MY truck, they thought.
Their roars eclipsed the entire fair.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Chapter 59
Lucy and Jay bounced and bounded down ramps and across alleys, around fences, into tents, trying to escape.
The further they got from those who wanted them, the more they wanted each other.
The further they got from those who wanted them, the more they wanted each other.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Chapter 58
As the bodyguards opened the doors to jump out on the platform and surveil the encroaching estrogen, Lucy's nose flickered.
She tried.
She tried so hard.
And eventually she failed, in that terribly way that happens so often when you try extraordinarily hard to prevent something from happening, and then the very thing you were trying to prevent happens with the excessive combined force of the thing and your misdirected efforts.
BLASHEW!!!!
The end of her sneeze kept going so long you could hum a verse of happy birthday from mouth open (eyes closed, eyebrows up) to the choo.
This was the kind of sneeze that would disrupt an entire church service, and then ripple in echoes of laughter around the room.
Lucy and her sister would have laughed hysterically.
But Lucy opened her eyes post sneeze to see a body guard's face mere inches from her own. He had not yet shut the door.
His face shone and dripped in a most unusual way.
Just when Lucy realized it was actually her snot sliding down his forehead and nostrils, the bodyguard realized who had sneezed on him, and that she was hiding underneath Jay's seat, clutching his left shoe.
The bodyguard's face changed like a wind chime.
Jay, just in time, gunned the engine and sped forward down the exit ramp, leaving his bodyguards on their bums, eating his dust.
She tried.
She tried so hard.
And eventually she failed, in that terribly way that happens so often when you try extraordinarily hard to prevent something from happening, and then the very thing you were trying to prevent happens with the excessive combined force of the thing and your misdirected efforts.
BLASHEW!!!!
The end of her sneeze kept going so long you could hum a verse of happy birthday from mouth open (eyes closed, eyebrows up) to the choo.
This was the kind of sneeze that would disrupt an entire church service, and then ripple in echoes of laughter around the room.
Lucy and her sister would have laughed hysterically.
But Lucy opened her eyes post sneeze to see a body guard's face mere inches from her own. He had not yet shut the door.
His face shone and dripped in a most unusual way.
Just when Lucy realized it was actually her snot sliding down his forehead and nostrils, the bodyguard realized who had sneezed on him, and that she was hiding underneath Jay's seat, clutching his left shoe.
The bodyguard's face changed like a wind chime.
Jay, just in time, gunned the engine and sped forward down the exit ramp, leaving his bodyguards on their bums, eating his dust.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Chapter 57
A swarm of fan girls had grown antsy waiting for Jay to slow-poke it on over to the Chevy Main Stage, and were throwing beer bottles into the air, pulling each other's hair, and fighting for proximity.
As Jay arrived at the designated parking spot, his two bodyguards leapt onto the platform, jumped to the sideboards, opened the doors mid-flight, and launched themselves protectively into Jay's monster truck.
Lucy, hearing a door thump before opening, rolled herself forwards underneath the front seat in the nick of time. Jay felt her head brush against his boots, glanced in the rear view mirror, and sighed with relief.
"We're taking it up," the bodyguards said, buckling their seatbelts.
"Up?!" Jay careened his neck forward to look at the giant display of Chevrolets hoisted at various and incredible heights above ground on a platform behind the stage.
He swallowed.
"That way," the bodyguards said, pointed precariously to the right, and dramatically up.
Jay felt Lucy's hands wrap around his left ankle, and he tucked it closer to her as she closed her eyes.
He secured his seatbelt, tipped his brow to the orange-vested safety worker flagging him up a just-lowered entry ramp, and put it back in drive.
Lucy's face, absurdly close to the bottom of Jay's boot, suddenly flexed.
Oh no.
Her nose twitched.
Please God.
Don't let me sneeze...
As Jay arrived at the designated parking spot, his two bodyguards leapt onto the platform, jumped to the sideboards, opened the doors mid-flight, and launched themselves protectively into Jay's monster truck.
Lucy, hearing a door thump before opening, rolled herself forwards underneath the front seat in the nick of time. Jay felt her head brush against his boots, glanced in the rear view mirror, and sighed with relief.
"We're taking it up," the bodyguards said, buckling their seatbelts.
"Up?!" Jay careened his neck forward to look at the giant display of Chevrolets hoisted at various and incredible heights above ground on a platform behind the stage.
He swallowed.
"That way," the bodyguards said, pointed precariously to the right, and dramatically up.
Jay felt Lucy's hands wrap around his left ankle, and he tucked it closer to her as she closed her eyes.
He secured his seatbelt, tipped his brow to the orange-vested safety worker flagging him up a just-lowered entry ramp, and put it back in drive.
Lucy's face, absurdly close to the bottom of Jay's boot, suddenly flexed.
Oh no.
Her nose twitched.
Please God.
Don't let me sneeze...
Monday, September 22, 2014
Chapter 56
With the blind, narrow-minded, and big-mouthed cowardice common to most terrorists, the three sordid Mexicans crawled out of their gassy pickle-shaped tomb to retrieve the camera bag.
After Lucy bolted, they spotted the camera bag's stroller being abandoned by a spit-up covered mother.
No one was watching.
They made their move.
After Lucy bolted, they spotted the camera bag's stroller being abandoned by a spit-up covered mother.
No one was watching.
They made their move.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Chapter 55
"Your parents told you that?" Jay managed to say, both hands on the wheel, one eye in the rear view mirror.
"No!" Lucy exclaimed, shocked. "They would never threaten me."
She described the two men to Jay, who grew increasingly irate.
By the time he parked the truck in front of the Chevy Main Stage, his blood reached two hundred and twelve degrees.
"No!" Lucy exclaimed, shocked. "They would never threaten me."
She described the two men to Jay, who grew increasingly irate.
By the time he parked the truck in front of the Chevy Main Stage, his blood reached two hundred and twelve degrees.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Chapter 54
As the engine hum began to sound like a friendly rhythm, Lucy gathered courage to speak.
"They told me to stay away from you," she whispered.
"What?!" Jay shouted, letting go of the wheel to spin round and give her his full attention.
An exterior shriek reminded him he could kill someone... so he whipped back around to face forward, yanking the wheel to steer the truck off its collision course with a cotton candy cart.
Both white knuckle hands on the wheel, he let his voice go to her, eyes straight ahead.
"They said what?" he said, low, almost a growl.
Pause.
"They told me to stay away from you," she fought a wet frog in the back of her throat, rumbling and threatening to sob. "Or else."
His white knuckles turned red.
"They told me to stay away from you," she whispered.
"What?!" Jay shouted, letting go of the wheel to spin round and give her his full attention.
An exterior shriek reminded him he could kill someone... so he whipped back around to face forward, yanking the wheel to steer the truck off its collision course with a cotton candy cart.
Both white knuckle hands on the wheel, he let his voice go to her, eyes straight ahead.
"They said what?" he said, low, almost a growl.
Pause.
"They told me to stay away from you," she fought a wet frog in the back of her throat, rumbling and threatening to sob. "Or else."
His white knuckles turned red.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Chapter 53
Paralyzed by fear, Lucy lay in the back of the pickup truck.
Egged on by the crowd and his manager's evil eyes, Jay began to drive at two and a half miles per hour toward his intended destination.
It took everything he had not to veer off course, gun it, and take this fledgling love far far away from all this madness.
Egged on by the crowd and his manager's evil eyes, Jay began to drive at two and a half miles per hour toward his intended destination.
It took everything he had not to veer off course, gun it, and take this fledgling love far far away from all this madness.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Chapter 52
Across the park, three fake Mexicans were in a pickle.
On strict instructions from their boss, they were to apprehend Lucy's camera, specifically its memory card, and destroy it.
They'd sweatily traversed the entire park before discovering members of Lucy's family in the greenhouse.
To monitor the exit and remain unseen, they clamored, one after another, into a large papier mache three dimensional pickle billboard directly in front of the greenhouse.
They poked minute holes through the eye-level pickle bumps and waited for their opportunity to snatch.
Unfortunately, with the ant-like activity inside the greenhouse, they could barely keep up with Lucy's whereabouts and which of the two identical strollers housed Lucy's camera bag.
After thirty minutes, the pickle began to overheat.
The three fake Mexicans began to breathe heavier.
The three fake Mexicans' stomachs began to rumble.
The three fake Mexicans had to make a decision about whether to ruin the pickle or abandon their posts for a bathroom stall.
Stupid Tex-Mex.
On strict instructions from their boss, they were to apprehend Lucy's camera, specifically its memory card, and destroy it.
They'd sweatily traversed the entire park before discovering members of Lucy's family in the greenhouse.
To monitor the exit and remain unseen, they clamored, one after another, into a large papier mache three dimensional pickle billboard directly in front of the greenhouse.
They poked minute holes through the eye-level pickle bumps and waited for their opportunity to snatch.
Unfortunately, with the ant-like activity inside the greenhouse, they could barely keep up with Lucy's whereabouts and which of the two identical strollers housed Lucy's camera bag.
After thirty minutes, the pickle began to overheat.
The three fake Mexicans began to breathe heavier.
The three fake Mexicans' stomachs began to rumble.
The three fake Mexicans had to make a decision about whether to ruin the pickle or abandon their posts for a bathroom stall.
Stupid Tex-Mex.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Chapter 51
Every time it rains outside her family's house, a familiar frog begins a peculiar trek.
Back and forth from one end of Lucy's street to the other, this frog hops, making a beeline down the exact center of the street.
He hops high, and he keeps going, back and forth, back and forth, until the rain that began has met its end, and then he disappears.
Lucy, laying in the back floor of a monster truck, felt her tears going back and forth, back and forth from her throat to her eyes.
She closed both, trying to keep it hopping back and forth, not spilling over. She clenched her fists, trying to figure out why that frog hopped.
Was he completely overjoyed? Was he frightened?
Was he waiting for his world to drown?
She opened her eyes, and saw Jay.
Back and forth from one end of Lucy's street to the other, this frog hops, making a beeline down the exact center of the street.
He hops high, and he keeps going, back and forth, back and forth, until the rain that began has met its end, and then he disappears.
Lucy, laying in the back floor of a monster truck, felt her tears going back and forth, back and forth from her throat to her eyes.
She closed both, trying to keep it hopping back and forth, not spilling over. She clenched her fists, trying to figure out why that frog hopped.
Was he completely overjoyed? Was he frightened?
Was he waiting for his world to drown?
She opened her eyes, and saw Jay.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Chapter 50
Lucy, still slightly asleep, was jolted awake as she ricocheted forward, then slammed into the seat back.
Jay whipped around to see what bird he'd flown.
It was his bird.
His alarm turned to joy turned to concern.
He put his monster in park, unbuckled his seatbelt, and began to jump over the seat back to rescue her.
Shaken to life from dream, she initially saw his face peek over in one of those glowing white orb lights of a dream.
She smiled.
As her brain woke up, her smile turned into dismay, and then into fear.
She put her hand up, motioning Jay to stop. He paused, poised to leap.
As the tears began to escape from her eyes, Jay's heart convulsed. He wanted to suction every sadness she had ever felt out of her heart.
He wanted to save her.
Jay whipped around to see what bird he'd flown.
It was his bird.
His alarm turned to joy turned to concern.
He put his monster in park, unbuckled his seatbelt, and began to jump over the seat back to rescue her.
Shaken to life from dream, she initially saw his face peek over in one of those glowing white orb lights of a dream.
She smiled.
As her brain woke up, her smile turned into dismay, and then into fear.
She put her hand up, motioning Jay to stop. He paused, poised to leap.
As the tears began to escape from her eyes, Jay's heart convulsed. He wanted to suction every sadness she had ever felt out of her heart.
He wanted to save her.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Chapter 49
Lucy started watching the rainbows inside her eyelids. Her stomach began to growl.
She squeezed her legs tighter to her chest, thinking about how her grandmother used to eat onions like apples.
Onion Rings would be awesome right about now. She smiled, seeing Onion Rings inside her eyelids now. With ketchup.
After a few minutes, the endorphins of imaginary eating began to kick in. The adrenaline fate left her nervous system ready for a crash.
She hugged her knees, smiled, and fell asleep.
Approximately nine minutes later Jay climbed into the cab, paused to wave at thirty television crews below, and buckled himself into the driver's seat.
He closed his eyes.
Sigh.
Grasping a hand-sized key with white knuckles, Jay said a prayer and almost strained a muscle trying to start the engine. It came to life with a lurch, a grind, a squeal, and a splat, the latter two being Lucy, bluntly awoken from her nap and thrown into the floorboard behind Jay's seat.
He slammed on the brakes.
She squeezed her legs tighter to her chest, thinking about how her grandmother used to eat onions like apples.
Onion Rings would be awesome right about now. She smiled, seeing Onion Rings inside her eyelids now. With ketchup.
After a few minutes, the endorphins of imaginary eating began to kick in. The adrenaline fate left her nervous system ready for a crash.
She hugged her knees, smiled, and fell asleep.
Approximately nine minutes later Jay climbed into the cab, paused to wave at thirty television crews below, and buckled himself into the driver's seat.
He closed his eyes.
Sigh.
Grasping a hand-sized key with white knuckles, Jay said a prayer and almost strained a muscle trying to start the engine. It came to life with a lurch, a grind, a squeal, and a splat, the latter two being Lucy, bluntly awoken from her nap and thrown into the floorboard behind Jay's seat.
He slammed on the brakes.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Chapter 48
Lucy read thirty seven messages of love and gratitude and apology and condescension and nagging and regret from her mother upside down.
Whether it was her topsy turvy position, stuck upside down through a monster truck's sunroof, or the barrage of emoticons beeping into her brain via her eyes, Lucy suddenly felt flush with blood to her head.
She precariously tipped her feet upward, trying to dislodge herself from gravity with gravity.
If only she had the keys, she could turn on the engine, stretch for the control panel, and open the sunroof a little more so she could squeak through.
But the crowd like mice at the far end of the earth began to move from that busy corner of the truck pavilion toward hers, and Lucy worried.
No one was above her, but still: what if they saw her underwear?
She'd better squeeze.
Sucking in her insides until she felt inside out, Lucy closed her eyes and pushed.
Plop.
Landing in the backseat, she flipped her hair out of her face, hugged her phone, and curled up into the fetal position, eyes closed, to ponder her next move.
Where do you go when everyone wants you and nobody knows you?
Downtruck, Jay was thinking the same.
Whether it was her topsy turvy position, stuck upside down through a monster truck's sunroof, or the barrage of emoticons beeping into her brain via her eyes, Lucy suddenly felt flush with blood to her head.
She precariously tipped her feet upward, trying to dislodge herself from gravity with gravity.
If only she had the keys, she could turn on the engine, stretch for the control panel, and open the sunroof a little more so she could squeak through.
But the crowd like mice at the far end of the earth began to move from that busy corner of the truck pavilion toward hers, and Lucy worried.
No one was above her, but still: what if they saw her underwear?
She'd better squeeze.
Sucking in her insides until she felt inside out, Lucy closed her eyes and pushed.
Plop.
Landing in the backseat, she flipped her hair out of her face, hugged her phone, and curled up into the fetal position, eyes closed, to ponder her next move.
Where do you go when everyone wants you and nobody knows you?
Downtruck, Jay was thinking the same.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Chapter 47
Lucy, meanwhile, still sobbing in a port-o-john, began to hear other things besides the ruckus of people outside the door.
A faint beeping from the area of her nether regions at first rolled off her ears like lint, and then, through its persistence, penetrated her ear drum like fire.
There was a beep coming from her bum.
Lucy let go of her face and wiped her tear stained hands on her dress, then froze to wait for a beep.
If only she had an echolocation device.
Wait.
Wait.
BEEP.
Beep.
Beep.
Lucy stood up, eyes still adjusting to the darkness of the room sans tears.
Beep beep beep.
It couldn't be.
But those men had said, "Or else."
That was a threat.
They meant business.
Who knows what they would do.
And this beeping, it sounded like something... not a microwave exactly, but something Lucy had heard somewhere before.
She suddenly had a flash of MacGyver's face across her brain. And then the A-team. And then Daniel Craig.
What was it they all had in common?
Think, Lucy, think.
BEEP.
A bomb!!!!
Bombs beeped. They beeped before they blew up and killed you!!!
Lucy hit the wall of the port-o-john so hard that it actually rocked on its axis.
Fumbling around in the darkness, she finally found the locked latch and released it.
She hit the ground like a beast, running on all fours at first, then after a collision with a Jay Walker and the Texas Rangers sign while looking back at the port-o-john to see if it had exploded yet, she rolled to her feet and ran.
She ran.
After a long time and a single breath, she made it to a Monster Truck display.
High, she thought. I need to get high, so those men can't find me and try to blow me up again.
Seeing a crowd gathered to one side of the massive outdoor pavilion, she scooted toward an abandoned corner with the largest most colorful truck, and climbed, tire tread by tire tread, until she was in the back of the truck.
And in Texas, when you say back of the truck, you don't mean back seat. You mean bed.
She laid down, face up, closed her eyes and caught her breath.
BEEP.
Lucy opened her eyes and saw white above her. Have I died? No, it's the tent. Yikes, it's a bomb. They knew I'd come here. How'd they know? I don't know. Get away, get away... Quick!
She leapt to her feet and, realizing she wouldn't be able to climb down fast enough, decided to await her fate in a fetal shaped ball in the front seat of the truck. At least it probably had an air bag to cushion the blow.
The doors were locked. She would have to jump for it.
An open sun roof on top of the cab let her try.
She jumped.
She soared.
She partially made it.
Her body hung through the sunroof, upside down, face first, butt out in the air underneath the big white tent, feet flapping in the breeze. She was stuck.
She sighed.
And then something fell from the sky. From above her head, near the roof of the cab, her cell phone slid out of her upside down pocket and clonked her on the chin.
Her cell phone.
It came to rest on the driver's seat, face up.
It beeped.
Oh, she thought.
A message from my Mom.
A faint beeping from the area of her nether regions at first rolled off her ears like lint, and then, through its persistence, penetrated her ear drum like fire.
There was a beep coming from her bum.
Lucy let go of her face and wiped her tear stained hands on her dress, then froze to wait for a beep.
If only she had an echolocation device.
Wait.
Wait.
BEEP.
Beep.
Beep.
Lucy stood up, eyes still adjusting to the darkness of the room sans tears.
Beep beep beep.
It couldn't be.
But those men had said, "Or else."
That was a threat.
They meant business.
Who knows what they would do.
And this beeping, it sounded like something... not a microwave exactly, but something Lucy had heard somewhere before.
She suddenly had a flash of MacGyver's face across her brain. And then the A-team. And then Daniel Craig.
What was it they all had in common?
Think, Lucy, think.
BEEP.
A bomb!!!!
Bombs beeped. They beeped before they blew up and killed you!!!
Lucy hit the wall of the port-o-john so hard that it actually rocked on its axis.
Fumbling around in the darkness, she finally found the locked latch and released it.
She hit the ground like a beast, running on all fours at first, then after a collision with a Jay Walker and the Texas Rangers sign while looking back at the port-o-john to see if it had exploded yet, she rolled to her feet and ran.
She ran.
After a long time and a single breath, she made it to a Monster Truck display.
High, she thought. I need to get high, so those men can't find me and try to blow me up again.
Seeing a crowd gathered to one side of the massive outdoor pavilion, she scooted toward an abandoned corner with the largest most colorful truck, and climbed, tire tread by tire tread, until she was in the back of the truck.
And in Texas, when you say back of the truck, you don't mean back seat. You mean bed.
She laid down, face up, closed her eyes and caught her breath.
BEEP.
Lucy opened her eyes and saw white above her. Have I died? No, it's the tent. Yikes, it's a bomb. They knew I'd come here. How'd they know? I don't know. Get away, get away... Quick!
She leapt to her feet and, realizing she wouldn't be able to climb down fast enough, decided to await her fate in a fetal shaped ball in the front seat of the truck. At least it probably had an air bag to cushion the blow.
The doors were locked. She would have to jump for it.
An open sun roof on top of the cab let her try.
She jumped.
She soared.
She partially made it.
Her body hung through the sunroof, upside down, face first, butt out in the air underneath the big white tent, feet flapping in the breeze. She was stuck.
She sighed.
And then something fell from the sky. From above her head, near the roof of the cab, her cell phone slid out of her upside down pocket and clonked her on the chin.
Her cell phone.
It came to rest on the driver's seat, face up.
It beeped.
Oh, she thought.
A message from my Mom.
Chapter 46
Lucy's mother sat on a bench in a sad little greenhouse, texting her beloved daughter.
After typing everything she could think of in one long epic apology text, she put her phone in her pocket and folded her hands.
Every thirty seconds thereafter she would think of something else to say, pull out her cell phone, and send Lucy another quick text.
Finally satiated with her sorry, she lifted her eyes towards the Greenhouse door, looking past her other daughter, her son, her grandchildren, into the wild blue yonder.
Backlit by bright sunshine, a human shape appeared in her field of vision, coming through the double doors like a breath of fresh air.
Her husband.
They would celebrate 35 years together in September.
He walked directly towards her, across the tropics, and with each step his bright smile faded a little more until he was upon her with a worried, downcast haze.
She looked up at him.
He sat down.
She reached out for his hand.
"She knows about California," she said.
He sighed.
"Where is she?" he said.
"I don't know."
After a long pause punctuated by a flat train engine choo chooing above their heads, she spoke again.
"She wants to be so independent," she said, close to tears.
"You worry about her too much," he said, looking at her for a nanosecond, squeezing her hand forever.
She looked back at him.
"Hello kettle," she said. "I'm pot."
They both smiled, and sighed, and stopped smiling.
They held hands for the longest time, gazing out those greenhouse doors at the world who wanted their daughter.
They wanted her first.
After typing everything she could think of in one long epic apology text, she put her phone in her pocket and folded her hands.
Every thirty seconds thereafter she would think of something else to say, pull out her cell phone, and send Lucy another quick text.
Finally satiated with her sorry, she lifted her eyes towards the Greenhouse door, looking past her other daughter, her son, her grandchildren, into the wild blue yonder.
Backlit by bright sunshine, a human shape appeared in her field of vision, coming through the double doors like a breath of fresh air.
Her husband.
They would celebrate 35 years together in September.
He walked directly towards her, across the tropics, and with each step his bright smile faded a little more until he was upon her with a worried, downcast haze.
She looked up at him.
He sat down.
She reached out for his hand.
"She knows about California," she said.
He sighed.
"Where is she?" he said.
"I don't know."
After a long pause punctuated by a flat train engine choo chooing above their heads, she spoke again.
"She wants to be so independent," she said, close to tears.
"You worry about her too much," he said, looking at her for a nanosecond, squeezing her hand forever.
She looked back at him.
"Hello kettle," she said. "I'm pot."
They both smiled, and sighed, and stopped smiling.
They held hands for the longest time, gazing out those greenhouse doors at the world who wanted their daughter.
They wanted her first.
Chapter 45
Manager's cell phone twerped, and he, still mulling over the problem of the gobsmacked audience and his capricious country star, absentmindedly plucked it from his pocket.
As he began to read the Google alert flicking across the screen, his eyes widened, bigger and bigger until his face looked like he'd just pooped worms.
A YouTube video just posted of Jay's rogue pop/jazz/crooner (re: decidedly anti-country) ballad had already raked in three and a half million views.
"What is it?" Jay asked, not caring. His deflated heart was quietly exploding all over the St. Augustine underneath his blue jean-ed bum.
"Nothing." Manager was in full on methamphetamine mode. "Let's go."
He flipped Jay's discarded cowboy hat off the ground with his boot, catching it midair and brushing off the dust in one fast left-handed motion, and grabbing Jay by the ear with his other hand.
Jay winced but stood anyway.
Manager smacked him in the belly with his own hat.
"Come on, Walker, get it together," he said.
Jay put on his hat.
They were headed to a post-concert press briefing at the Monster Truck display, where Jay would be photographed driving a Chevrolet.
Promotional consideration.
As he began to read the Google alert flicking across the screen, his eyes widened, bigger and bigger until his face looked like he'd just pooped worms.
A YouTube video just posted of Jay's rogue pop/jazz/crooner (re: decidedly anti-country) ballad had already raked in three and a half million views.
"What is it?" Jay asked, not caring. His deflated heart was quietly exploding all over the St. Augustine underneath his blue jean-ed bum.
"Nothing." Manager was in full on methamphetamine mode. "Let's go."
He flipped Jay's discarded cowboy hat off the ground with his boot, catching it midair and brushing off the dust in one fast left-handed motion, and grabbing Jay by the ear with his other hand.
Jay winced but stood anyway.
Manager smacked him in the belly with his own hat.
"Come on, Walker, get it together," he said.
Jay put on his hat.
They were headed to a post-concert press briefing at the Monster Truck display, where Jay would be photographed driving a Chevrolet.
Promotional consideration.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Chapter 44
Jay frantically searched high and low for Lucy, eventually making his way into an empty circus striped puppet tent. His manager sat on the only chair, in the center of the room, hands folded on his knee, calmly watching Jay.
Jay exploded.
"Did you see the girl? Where is she?"
After a long 15 second pause, the manager calmly looked into Jay's frantic eyes.
"What exactly was that?" he asked, his anger threatening to boil.
Jay, already almost through the curtain on his way out, turned to look. He held onto the striped tent flap with his left hand.
"Did you know your record deal could be gone faster than these people fry beer? And what would your father think of you then?" The manager childed Jay like a child.
Jay let the flap fall, his hand tucking into his pocket.
He stared at stripes for a long time. Finally turning to face his music, he closed his eyes.
"How are we going to fix this with your fans?" his manager said, shaking his head.
Jay opened his eyes.
Jay exploded.
"Did you see the girl? Where is she?"
After a long 15 second pause, the manager calmly looked into Jay's frantic eyes.
"What exactly was that?" he asked, his anger threatening to boil.
Jay, already almost through the curtain on his way out, turned to look. He held onto the striped tent flap with his left hand.
"Did you know your record deal could be gone faster than these people fry beer? And what would your father think of you then?" The manager childed Jay like a child.
Jay let the flap fall, his hand tucking into his pocket.
He stared at stripes for a long time. Finally turning to face his music, he closed his eyes.
"How are we going to fix this with your fans?" his manager said, shaking his head.
Jay opened his eyes.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Chapter 43
Lucy found herself in a musty port-o-potty with two very large humans.
After what seemed like an eternity of adjustment, Lucy's eyes began to flex their muscles, allowing her to see gradually after being thrust from the bright sunlight into an unsanitary and crowded plastic water closet.
When her pupils focused on the two gruff faces towering near the ceiling, she wished she was blind.
Their angry, rough, exceptionally threatening countenances peered down on in with distorted depth perception so that their heads looked even larger than they were, which already were quite large, having actually been appointed to their positions because of their size.
Lucy felt very, very small. She almost lost her knee strength, beginning to sink down away, away, from doom.
A slight rustle from a fecal-feasting animal down below her buttocks stopped her descent in its tracks.
She bolted upright, accidentally bumping bellies with her captors.
They didn't speak for ages.
Having been instructed by Jay's manager to keep her quiet for as long as possible before letting her go, they merely stood and stared at her, watching her lips and eyes quiver like flibbertigibbets.
Five fearful minutes later they issued her an ultimatum.
She must never look Jay in the face again, or she would end up below the port-o-potty, instead of in it.
And he must never see her again, either.
Not ever.
The men left the john.
Lucy sat down and cried.
After what seemed like an eternity of adjustment, Lucy's eyes began to flex their muscles, allowing her to see gradually after being thrust from the bright sunlight into an unsanitary and crowded plastic water closet.
When her pupils focused on the two gruff faces towering near the ceiling, she wished she was blind.
Their angry, rough, exceptionally threatening countenances peered down on in with distorted depth perception so that their heads looked even larger than they were, which already were quite large, having actually been appointed to their positions because of their size.
Lucy felt very, very small. She almost lost her knee strength, beginning to sink down away, away, from doom.
A slight rustle from a fecal-feasting animal down below her buttocks stopped her descent in its tracks.
She bolted upright, accidentally bumping bellies with her captors.
They didn't speak for ages.
Having been instructed by Jay's manager to keep her quiet for as long as possible before letting her go, they merely stood and stared at her, watching her lips and eyes quiver like flibbertigibbets.
Five fearful minutes later they issued her an ultimatum.
She must never look Jay in the face again, or she would end up below the port-o-potty, instead of in it.
And he must never see her again, either.
Not ever.
The men left the john.
Lucy sat down and cried.
Chapter 42
Lucy's pause, reflected in an entire audience, meandered over to Jay's manager, who'd been on his cell phone again.
With fire eyes cooled by a completely numb tongue, Manager took off his glasses, staring at Jay's profile.
Jay's band stood stalwart, too, open-mouthed and exceedingly confused.
From out of Jay's mouth came a melody not even remotely country. If music genres were politics, this brand new tune was decidedly partisan, and moreover was antithetically non-country and western.
His words dripped, agave nectar flow, sweet acoustic guitar strings plinking almost like a harp.
The crowd ceased everything: breathing, laughing, cheering, screaming, smiling, swooning. They stood like cocknied zombies, half buzzed on fried beer and fully confused at the un-boot-scootable-tune somehow being broadcast to their ears on Texas air space.
Lucy was the only one who eventually cracked a smile. It crept into her ears first, and then her heart. One side of her mouth began to flick itself slowly nearer to her nose, trying to fly.
Near the end of the song, Jay spotted her, a beacon of pink light at the end of a tunnel of dull dirt-colored darkness. Backlit by sun and front light by a beaming half smile, Jay fell even more in love with her. His lovesick, forlorn intonation suddenly flipped upwards to fulfillment.
Smiling through the last phrase and delightfully striking the final notes, Jay left his guitar on stage and bolted, straight forward, across the barrier, flinging his cowboy hat into the crushed and quiet crowd, directly toward Lucy's glowing light.
Suddenly a shadow passed in front of her, a small crowd of intoxicated and rather large Texans. Jay sidestepped to duck around them, eager to hold her in his arms.
But when he emerged from its edge, she was gone.
She was very gone.
With fire eyes cooled by a completely numb tongue, Manager took off his glasses, staring at Jay's profile.
Jay's band stood stalwart, too, open-mouthed and exceedingly confused.
From out of Jay's mouth came a melody not even remotely country. If music genres were politics, this brand new tune was decidedly partisan, and moreover was antithetically non-country and western.
His words dripped, agave nectar flow, sweet acoustic guitar strings plinking almost like a harp.
The crowd ceased everything: breathing, laughing, cheering, screaming, smiling, swooning. They stood like cocknied zombies, half buzzed on fried beer and fully confused at the un-boot-scootable-tune somehow being broadcast to their ears on Texas air space.
Lucy was the only one who eventually cracked a smile. It crept into her ears first, and then her heart. One side of her mouth began to flick itself slowly nearer to her nose, trying to fly.
Near the end of the song, Jay spotted her, a beacon of pink light at the end of a tunnel of dull dirt-colored darkness. Backlit by sun and front light by a beaming half smile, Jay fell even more in love with her. His lovesick, forlorn intonation suddenly flipped upwards to fulfillment.
Smiling through the last phrase and delightfully striking the final notes, Jay left his guitar on stage and bolted, straight forward, across the barrier, flinging his cowboy hat into the crushed and quiet crowd, directly toward Lucy's glowing light.
Suddenly a shadow passed in front of her, a small crowd of intoxicated and rather large Texans. Jay sidestepped to duck around them, eager to hold her in his arms.
But when he emerged from its edge, she was gone.
She was very gone.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Chapter 41
When Lucy liberated her afternoon, she left everything except her cell phone tucked into its forgotten home in her camera bag in the stroller's nether regions.
Jay thought about her relentlessly.
Perched on the inside of a dressing room wall, he let his head fall back, closing his eyes, drowning out sounds of his manager making plans and giving commands.
His first set started in 90 seconds.
Lucy, with tears in her eyes, speed walked through the madness of the Midway, lost in her thoughts, hearing sirens and hammer blows and watching scary teenage cowboy goths carry giant monkeys over their shoulders like comrades.
Jay braced himself for a freefall.
"60 seconds," his manager directed, smashing a well-worn and highly embellished cowboy hat down upon Jay's bowed head.
Lifting his head, Jay's eyes were almost gray.
He was blue.
"You know he's never come before," his manager said. "I don't know why you'd be so upset now."
He put his arm on Jay's.
"Buck up, cowboy," he said, patting him hard. "You're on."
Jay exited a door, climbed some steps, heard cheering like the muted roar of cherry bombs in his ears, and raised an arm and a flashy smile to greet three hundred screaming fans. His legs carried him to center stage, his heart lagging behind, downtrodden.
He took his seat, and began to play.
First song in the set was a guitar heavy boot scooter, and he took solace in the fact that the outer pep distracted from his deep deep slow sadness.
He played to the crowd, ransoming his soul for a happy twenty-seven minutes.
And then.
Then he broke down.
After the final song, Jay glanced sideways at his manager, the bandmates staring hard at the back of his cowboy head.
"And now," he said into the microphone, "I'd like to play you guys a new song."
The crowd's cheer were bigger than the manager's surprised eyes: a feat, because they bugged almost to Tennessee.
"It's a little different than what I've done before," Jay continued, turning to face the crowd with a more genuine grin than he'd mustered in a while. "I hope you like it."
Jay closed his eyes, held his guitar like a lover, and began to croon, unaccompanied, about a girl on a bus in California.
Lucy, finally free from Midway madness, strolled aimlessly down International Boulevard, carried along by the early chords of a song.
The song was coming from some sort of platform. Oh, she thought, it's the Chevy Main Stage. I must be close to the turkey legs.
She remembered why as a photographer she never shot weddings. It was because she spent the entire time staring at the bride, wondering what made her so much more lovable than she.
And then there was a song in the background of her crazy mind, calling.
She began to listen.
Wait a minute, this was real.
She looked up.
There was Jay, on a stage, with a guitar, singing about a girl he saw on a bus in California.
Singing about how he loved her.
She stopped walking.
Jay thought about her relentlessly.
Perched on the inside of a dressing room wall, he let his head fall back, closing his eyes, drowning out sounds of his manager making plans and giving commands.
His first set started in 90 seconds.
Lucy, with tears in her eyes, speed walked through the madness of the Midway, lost in her thoughts, hearing sirens and hammer blows and watching scary teenage cowboy goths carry giant monkeys over their shoulders like comrades.
Jay braced himself for a freefall.
"60 seconds," his manager directed, smashing a well-worn and highly embellished cowboy hat down upon Jay's bowed head.
Lifting his head, Jay's eyes were almost gray.
He was blue.
"You know he's never come before," his manager said. "I don't know why you'd be so upset now."
He put his arm on Jay's.
"Buck up, cowboy," he said, patting him hard. "You're on."
Jay exited a door, climbed some steps, heard cheering like the muted roar of cherry bombs in his ears, and raised an arm and a flashy smile to greet three hundred screaming fans. His legs carried him to center stage, his heart lagging behind, downtrodden.
He took his seat, and began to play.
First song in the set was a guitar heavy boot scooter, and he took solace in the fact that the outer pep distracted from his deep deep slow sadness.
He played to the crowd, ransoming his soul for a happy twenty-seven minutes.
And then.
Then he broke down.
After the final song, Jay glanced sideways at his manager, the bandmates staring hard at the back of his cowboy head.
"And now," he said into the microphone, "I'd like to play you guys a new song."
The crowd's cheer were bigger than the manager's surprised eyes: a feat, because they bugged almost to Tennessee.
"It's a little different than what I've done before," Jay continued, turning to face the crowd with a more genuine grin than he'd mustered in a while. "I hope you like it."
Jay closed his eyes, held his guitar like a lover, and began to croon, unaccompanied, about a girl on a bus in California.
Lucy, finally free from Midway madness, strolled aimlessly down International Boulevard, carried along by the early chords of a song.
The song was coming from some sort of platform. Oh, she thought, it's the Chevy Main Stage. I must be close to the turkey legs.
She remembered why as a photographer she never shot weddings. It was because she spent the entire time staring at the bride, wondering what made her so much more lovable than she.
And then there was a song in the background of her crazy mind, calling.
She began to listen.
Wait a minute, this was real.
She looked up.
There was Jay, on a stage, with a guitar, singing about a girl he saw on a bus in California.
Singing about how he loved her.
She stopped walking.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Chapter 40
Lucy sat with Kristi a long time on a rotund white park bench amidst greenery in a Midway Greenhouse at the State Fair, making small talk and watching other people live their lives beneath a solar-powered train chugging effortlessly around and around and around in a never ending clockwise turn.
Kristi was in the CIA, but she couldn't talk about it.
Lucy wasn't even supposed to know.
But there they sat, surrounded by children shrieking with excitement and botanists leaning into specimens with bespectacled eyes and rounded backs.
"I miss living alone," Lucy uttered softly.
Kristi heard melancholy and, not accustomed to wading through emotional pools with others, decided to change the subject.
A thundercloud rolled by in the form of a napless baby in a vomit-covered stroller.
It was Lucy's sister-in-law, in a cloud of frustration, loudly ordering Kristi to retrieve Lucy's oldest nephew from the awning where he was hanging upside down and attempting to flip his hair back and forth.
With a shout, she was off toward the parking lot to intercept Lucy's father and pull a spare vomit-less stroller from the back of his truck. She would also hand him the baby while she took off on a mad walk to the nearest changing room with somewhat fresh clothing.
Lucy, suddenly filled with angst at the thought that she would see her father, needed to climb away. There were far too many cobwebs in her mind.
She'd never yelled at him. She'd never been angry with him. She'd never had a bone to pick with him. She'd always trusted him. WHY HAD HE FOLLOWED HER TO CALIFORNIA?
And then another, deeper, more insidious secret surfaced.
WHY DIDN'T HE TELL HER JAY WAS JUST ANOTHER STALKER?
A butterfly landed on Lucy's face, and she shrieked.
Her mother flipped a giant palm frond out of the way to see what all the ruckus was about, and the leaves smacked Lucy square in the eyes.
She was glad of it, because she had a reason for the tears.
"I'm going to go see the Budweiser horses before they're saddled up for the parade, okay Mom?" She said.
Lucy had never done her own thing at the fair before.
Every year, every time, she silently hobbled along, stuck to her family like glue, or sticking them together, or sticking it out, or whatever it had been that she'd done for twenty something years.
But now she needed to be alone, not only in her own silence, but in her own space, away from them.
On her way out, she turned back to her flabbergasted mother and shouted, "Oh, and tell Dad I know about California."
A train guffawed, and her mother's jaw fell down.
Lucy turned into the bright blue light and ran.
Someone in the bushes watched her go.
There would be trouble.
Kristi was in the CIA, but she couldn't talk about it.
Lucy wasn't even supposed to know.
But there they sat, surrounded by children shrieking with excitement and botanists leaning into specimens with bespectacled eyes and rounded backs.
"I miss living alone," Lucy uttered softly.
Kristi heard melancholy and, not accustomed to wading through emotional pools with others, decided to change the subject.
A thundercloud rolled by in the form of a napless baby in a vomit-covered stroller.
It was Lucy's sister-in-law, in a cloud of frustration, loudly ordering Kristi to retrieve Lucy's oldest nephew from the awning where he was hanging upside down and attempting to flip his hair back and forth.
With a shout, she was off toward the parking lot to intercept Lucy's father and pull a spare vomit-less stroller from the back of his truck. She would also hand him the baby while she took off on a mad walk to the nearest changing room with somewhat fresh clothing.
Lucy, suddenly filled with angst at the thought that she would see her father, needed to climb away. There were far too many cobwebs in her mind.
She'd never yelled at him. She'd never been angry with him. She'd never had a bone to pick with him. She'd always trusted him. WHY HAD HE FOLLOWED HER TO CALIFORNIA?
And then another, deeper, more insidious secret surfaced.
WHY DIDN'T HE TELL HER JAY WAS JUST ANOTHER STALKER?
A butterfly landed on Lucy's face, and she shrieked.
Her mother flipped a giant palm frond out of the way to see what all the ruckus was about, and the leaves smacked Lucy square in the eyes.
She was glad of it, because she had a reason for the tears.
"I'm going to go see the Budweiser horses before they're saddled up for the parade, okay Mom?" She said.
Lucy had never done her own thing at the fair before.
Every year, every time, she silently hobbled along, stuck to her family like glue, or sticking them together, or sticking it out, or whatever it had been that she'd done for twenty something years.
But now she needed to be alone, not only in her own silence, but in her own space, away from them.
On her way out, she turned back to her flabbergasted mother and shouted, "Oh, and tell Dad I know about California."
A train guffawed, and her mother's jaw fell down.
Lucy turned into the bright blue light and ran.
Someone in the bushes watched her go.
There would be trouble.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Chapter 39
A telephone call arrived.
Lucy and her mother were to meet the rest of the clan over in the Greenhouse, as after the corn kernel had been safely removed from Max's septum, his mom received a phone call from her best Army friend, who had just arrived at the fair to meet them and found herself lost, upon which time at the advice of her friend decided to stay put and wait for Lucy's clan to find her.
They went.
Trains and trees and ceiling and sky all in the same time.
Jungle.
Fortress.
Amusement.
Growth.
Flutters.
Leaves.
Birds.
Air.
Lucy felt her blood pressure sinking, and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes against the chaos.
Green.
Lucy and her mother were to meet the rest of the clan over in the Greenhouse, as after the corn kernel had been safely removed from Max's septum, his mom received a phone call from her best Army friend, who had just arrived at the fair to meet them and found herself lost, upon which time at the advice of her friend decided to stay put and wait for Lucy's clan to find her.
They went.
Trains and trees and ceiling and sky all in the same time.
Jungle.
Fortress.
Amusement.
Growth.
Flutters.
Leaves.
Birds.
Air.
Lucy felt her blood pressure sinking, and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes against the chaos.
Green.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Chapter 38
She stood up.
Fire flashed in her eyes. All traces of fear were gone, suddenly replaced by anger.
She looked down on him. "In California," she said, barely a whisper, but loud enough for him to hear his mistake.
"It's not what you think," he said, jumping to his feet.
She glared at his sorry face, so apologetic, and yet, so reminiscent of Sneller's after he'd been caught.
She tucked her chin into the air, turned 180 degrees toward Dallas, and walked away.
He called her name, but knew better than to follow her.
At least in broad daylight she might be all right.
But maybe he should...
Lucy took one look back over her shoulder and saw his hand reaching out for her and his steps beginning in her direction, his eyes.
She took off running, feeling faster and yet less free than seven hours ago on that Texas dirt road.
Lucy reached for her cell phone, rummaging through an invisible purse on her shoulder for a good thirty seconds before realizing she'd left her entire existence in the bottom of her sister's stroller.
It'd always been her nightmare that she would get left behind at the fair. She always pictured herself as the child crying at the Lost Children Stand with policemen up in their turrets scouting for the laissez-faire parents who'd been too consumed with corn dogs to keep up with their children.
Finally the dream came true, but she was an adult. An alone adult. An anomale. A singleton. A lost baby in a grown woman's body. Shoot.
Her sprint to the butter exhibit over in record time, Lucy paused beside the refrigerated glass window, leaning into it to catch her breath, feeling Marilyn laughing at her backside.
She spotted her mother across the hall, looking at an intricate beaded headdress.
"Mom!" Lucy called, relieved.
"Look at that!" Reba said, cooing over a beaded saddle blanket.
Great. They didn't even know she'd been gone.
"Where is everyone?" Lucy asked.
"Oh, Max stuck a piece of corn up his nose at the cooking demonstration," she replied. "So they went over to the dairy exhibit's nursing station. They have needle nose tweezers."
So matter of fact.
"Are you ready?" she asked, glancing at Lucy.
Lucy took one last glance at the wall with her portrait on it.
If she ever saw Carlos again she would...
Wait. If she ever saw Jay again she would...
Wait.
Her dad. IN CALIFORNIA.
"Yes, I'm ready," she said.
She'd never had a bone to pick with her father before.
Here it came.
Fire flashed in her eyes. All traces of fear were gone, suddenly replaced by anger.
She looked down on him. "In California," she said, barely a whisper, but loud enough for him to hear his mistake.
"It's not what you think," he said, jumping to his feet.
She glared at his sorry face, so apologetic, and yet, so reminiscent of Sneller's after he'd been caught.
She tucked her chin into the air, turned 180 degrees toward Dallas, and walked away.
He called her name, but knew better than to follow her.
At least in broad daylight she might be all right.
But maybe he should...
Lucy took one look back over her shoulder and saw his hand reaching out for her and his steps beginning in her direction, his eyes.
She took off running, feeling faster and yet less free than seven hours ago on that Texas dirt road.
Lucy reached for her cell phone, rummaging through an invisible purse on her shoulder for a good thirty seconds before realizing she'd left her entire existence in the bottom of her sister's stroller.
It'd always been her nightmare that she would get left behind at the fair. She always pictured herself as the child crying at the Lost Children Stand with policemen up in their turrets scouting for the laissez-faire parents who'd been too consumed with corn dogs to keep up with their children.
Finally the dream came true, but she was an adult. An alone adult. An anomale. A singleton. A lost baby in a grown woman's body. Shoot.
Her sprint to the butter exhibit over in record time, Lucy paused beside the refrigerated glass window, leaning into it to catch her breath, feeling Marilyn laughing at her backside.
She spotted her mother across the hall, looking at an intricate beaded headdress.
"Mom!" Lucy called, relieved.
"Look at that!" Reba said, cooing over a beaded saddle blanket.
Great. They didn't even know she'd been gone.
"Where is everyone?" Lucy asked.
"Oh, Max stuck a piece of corn up his nose at the cooking demonstration," she replied. "So they went over to the dairy exhibit's nursing station. They have needle nose tweezers."
So matter of fact.
"Are you ready?" she asked, glancing at Lucy.
Lucy took one last glance at the wall with her portrait on it.
If she ever saw Carlos again she would...
Wait. If she ever saw Jay again she would...
Wait.
Her dad. IN CALIFORNIA.
"Yes, I'm ready," she said.
She'd never had a bone to pick with her father before.
Here it came.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Chapter 37
"Was that Carlos?" Jay said, looking straight forward over his hands, with his elbows propped up on his splayed knees.
Lucy flinched, careening backwards into the comforting wall of the dumpster. She shrank down small. She looked over her shoulder.
"No, no, no," Jay said, letting his right hand float into the air, pressing down the tension, calming her nerves. He wanted to let it keep going to her knee, or her shoulder, or her heart, but she didn't need that right now.
She needed protecting.
"Was Carlos one of the ones who grabbed you?" he said.
She placed her wide eyes on his like high beams, eyebrows arched, and slowly shook her head, mouth pinched.
He sighed.
She sighed.
"Who were those girls chasing you?" she finally whispered.
Wanting to divert her attention from that stoic fact, he deferred.
"I thought they were after you," he said.
She looked at him.
A small smile passed through his brow. She smiled back. He smiled bigger, and his teeth came out.
They laughed it off.
Soon they were upside down, on their backs, laughing uproariously: chuckling so hard they cried, and their lungs screamed.
Birds flew across the picture perfect sky above.
"You know, your Dad told me in California this happened to you all the time, but I didn't believe him," Jay laughed.
Lucy stopped laughing.
Lucy flinched, careening backwards into the comforting wall of the dumpster. She shrank down small. She looked over her shoulder.
"No, no, no," Jay said, letting his right hand float into the air, pressing down the tension, calming her nerves. He wanted to let it keep going to her knee, or her shoulder, or her heart, but she didn't need that right now.
She needed protecting.
"Was Carlos one of the ones who grabbed you?" he said.
She placed her wide eyes on his like high beams, eyebrows arched, and slowly shook her head, mouth pinched.
He sighed.
She sighed.
"Who were those girls chasing you?" she finally whispered.
Wanting to divert her attention from that stoic fact, he deferred.
"I thought they were after you," he said.
She looked at him.
A small smile passed through his brow. She smiled back. He smiled bigger, and his teeth came out.
They laughed it off.
Soon they were upside down, on their backs, laughing uproariously: chuckling so hard they cried, and their lungs screamed.
Birds flew across the picture perfect sky above.
"You know, your Dad told me in California this happened to you all the time, but I didn't believe him," Jay laughed.
Lucy stopped laughing.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Chapter 36
Huddled behind a garbage bin in a back alley, Lucy let her back sink into the strangely comforting, smelly metal siding. All the air went out of her brain, and she closed her eyes with a sigh.
Jay took one last look over the top and then sank down beside her, holding her closed eyelids with his caress of a gaze. The air went out of him, too.
After a few moments, Lucy's knees came up to her elbows, and her chin to her hands. She looked sideways at Jay.
"What just happened?" She said, in a weary, wondering tone just above a whisper.
He looked at her. She closed her eyes, buried her brow in her elbows.
He opened his mouth to explain the rabid fan girls, but decided he better let that cat stay in the bag a while longer, at least until she was stable.
He lifted his arm to place it in a comforting loop around her shoulders. Wait.
He reckoned those guys grabbing at her in the chase and at least the one who'd taken her picture would be more than happy to seize advantage in a time like this, and he reconsidered.
Instead he stood up to peek over the dumpster lid one more time, just for reassurance.
He sighed, too.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Chapter 35
When Lucy's pink tweed clad body struck the fencing, she catapulted over the edge, holding on with all ten fingernails.
Her succinct grip upon the wire fencing lifted it quite literally out of the ground.
At first, two large pot bellied pigs stood in disbelief, suddenly face to face with a very large tortoise. And then madness struck the boars with such snarky elegance that they bellowed and charged, attempting to ram the tortoise in the 12 inch gap between fencing and floor.
These pigs, quite large and valuable for the size of their bodies and not their brains, ended up misjudging the distance and rammed each other in the face.
Quite stunned, the pigs needed a moment to regain their senses, upon which time they realized their tusks had become entangled. A few shrieks and side steps later and they were actually standing atop a giant tortoise, attempting to disentangle themselves.
Sensing danger, this tortoise made a slow and peremptory beeline for her mate, across the enclosure.
An unbalanced pig is an extraordinarily precarious thing, and these two were no exception. Lucy was still clinging to the off-kilter fence when two pigs locked in a tasmanian style swirl-off rolled off the back of the tortoise and tumbled toward her.
Jay, attempting to reach her, got his belt loop snagged on a fence post, and was rendered useless.
Her eyes grew larger as the swine approached, helter skelter, and as they struck the fence below Lucy like two three ton bowling balls, her rapid ascent and then more rapid descent through gravity was made more comical by her limbs, moving in a swimming motion, trying to gain traction midair.
She landed atop Jay, who cushioned her fall with his own body, and the help of the thick pile of sawdust and hay beneath them.
They were upright just in time to see their pursuant crowd approaching at breakneck speed.
As they began to run, shaking off sawdust with their sprints, another pot bellied pig began to scream, followed by an agonized honk.
Passing the fowled up mess of fencing, Lucy turned her head to the right one more time to see that the last tumble those two pigs had taken slammed them into the side of the goose enclosure.
There were suddenly birds in the air, flying in random formation, defecating, screaming, and colliding with derision.
In a nearby pen, the llamas and camels were so frightened by the cataclysmic events that they began to spit, launching large rancid streams into the general public, including Jay and Lucy's chasers.
This crowd, intent on catching their prey, suddenly found themselves covered in funky green grime that smelled of twice chewed dog food and week old fish. Camel spit, after all, is really chewed up cud: food regurgitated from one of the chambers of its fore-stomach.
And so, as the agitated and still entwined pot bellied pigs began to ram the goose fence, geese began to flutter into every pen in the petting zoo. Some of rapscallions within those pens took wishful chomps, and some were successful.
Children screamed, geese honked, and feathers flew until they landed upon the delightfully sticky camel spit covering most of the crowd.
When the fastest of the pack began to suffer from calamities related to goose feathers plastered over their eyeballs, the rear collided like dominoes.
And suddenly, Jay and Lucy, with one more glance behind them at the goose and sawdust cloud, realized they were in the clear.
They ran to safety.
Her succinct grip upon the wire fencing lifted it quite literally out of the ground.
At first, two large pot bellied pigs stood in disbelief, suddenly face to face with a very large tortoise. And then madness struck the boars with such snarky elegance that they bellowed and charged, attempting to ram the tortoise in the 12 inch gap between fencing and floor.
These pigs, quite large and valuable for the size of their bodies and not their brains, ended up misjudging the distance and rammed each other in the face.
Quite stunned, the pigs needed a moment to regain their senses, upon which time they realized their tusks had become entangled. A few shrieks and side steps later and they were actually standing atop a giant tortoise, attempting to disentangle themselves.
Sensing danger, this tortoise made a slow and peremptory beeline for her mate, across the enclosure.
An unbalanced pig is an extraordinarily precarious thing, and these two were no exception. Lucy was still clinging to the off-kilter fence when two pigs locked in a tasmanian style swirl-off rolled off the back of the tortoise and tumbled toward her.
Jay, attempting to reach her, got his belt loop snagged on a fence post, and was rendered useless.
Her eyes grew larger as the swine approached, helter skelter, and as they struck the fence below Lucy like two three ton bowling balls, her rapid ascent and then more rapid descent through gravity was made more comical by her limbs, moving in a swimming motion, trying to gain traction midair.
She landed atop Jay, who cushioned her fall with his own body, and the help of the thick pile of sawdust and hay beneath them.
They were upright just in time to see their pursuant crowd approaching at breakneck speed.
As they began to run, shaking off sawdust with their sprints, another pot bellied pig began to scream, followed by an agonized honk.
Passing the fowled up mess of fencing, Lucy turned her head to the right one more time to see that the last tumble those two pigs had taken slammed them into the side of the goose enclosure.
There were suddenly birds in the air, flying in random formation, defecating, screaming, and colliding with derision.
In a nearby pen, the llamas and camels were so frightened by the cataclysmic events that they began to spit, launching large rancid streams into the general public, including Jay and Lucy's chasers.
This crowd, intent on catching their prey, suddenly found themselves covered in funky green grime that smelled of twice chewed dog food and week old fish. Camel spit, after all, is really chewed up cud: food regurgitated from one of the chambers of its fore-stomach.
And so, as the agitated and still entwined pot bellied pigs began to ram the goose fence, geese began to flutter into every pen in the petting zoo. Some of rapscallions within those pens took wishful chomps, and some were successful.
Children screamed, geese honked, and feathers flew until they landed upon the delightfully sticky camel spit covering most of the crowd.
When the fastest of the pack began to suffer from calamities related to goose feathers plastered over their eyeballs, the rear collided like dominoes.
And suddenly, Jay and Lucy, with one more glance behind them at the goose and sawdust cloud, realized they were in the clear.
They ran to safety.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Chapter 34
Jay and Lucy raced across Nimitz Drive to Pan Am Arena and the Children's Barnyard. In a flutter of chicken feathers and fowl screams, they flew into the shadows.
They were already halfway to the far wall when their eyes finally adjusted to the dimmer light of the indoor petting zoo.
A frightened giraffe heehawed and llamas long fur waved in the vortex of wind created by the pair's sprint across the hay covered pathway.
Approaching a left turn at the far back wall, Lucy took a glance behind her.
Her left foot, attempting to pivot, hit a slippery layer of hay, and kept sliding.
Lucy looked like an ice skater as she glided swiftly away from Jay's outstretched right hand.
With all the grace of Michelle Kwan, she shot towards the pot bellied pig display.
In slow motion she hit the waist-high temporary enclosure, and vaulted over the top, hands still outstretched, one towards the wall, one towards Jay.
As she soared, she made eye contact with Jay.
He almost smiled.
She looked like a bird.
And then he realized that based upon her current trajectory she would strike a three way barrier between the pot bellied pigs, the giant tortoise, and approximately one hundred geese.
He put his hand over his mouth, biting his tongue.
This was not a time for humor.
They were already halfway to the far wall when their eyes finally adjusted to the dimmer light of the indoor petting zoo.
A frightened giraffe heehawed and llamas long fur waved in the vortex of wind created by the pair's sprint across the hay covered pathway.
Approaching a left turn at the far back wall, Lucy took a glance behind her.
Her left foot, attempting to pivot, hit a slippery layer of hay, and kept sliding.
Lucy looked like an ice skater as she glided swiftly away from Jay's outstretched right hand.
With all the grace of Michelle Kwan, she shot towards the pot bellied pig display.
In slow motion she hit the waist-high temporary enclosure, and vaulted over the top, hands still outstretched, one towards the wall, one towards Jay.
As she soared, she made eye contact with Jay.
He almost smiled.
She looked like a bird.
And then he realized that based upon her current trajectory she would strike a three way barrier between the pot bellied pigs, the giant tortoise, and approximately one hundred geese.
He put his hand over his mouth, biting his tongue.
This was not a time for humor.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Chapter 33
As the music swirled to a crescendo, and the flurry of people and puppets on stage swung round in precariously rapid circles, Jay grabbed Lucy's hand and pulled her across his body, following her into the darkness of stage left.
Their puppet costumes rattled to a quiet slump on scuffed floor slats.
For a brief moment, their melancholic afterpulse almost erupted in mirth.
And then truth came back.
Fear crept into her eyes like a lunar eclipse.
He comforted her hands, holding them tighter.
She was frightened, and she let go, backing away.
He saw her eyes asking him questions.
There was no time.
A curtain rattled.
She grabbed his hand, and they ran.
Their puppet costumes rattled to a quiet slump on scuffed floor slats.
For a brief moment, their melancholic afterpulse almost erupted in mirth.
And then truth came back.
Fear crept into her eyes like a lunar eclipse.
He comforted her hands, holding them tighter.
She was frightened, and she let go, backing away.
He saw her eyes asking him questions.
There was no time.
A curtain rattled.
She grabbed his hand, and they ran.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Chapter 32
Jay and Lucy, breathless with calamity and epinephrine, stumbled onto the black stage, startling an entire audience, and causing a young thespian to pee her pants.
Feeling the threatening bustle at the back of the room that was their pursuant crowd, Jay and Lucy stuck their faces into the back of a couple of life size muppets.
Music thumped from a carnival loudspeaker.
Lucy and Jay, momentarily lost in a frozen sea of norepinephrine, glanced into each other's eyes.
Jay extended his floppy muppet hand towards Lucy's.
She felt the thumping rhythm bleat like a lamb in her heart.
She extended her hand, delicately, touching his.
She smiled.
He smiled.
They began to dance.
Dance.
Twirl.
Jump.
Flee.
Fly.
Higher and higher.
Round and round.
Feeling the threatening bustle at the back of the room that was their pursuant crowd, Jay and Lucy stuck their faces into the back of a couple of life size muppets.
Music thumped from a carnival loudspeaker.
Lucy and Jay, momentarily lost in a frozen sea of norepinephrine, glanced into each other's eyes.
Jay extended his floppy muppet hand towards Lucy's.
She felt the thumping rhythm bleat like a lamb in her heart.
She extended her hand, delicately, touching his.
She smiled.
He smiled.
They began to dance.
Dance.
Twirl.
Jump.
Flee.
Fly.
Higher and higher.
Round and round.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Chapter 31
More hands reached out, pulling on Lucy's elbows and Jay's clothes.
Flashes began to permeate the air like lightning clouds.
Screams, in that certain high pitched tone only teenage girls can muster, rang in their ears.
The back of the crowd pushed so forcefully that people nearest Lucy and Jay were crushed into their bodies. Lucy's eyes landed inches from the mustached man's, and they were extraordinarily hostile. Jay caught a glimpse of his manager standing on a ladder in the distance, smirking.
He grabbed Lucy's waist, and cradled her into his shoulder.
He ducked his head.
He bowled through several rows of screamers and fled, with Lucy under his wing.
Steps.
There were steps.
Dark black steps.
Into a children's puppet show theater stage.
They arrived.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Chapter 30
Unbeknownst to Jay, his manager had sent a flock of teenage girls to find him. They were armed with a picture the manager had snapped on his cell phone earlier that day, while Jay was sitting outside a trailer strumming his guitar and feeling sorry for himself because his famous country crooner father could care less about him.
These girls would never have known Jay without his cowboy hat, boots, plaid shirt, and jeans. Like Lucy he was a chameleon, and enjoyed wearing enigmatic clothing unmatched in his current location.
He didn't even like country music.
It was a ploy, an effort to get his father to notice him, to pay attention to him, to love him, to respect him.
And yet, the man could care less.
Jay didn't sing for these fans, he sang for his father.
His father would arrive later, unbeknownst to Jay.
His fans had already arrived.
Beneath his protective anger stoked in an instant by this apparent stalker's portrait of Lucy, Jay began to feel chills along the back of his neck.
He turned his head to scan the room.
Someone approached. A deep, dark, mustached man with a gun underneath his denim jacket gripped Lucy's elbow with steel fingers, and she winced.
With a whoosh of air conditioning, Sneller sensed danger and opened a door to leave, but got caught up in a screaming barrage of scantily clad teenage Daisy Dukers rushing toward Jay with Sharpies and sharp fingernails.
Jay and Lucy's mouths were open.
Their eyes cried out for help.
These girls would never have known Jay without his cowboy hat, boots, plaid shirt, and jeans. Like Lucy he was a chameleon, and enjoyed wearing enigmatic clothing unmatched in his current location.
He didn't even like country music.
It was a ploy, an effort to get his father to notice him, to pay attention to him, to love him, to respect him.
And yet, the man could care less.
Jay didn't sing for these fans, he sang for his father.
His father would arrive later, unbeknownst to Jay.
His fans had already arrived.
Beneath his protective anger stoked in an instant by this apparent stalker's portrait of Lucy, Jay began to feel chills along the back of his neck.
He turned his head to scan the room.
Someone approached. A deep, dark, mustached man with a gun underneath his denim jacket gripped Lucy's elbow with steel fingers, and she winced.
With a whoosh of air conditioning, Sneller sensed danger and opened a door to leave, but got caught up in a screaming barrage of scantily clad teenage Daisy Dukers rushing toward Jay with Sharpies and sharp fingernails.
Jay and Lucy's mouths were open.
Their eyes cried out for help.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Chapter 29
Lucy and Jay wandered around talking about their hopes and dreams like patchwork quilts. Above them hung colorful pieced beauties in kaleidoscope patterns.
"I auditioned for a television show once," Lucy hummed, sliding away from Marilyn's left hem toward a row of chairs for a cooking demonstration.
Jay, taken aback, replied, "Would you like to be famous one day?" She didn't seem like a fame digger at all.
"No, it was an art show," she chirped. "An art contest really, produced by Sarah Jessica Parker."
"I had no idea you were an artist," he demurred, fame digger sirens suddenly silenced in his brain.
"I've entered my photographs in this fair for twenty years now, every single year..."
They paused in front of a display of vibrant glossies and matte monotone portraits behind glass.
"I never even place," she sighed. "I would settle for honorable mention. But nothing."
He turned his eyes to mentally photograph her downtrodden, almost tearful gaze. A hug might be out of the question, considering her father's watchful gaze flitting in and out from between grandchildren and displays. All he could do was love her from a foot away, and comfort her with his gaze.
Suddenly her eyes went from sad to distracted, and then into shock, and then fear. Flabbergasted, she began to reach the anger stage, pointing one shaking index finger at a blue ribbon portrait, her mouth gaping open and blue eyes white with disbelief.
Confused, Jay followed her delightful little finger to its destination... And then...
Lightning sprang from his heart when he realized it was a photograph of Lucy.
An intensely beautiful portrait, actually, in black and white, through a window... Or a curtain... Or a waterfall...
His eyes darted to a name on an attached Best In Show ribbon.
Carlos Mafalda.
CARLOS.
He didn't know who he was, but he would kill him.
"I auditioned for a television show once," Lucy hummed, sliding away from Marilyn's left hem toward a row of chairs for a cooking demonstration.
Jay, taken aback, replied, "Would you like to be famous one day?" She didn't seem like a fame digger at all.
"No, it was an art show," she chirped. "An art contest really, produced by Sarah Jessica Parker."
"I had no idea you were an artist," he demurred, fame digger sirens suddenly silenced in his brain.
"I've entered my photographs in this fair for twenty years now, every single year..."
They paused in front of a display of vibrant glossies and matte monotone portraits behind glass.
"I never even place," she sighed. "I would settle for honorable mention. But nothing."
He turned his eyes to mentally photograph her downtrodden, almost tearful gaze. A hug might be out of the question, considering her father's watchful gaze flitting in and out from between grandchildren and displays. All he could do was love her from a foot away, and comfort her with his gaze.
Suddenly her eyes went from sad to distracted, and then into shock, and then fear. Flabbergasted, she began to reach the anger stage, pointing one shaking index finger at a blue ribbon portrait, her mouth gaping open and blue eyes white with disbelief.
Confused, Jay followed her delightful little finger to its destination... And then...
Lightning sprang from his heart when he realized it was a photograph of Lucy.
An intensely beautiful portrait, actually, in black and white, through a window... Or a curtain... Or a waterfall...
His eyes darted to a name on an attached Best In Show ribbon.
Carlos Mafalda.
CARLOS.
He didn't know who he was, but he would kill him.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Chapter 28
It happened slow.
The Ballmans finally asked enough questions of the interloper that they felt comfortable letting he and Lucy stroll around the room out of earshot. This room had many partitions, and the Ballmans scattered, so one was almost always visible from anywhere, thus keeping a discreet eye on Lucy.
They needn't have worried. There were eyes on her everywhere, two of which belonged to new acquaintance and super protective Jay, who was completely enamored. And yet, there were several pairs of eyes on him, as well.
Lucy always felt as though people in Texas looked at her strangely; she didn't fit in.
And here was the handsome newbie who didn't fit in, either. Wearing a gray newsboy cap and decidedly chic clothing, he was the anti-cowboy among cowboys.
The Ballmans finally asked enough questions of the interloper that they felt comfortable letting he and Lucy stroll around the room out of earshot. This room had many partitions, and the Ballmans scattered, so one was almost always visible from anywhere, thus keeping a discreet eye on Lucy.
They needn't have worried. There were eyes on her everywhere, two of which belonged to new acquaintance and super protective Jay, who was completely enamored. And yet, there were several pairs of eyes on him, as well.
Lucy always felt as though people in Texas looked at her strangely; she didn't fit in.
And here was the handsome newbie who didn't fit in, either. Wearing a gray newsboy cap and decidedly chic clothing, he was the anti-cowboy among cowboys.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Chapter 27
First stop, butter.
Butter sculpting began in the late 1870's in the midwest, and was quickly adopted by dairy farmers for advertising purposes.
Everything converged here in the refrigerated butter section.
First there were cows. Then there were farmers. Then there was butter. Then there were corporations. Then there were butter knives. Then there were nonstick pans. Then there were county fairs. Then there were butter exhibits. Then there were butter sculptors. Then there was a boy. Then there was a girl. Then there was an 8-foot Marilyn Monroe in bovine yellow. Then there was a stalker. Then there was a terrorist. Then there was a father. Then there was a nephew. Then there was a fan. A hundred fans.
Then there was chaos.
But it didn't come yet.
It was slow, like sculpting butter.
Butter sculpting began in the late 1870's in the midwest, and was quickly adopted by dairy farmers for advertising purposes.
Everything converged here in the refrigerated butter section.
First there were cows. Then there were farmers. Then there was butter. Then there were corporations. Then there were butter knives. Then there were nonstick pans. Then there were county fairs. Then there were butter exhibits. Then there were butter sculptors. Then there was a boy. Then there was a girl. Then there was an 8-foot Marilyn Monroe in bovine yellow. Then there was a stalker. Then there was a terrorist. Then there was a father. Then there was a nephew. Then there was a fan. A hundred fans.
Then there was chaos.
But it didn't come yet.
It was slow, like sculpting butter.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Chapter 26
"You know my mother used to ask me that," Lucy said, smiling sweetly sideways and blinking her un-sunglassed eyes in sunshine.
Jay walked beside her, falling in stride quite perfectly, loosely surrounded by Lucy's family en route to a butter exhibit.
"What did she ask you?" Jay said, grinning like a guineafowl.
Lucy got lost in his dimples.
A flying sippy cup brought her back to earth. Jay plucked it off the ground, handing it back to Lucy's nephew, who immediately bounded forward, grabbed the cup with one hand, and took firm hold of Jay's hand with the other.
Lucy grinned and sweetly said, "Who are you?"
Jay smiled at Lucy. Lucy smiled at Jay. Nephew smiled at Jay, too.
"That's what she used to ask me," Lucy warbled, speaking in rhythm with the sound of their shoes tapping onto asphalt.
Lucy's mother, listening like a hawk to their conversation, blurted out loud, "I still don't know why I did that... I'd know you anywhere."
Sometimes I don't know about that, Lucy thought, while trying to figure out how to respond without drawing her mother to tears.
Nephew took care of that.
Leaping and swinging on Jay's arm, he jabbed his hand through the air towards Lucy and shouted, "That Uncle You-SEE, Bam!!!"
Laughter ensued as Lucy explained that uncles are just like aunts, except they are unsmashable, and that bam was Nephew's version of Gram.
Jay laughed, and Nephew swung himself around to grab both Lucy and Jay's hand so he could catapult himself into flying leaps and swing between them.
"Well, tell him the story," Gram said.
Lucy related to Jay how she had suffered from nightmares as a child. Waking up crying, she would immediately tiptoe to her parent's bedroom, sidling up to her mother's side of the bed.
"Mom," she would whisper, trying to sniff back tears. "Mom, I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?"
Lucy's mother stared at her for lightyears, blinking in the darkness of the streetlight shining through the midnight window. At long last, she would lean very close to Lucy's face, as if to kiss her on the forehead. But it was not for a kiss that she leaned. She would peer into Lucy's eyes, just inches away, for another dozen lightyears. At this point, she would, without fail, slowly, distinctly say: "Who are you?"
Lucy, stunned, wouldn't know what to say. Over and over, every time the same.
Lucy's older sister and younger brother would sometimes enter the room as well, having been disturbed by Lucy's crying. Immediately their mother would call them by name. But Lucy, she never knew.
Lucy's version of the story ends here. It happened so very many times.
"But I always let you into the bed," Gram chided.
"I don't remember that part," Lucy said.
Jay stared at Lucy's face, seeing a twinge of sadness creep in below the calm exterior.
He would know her anywhere.
They came to a building: Creative Arts. Nephew let go of their hands, charging in full blast. His parents raced after him, strollers in tow.
The creative arts building entrance was nestled into a bustling corner of the Embarcadero, and shoppers proliferated. Lucy didn't care. She'd found what she was shopping for.
Jay walked beside her, falling in stride quite perfectly, loosely surrounded by Lucy's family en route to a butter exhibit.
"What did she ask you?" Jay said, grinning like a guineafowl.
Lucy got lost in his dimples.
A flying sippy cup brought her back to earth. Jay plucked it off the ground, handing it back to Lucy's nephew, who immediately bounded forward, grabbed the cup with one hand, and took firm hold of Jay's hand with the other.
Lucy grinned and sweetly said, "Who are you?"
Jay smiled at Lucy. Lucy smiled at Jay. Nephew smiled at Jay, too.
"That's what she used to ask me," Lucy warbled, speaking in rhythm with the sound of their shoes tapping onto asphalt.
Lucy's mother, listening like a hawk to their conversation, blurted out loud, "I still don't know why I did that... I'd know you anywhere."
Sometimes I don't know about that, Lucy thought, while trying to figure out how to respond without drawing her mother to tears.
Nephew took care of that.
Leaping and swinging on Jay's arm, he jabbed his hand through the air towards Lucy and shouted, "That Uncle You-SEE, Bam!!!"
Laughter ensued as Lucy explained that uncles are just like aunts, except they are unsmashable, and that bam was Nephew's version of Gram.
Jay laughed, and Nephew swung himself around to grab both Lucy and Jay's hand so he could catapult himself into flying leaps and swing between them.
"Well, tell him the story," Gram said.
Lucy related to Jay how she had suffered from nightmares as a child. Waking up crying, she would immediately tiptoe to her parent's bedroom, sidling up to her mother's side of the bed.
"Mom," she would whisper, trying to sniff back tears. "Mom, I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?"
Lucy's mother stared at her for lightyears, blinking in the darkness of the streetlight shining through the midnight window. At long last, she would lean very close to Lucy's face, as if to kiss her on the forehead. But it was not for a kiss that she leaned. She would peer into Lucy's eyes, just inches away, for another dozen lightyears. At this point, she would, without fail, slowly, distinctly say: "Who are you?"
Lucy, stunned, wouldn't know what to say. Over and over, every time the same.
Lucy's older sister and younger brother would sometimes enter the room as well, having been disturbed by Lucy's crying. Immediately their mother would call them by name. But Lucy, she never knew.
Lucy's version of the story ends here. It happened so very many times.
"But I always let you into the bed," Gram chided.
"I don't remember that part," Lucy said.
Jay stared at Lucy's face, seeing a twinge of sadness creep in below the calm exterior.
He would know her anywhere.
They came to a building: Creative Arts. Nephew let go of their hands, charging in full blast. His parents raced after him, strollers in tow.
The creative arts building entrance was nestled into a bustling corner of the Embarcadero, and shoppers proliferated. Lucy didn't care. She'd found what she was shopping for.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Chapter 25
When Lucy asked who he was, she already knew.
She knew he was hers, like one of those tall iced green tea soy lattes she ordered at Starbucks. When a frothy Benjamin Moore Paint Huntington Gardens shade drink dotted with ice cubes appeared at a green barista counter, Lucy didn't even hesitate before snatching it up and sipping.
It was uniquely hers.
This boy, too.
And yet, she had no idea who he was to the world. He told them his name was Jay, and it was truth, but it was also lie.
He didn't reveal his last name, his profession, or the fact that in seven hours he'd be dressed in cowboy gear and warbling on a stage.
He didn't want her to judge him.
To him, she looked like Lily Lavender. She was perfect, and sweet, and flowery. She shined. She looked completely separate from everyone here. Even in California she seemed like a lily pad in someone else's ocean, unrivaled on earth or anywhere else.
He wanted to know her name, so he could speak it.
"Who are you?" he asked, while her family stood semi circled behind her, grinning at this brazen boy unabashedly grinning at Lucy under a blazing sun, having already introduced themselves.
Mr. Ballman crossed his arms.
Lucy smiled, looking at a sparkle in Jay's Old Glory eyes, a deeper and more enchanting blue than even Crater Lake's.
"It doesn't matter what you call me," Lucy said. "As long as you smile when you see me."
She knew he was hers, like one of those tall iced green tea soy lattes she ordered at Starbucks. When a frothy Benjamin Moore Paint Huntington Gardens shade drink dotted with ice cubes appeared at a green barista counter, Lucy didn't even hesitate before snatching it up and sipping.
It was uniquely hers.
This boy, too.
And yet, she had no idea who he was to the world. He told them his name was Jay, and it was truth, but it was also lie.
He didn't reveal his last name, his profession, or the fact that in seven hours he'd be dressed in cowboy gear and warbling on a stage.
He didn't want her to judge him.
To him, she looked like Lily Lavender. She was perfect, and sweet, and flowery. She shined. She looked completely separate from everyone here. Even in California she seemed like a lily pad in someone else's ocean, unrivaled on earth or anywhere else.
He wanted to know her name, so he could speak it.
"Who are you?" he asked, while her family stood semi circled behind her, grinning at this brazen boy unabashedly grinning at Lucy under a blazing sun, having already introduced themselves.
Mr. Ballman crossed his arms.
Lucy smiled, looking at a sparkle in Jay's Old Glory eyes, a deeper and more enchanting blue than even Crater Lake's.
"It doesn't matter what you call me," Lucy said. "As long as you smile when you see me."
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Chapter 24
Tercio de varas.
This, the first stage of a bull fight, is when a matador watches a picador stab a bull in its neck: a move which aims to weaken the bull and provide for its eventual demise.
Mr. Ballman stood watching this interloper introduce himself to Lucy.
He imagined Lucy was a picador.
Her smile stabbed Newbie in the neck, weakening him forever.
Mr. Ballman, very pleased with his eventual victory, suddenly smiled.
Lucy was introducing him to her new acquaintance, having already gone around the circle with the other family members names, at Newbie's request.
Little did Lucy know that Newbie and Mr. Ballman had met before, quite certainly.
And then he mentioned his name.
This, the first stage of a bull fight, is when a matador watches a picador stab a bull in its neck: a move which aims to weaken the bull and provide for its eventual demise.
Mr. Ballman stood watching this interloper introduce himself to Lucy.
He imagined Lucy was a picador.
Her smile stabbed Newbie in the neck, weakening him forever.
Mr. Ballman, very pleased with his eventual victory, suddenly smiled.
Lucy was introducing him to her new acquaintance, having already gone around the circle with the other family members names, at Newbie's request.
Little did Lucy know that Newbie and Mr. Ballman had met before, quite certainly.
And then he mentioned his name.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Chapter 23
"I'd like to stay forever," he said, slowly, softly, kindly. "Please."
As Lucy's outline rapidly approached the two men locked eyes in a staring battle of will.
Two bull fighters. Two guardians. Two protectors.
And then she was upon them.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Chapter 22
Lucy smiled, and bowed, and wiped sweat from her happy forehead.
Suddenly surrounded by dancers for hugs, she momentarily lost sight of her family.
Mr. Ballman's spellbound gaze, broken by African hugs, flickered. He blinked his eyes, turning his head unwillingly away from the direction of his perpetually four year old little girl.
He focused his hot sun eyes on this errant newcomer two chairs away.
He watched his beaming smile, his clapping hands, his dimpling cheeks. He watched this fool stare at his daughter like he was in love with her.
This fool felt eyes flush with his neck, and turned.
They locked, eye to eye, like horns locked tight. Only this young buck wasn't violent, just holding his ground against seniority.
Uppity little twerp.
Mr. Ballman suddenly felt a lightning bolt pinch his pinky finger.
He'd seen this usurper before.
In California.
On a bus.
Same tweedy newsboy cap.
Same dimpled smile.
Same affectionate gaze... directed toward his daughter.
Wrong move, sucker.
Mr. Ballman leaned in close with his hand across this young buck's back, smiling in that way you smile with your jaw clenched so tight you can barely see.
He leaned in close.
"Leave her alone," he hissed, like the word at the end of a death sentence.
Suddenly surrounded by dancers for hugs, she momentarily lost sight of her family.
Mr. Ballman's spellbound gaze, broken by African hugs, flickered. He blinked his eyes, turning his head unwillingly away from the direction of his perpetually four year old little girl.
He focused his hot sun eyes on this errant newcomer two chairs away.
He watched his beaming smile, his clapping hands, his dimpling cheeks. He watched this fool stare at his daughter like he was in love with her.
This fool felt eyes flush with his neck, and turned.
They locked, eye to eye, like horns locked tight. Only this young buck wasn't violent, just holding his ground against seniority.
Uppity little twerp.
Mr. Ballman suddenly felt a lightning bolt pinch his pinky finger.
He'd seen this usurper before.
In California.
On a bus.
Same tweedy newsboy cap.
Same dimpled smile.
Same affectionate gaze... directed toward his daughter.
Wrong move, sucker.
Mr. Ballman leaned in close with his hand across this young buck's back, smiling in that way you smile with your jaw clenched so tight you can barely see.
He leaned in close.
"Leave her alone," he hissed, like the word at the end of a death sentence.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Chapter 21
African dance is like a bird song. Polyrhythm is a nest upon which wings beat... a base for taking off.
Lucy, not a dancer, swallowed hard. Her sweaty palms seemed superglued inside her pockets. Her butt felt unexpectedly cumbersome, and her feet like putty.
And yet, the dancers were using their bodies to escort her to stage center.
An entire fair full of people froze to watch her freeze. Big Tex murmured something and then chuckled into a belly laugh.
Lucy glanced up at his cowboy hat, ironically. The beat was chasing her. She glanced at her gleeful family, excited for what dance may come. Her eyes slid over a bus seat full of time into the new guy's eyes.
They looked strong and soft and calm, like he was floating under his favorite tree.
And so, whether it was the rhythm or the crowd or the boy or the incredibly insistent Africans, Lucy slowly began to move her hips.
This dance involved booty shaking.
She'd never done that before.
She didn't even hear the music. She heard one of her favorite runnings songs instead: "Crabbuckit" by Good Lovelies.
She began to spin. She began to kick. She began to reach. She began to hop. She began to wiggle. She began to pulse. She began to shimmy.
She began to smile.
And the whole world smiled with her.
Including a boy.
Lucy, not a dancer, swallowed hard. Her sweaty palms seemed superglued inside her pockets. Her butt felt unexpectedly cumbersome, and her feet like putty.
And yet, the dancers were using their bodies to escort her to stage center.
An entire fair full of people froze to watch her freeze. Big Tex murmured something and then chuckled into a belly laugh.
Lucy glanced up at his cowboy hat, ironically. The beat was chasing her. She glanced at her gleeful family, excited for what dance may come. Her eyes slid over a bus seat full of time into the new guy's eyes.
They looked strong and soft and calm, like he was floating under his favorite tree.
And so, whether it was the rhythm or the crowd or the boy or the incredibly insistent Africans, Lucy slowly began to move her hips.
This dance involved booty shaking.
She'd never done that before.
She didn't even hear the music. She heard one of her favorite runnings songs instead: "Crabbuckit" by Good Lovelies.
She began to spin. She began to kick. She began to reach. She began to hop. She began to wiggle. She began to pulse. She began to shimmy.
She began to smile.
And the whole world smiled with her.
Including a boy.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Chapter 20
Leaving the food court full, satisfied, and slightly comatose, the Ballmans lingered long enough on its steps to find themselves witnessing a spectacle.
African dancers spread three deep and fifty-seven wide circled a small section near Big Tex's rear, attracting quite a crowd.
Apparently this was a scheduled official performance... the Ballmans had somehow missed this event on their Fair guides. Whether out of curiosity or merely postprandial somnolence, they ended up taking seats on the warm drowsy concrete to watch this flock of dark people sweat in the Texas noontime sun.
Drums. Drums and dancing. Dancing and booty shaking. Booty shaking and head swaying. Head swaying and tribal prints. Tribal prints and tribal riffs. Tribal riffs and lots of teeth. Lots of teeth... and guy coming to sit next to Lucy.
Ahh, she smelled just as sweet as she did in California. Maybe a little funnel cake, too. That's what he would call her when they got married.
He slowly realized an entire row of Ballmans was watching him stare at Lucy. Surprisingly, she was actually intrigued by this music, this dance, and so her normal alertness was subpar.
But slowly she realized her nephews were no longer bobbing in her peripheral vision, so she glanced toward her right to make sure they were still alive. Yes, and they were staring at her... or rather, past her.
She felt something was about to change.
Big Tex murmured "Howdy Folks" in the background. Lucy's eyes connected to this man's, and she felt a shiver run from the bottom of her palms, to the bottom of her feet, to the top of her head. She felt fuzzy, lightheaded, calm, and brighter. Everything glowed.
She saw him.
And then her father's hand mysteriously shot into the sky, pointing an index finger down at Lucy. Lucy could still hear African drums, she thought, or maybe a heartbeat. She gazed. And suddenly three large African dancers clad in purple brassieres and tribal print headdresses were plucking her from her chair in heaven.
This was the portion of the program where they recruited one lucky volunteer from the audience to come up and African dance on stage in front of all of Texas.
It was Lucy.
African dancers spread three deep and fifty-seven wide circled a small section near Big Tex's rear, attracting quite a crowd.
Apparently this was a scheduled official performance... the Ballmans had somehow missed this event on their Fair guides. Whether out of curiosity or merely postprandial somnolence, they ended up taking seats on the warm drowsy concrete to watch this flock of dark people sweat in the Texas noontime sun.
Drums. Drums and dancing. Dancing and booty shaking. Booty shaking and head swaying. Head swaying and tribal prints. Tribal prints and tribal riffs. Tribal riffs and lots of teeth. Lots of teeth... and guy coming to sit next to Lucy.
Ahh, she smelled just as sweet as she did in California. Maybe a little funnel cake, too. That's what he would call her when they got married.
He slowly realized an entire row of Ballmans was watching him stare at Lucy. Surprisingly, she was actually intrigued by this music, this dance, and so her normal alertness was subpar.
But slowly she realized her nephews were no longer bobbing in her peripheral vision, so she glanced toward her right to make sure they were still alive. Yes, and they were staring at her... or rather, past her.
She felt something was about to change.
Big Tex murmured "Howdy Folks" in the background. Lucy's eyes connected to this man's, and she felt a shiver run from the bottom of her palms, to the bottom of her feet, to the top of her head. She felt fuzzy, lightheaded, calm, and brighter. Everything glowed.
She saw him.
And then her father's hand mysteriously shot into the sky, pointing an index finger down at Lucy. Lucy could still hear African drums, she thought, or maybe a heartbeat. She gazed. And suddenly three large African dancers clad in purple brassieres and tribal print headdresses were plucking her from her chair in heaven.
This was the portion of the program where they recruited one lucky volunteer from the audience to come up and African dance on stage in front of all of Texas.
It was Lucy.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Chapter 19
Behind a tamale booth, in a janitor's alley, a man in a suit peered around a support beam, watched Lucy tire of her potato and pull out her camera to chimp her photos on its back.
He had harsh lines around his mouth and a forehead like Ed Harris.
When he whispered, those nearby understood he was actually barking and hissing commands... just at a lower decibel. He did that now, yanking three men into submission... and hearing distance.
"Go find out what's on that camera," he hissed, in Arabic, to three black-eyed janitors. "If she got you on film, you know what to do. We can't risk any evidence... Or else."
The three dark skinned men swallowed, blinked, and slowly stood back upright. Cowards in lion suits, they slinked off to a nearby men's room with a janitor's cart, locking themselves in a stall. From this cart they pulled blue jeans, mustaches, cowboy hats, boots, plaid shirts, empty chewing tobacco cans, and belts with silver buckles the size of Big Tex.
Fully dressed, they looked like they'd just crossed the border. In all truth, they had... but they'd first taken an Islamist military plane into Monterrey for a training session.
Exiting the men's room, a Hispanic man stopped them to ask directions to a dog show. They listened to his query in Spanish, glanced at each other, and actually considered killing the man before simply shrugging their shoulders and walking away, sweating bullets.
Needing to look inconspicuous required some mega food purchases, so with difficulty they fished leather wallets out of their tight jeans, waiting in separate lines, all with one beady eye tightly fixed on Lucy.
They hardly even noticed what they ordered.
Sitting at a table immediately behind Lucy, they nonchalantly dove into their plates: one Twisted Texas Taco, one Jalapeno burrito with hot chili Chimichurri sauce, and one bowl of fried Sriracha balls with extra sauce.
One bite.
That's all it took.
Their eyes began to water.
Their throats began to close.
They nearly died, trying to stay there long enough to confirm the girl had photos of them planting a bomb in Big Tex's boots.
She did.
They left, combusting into flames, seeking the nearest men's room like a heat seaking missile.
How could lips be on fire?
They dunked their heads into the toilet, trying to cool their intestines.
An hour later, they'd be plunked down on these same seats, jeans around their knees, bleeding from the inside, moaning as the fried sriracha sauce found its new home in the plumbing of the good old State Fair of Texas.
Lucy put her camera away.
He had harsh lines around his mouth and a forehead like Ed Harris.
When he whispered, those nearby understood he was actually barking and hissing commands... just at a lower decibel. He did that now, yanking three men into submission... and hearing distance.
"Go find out what's on that camera," he hissed, in Arabic, to three black-eyed janitors. "If she got you on film, you know what to do. We can't risk any evidence... Or else."
The three dark skinned men swallowed, blinked, and slowly stood back upright. Cowards in lion suits, they slinked off to a nearby men's room with a janitor's cart, locking themselves in a stall. From this cart they pulled blue jeans, mustaches, cowboy hats, boots, plaid shirts, empty chewing tobacco cans, and belts with silver buckles the size of Big Tex.
Fully dressed, they looked like they'd just crossed the border. In all truth, they had... but they'd first taken an Islamist military plane into Monterrey for a training session.
Exiting the men's room, a Hispanic man stopped them to ask directions to a dog show. They listened to his query in Spanish, glanced at each other, and actually considered killing the man before simply shrugging their shoulders and walking away, sweating bullets.
Needing to look inconspicuous required some mega food purchases, so with difficulty they fished leather wallets out of their tight jeans, waiting in separate lines, all with one beady eye tightly fixed on Lucy.
They hardly even noticed what they ordered.
Sitting at a table immediately behind Lucy, they nonchalantly dove into their plates: one Twisted Texas Taco, one Jalapeno burrito with hot chili Chimichurri sauce, and one bowl of fried Sriracha balls with extra sauce.
One bite.
That's all it took.
Their eyes began to water.
Their throats began to close.
They nearly died, trying to stay there long enough to confirm the girl had photos of them planting a bomb in Big Tex's boots.
She did.
They left, combusting into flames, seeking the nearest men's room like a heat seaking missile.
How could lips be on fire?
They dunked their heads into the toilet, trying to cool their intestines.
An hour later, they'd be plunked down on these same seats, jeans around their knees, bleeding from the inside, moaning as the fried sriracha sauce found its new home in the plumbing of the good old State Fair of Texas.
Lucy put her camera away.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Chapter 18
After their ordeal en la Embarcadero, the emotionally drained Ballman clan trekked back up International Boulevard to seek solace (and calories) in the food court.
Lucy found a table, surrounded it with strollers, and sat down to reserve all its seats while her family looked around for food. They would return, as per usual, in about thirteen minutes, at which point Lucy would embark toward her baked potato booth for a plain, no cheese, extra bacon helping.
She sighed, not so much from hunger as from boredom, and waited her turn.
Propping her elbows up on the coated red wire picnic table, Lucy looked around and wondered how anyone could ever be excited by this place. It was overstimulating, as usual, and stocked with enough fried food to stop your heart, but after coming here year after year after year for all her life, and every year sitting in the exact same spot with the exact same people eating the exact same thing... she was suddenly tired.
Over there by the entrance was a place where she used to buy chocolate milk, until she became allergic. They also sold funnel cakes, chicken fingers, and hot dogs. This was for State Fair of Texas beginners.
Next, another Fletcher's corn dogs, heavy on the mustard. Then Turkey legs, which made Lucy feel like a cave-woman. She usually ate one about 3 p.m. when constant Ballman indecision left her feeling low on protein.
Next, a slushy bar, and a smoothie window, both heavy on sugar and low on fruit. Then funnel cake fries and sweet potato milk shakes.
Then a pulled pork BBQ stand, where Lucy would buy her baked potato in eleven minutes.
Spaghetti, pizza, hamburgers, and tacos rounded out semi-normal food court faire, and took you around a certain corner deep into the food court where it was difficult to return without feeling very Texan, quite surprised, and slightly adventurous, with the sluggishness of a fried food hangover.
Lucy watched people happily buying baskets of food from these booths and boyish returning to red and blue picnic tables to take their ever important first bites.
Teenagers chewed fried pink bubble gum, washing it down with Dippin' Dots and jumbo Coca Cola.
Moms in search of familiarity chose deep fried spaghetti and meatballs, and then shared with open mouth babies like little tiny birds.
Teenage boys chose deep fried Cool Ranch pizza and Texas chili fries.
Men who wanted to be manly returned with heaping plates of Texas fried fire balls, deep fried Cuban rolls, and Funnel Cake Ale.
Others washed down deep fried breakfast for dinner, fried Gulf shrimp boil, and chicken-fried loaded baked potatoes with super saccharine Fried Sweet Texas and deep-fried Texas Bluebonnets.
Lucy watched people eat these things. She watched their mouths open wide. She watched their eyes even wider. She watched people chug sweet tea to the point of brain freeze. She grinned, giggled, smiled, covering her happy smile with her hand.
Her family returned, loudly, complaining about inevitably long lines, and more than ready to sink their hungry teeth into their delicious treasures.
They all gathered hands, bowed their heads, and listened while first Elvis and then his mother gave a quick blessing, thanking Jesus for precious family time and delicious food.
Lucy watched her father dig into his Jalapeño Texas nachos. She watched her mother eat a pulled pork plate, heavy on the pickles, and then discard the buns. She watched her nephews eat goldfish, french fries, a fruit plate, and sweet potato smoothies.
None of it surprised her.
She disembarked from the picnic table in the dead center of the crowded, bustling room, to go and rustle up some din.
Maybe she'd drink a Bubble boba tea with her baked potato this year. Might as well. Going right by there.
Here's to living on the edge.
Lucy found a table, surrounded it with strollers, and sat down to reserve all its seats while her family looked around for food. They would return, as per usual, in about thirteen minutes, at which point Lucy would embark toward her baked potato booth for a plain, no cheese, extra bacon helping.
She sighed, not so much from hunger as from boredom, and waited her turn.
Propping her elbows up on the coated red wire picnic table, Lucy looked around and wondered how anyone could ever be excited by this place. It was overstimulating, as usual, and stocked with enough fried food to stop your heart, but after coming here year after year after year for all her life, and every year sitting in the exact same spot with the exact same people eating the exact same thing... she was suddenly tired.
Over there by the entrance was a place where she used to buy chocolate milk, until she became allergic. They also sold funnel cakes, chicken fingers, and hot dogs. This was for State Fair of Texas beginners.
Next, another Fletcher's corn dogs, heavy on the mustard. Then Turkey legs, which made Lucy feel like a cave-woman. She usually ate one about 3 p.m. when constant Ballman indecision left her feeling low on protein.
Next, a slushy bar, and a smoothie window, both heavy on sugar and low on fruit. Then funnel cake fries and sweet potato milk shakes.
Then a pulled pork BBQ stand, where Lucy would buy her baked potato in eleven minutes.
Spaghetti, pizza, hamburgers, and tacos rounded out semi-normal food court faire, and took you around a certain corner deep into the food court where it was difficult to return without feeling very Texan, quite surprised, and slightly adventurous, with the sluggishness of a fried food hangover.
Lucy watched people happily buying baskets of food from these booths and boyish returning to red and blue picnic tables to take their ever important first bites.
Teenagers chewed fried pink bubble gum, washing it down with Dippin' Dots and jumbo Coca Cola.
Moms in search of familiarity chose deep fried spaghetti and meatballs, and then shared with open mouth babies like little tiny birds.
Teenage boys chose deep fried Cool Ranch pizza and Texas chili fries.
Men who wanted to be manly returned with heaping plates of Texas fried fire balls, deep fried Cuban rolls, and Funnel Cake Ale.
Others washed down deep fried breakfast for dinner, fried Gulf shrimp boil, and chicken-fried loaded baked potatoes with super saccharine Fried Sweet Texas and deep-fried Texas Bluebonnets.
Lucy watched people eat these things. She watched their mouths open wide. She watched their eyes even wider. She watched people chug sweet tea to the point of brain freeze. She grinned, giggled, smiled, covering her happy smile with her hand.
Her family returned, loudly, complaining about inevitably long lines, and more than ready to sink their hungry teeth into their delicious treasures.
They all gathered hands, bowed their heads, and listened while first Elvis and then his mother gave a quick blessing, thanking Jesus for precious family time and delicious food.
Lucy watched her father dig into his Jalapeño Texas nachos. She watched her mother eat a pulled pork plate, heavy on the pickles, and then discard the buns. She watched her nephews eat goldfish, french fries, a fruit plate, and sweet potato smoothies.
None of it surprised her.
She disembarked from the picnic table in the dead center of the crowded, bustling room, to go and rustle up some din.
Maybe she'd drink a Bubble boba tea with her baked potato this year. Might as well. Going right by there.
Here's to living on the edge.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Chapter 17
A lonely Cowboy watched this comical scene unfold with bemusement, particularly enthralled with every emotional reaction on Lucy's face.
He didn't even know her name.
Whatever it was, he would say it every day until forever. All she'd have to do is smile, and he would know she was his.
A Mexican in mirrored sunglasses watched from a different vantage point entirely. Hiding inside a $4,000 grandfather clock, he hoped Lucy would smile. He would die to see her smile just one more time.
Sneller watched her too, from underneath a ten gallon hat. His bald head began to sweat, worried her father would spot him. He'd been following Lucy once in his car (actually one of the times he'd been following Lucy in his car), and pulled into a parking lot three spaces from her car, wanting to "spontaneously" happen upon her smiling face as she disembarked from her car with her long sculpted legs.
Lucy's father, alerted to a suspicious follower by Lucy herself via cell phone, sped quickly in front of Sneller, slammed his truck into park basically in Sneller's nose, and hopped out so quickly that Sneller was face down on the truck's hood with his hands behind his back before he could even see who'd accosted him.
Mr. Ballman quietly informed Sneller, while Lucy waited in her car, that if he ever caught him following, discussing, or slightly bothering his daughter again, he would make full use of both his machete and his baseball bat.
Sneller quivered. He ducked behind a blanket display as Mr. Ballman's gaze wandered sideways, wishing he'd invested in some of those adult underpants he'd considered while following Lucy on her long car trips. He wanted to see her one more time. He lifted his head. Ballman must have smelled fear, because he'd made a beeline for the blankets. Sneller shot back down faster than a jack in the box, sitting in his own pee. He'd have to wait a little longer.
A security guard watched Lucy, too: a guard with a fake mustache.
Meanwhile, as Lucy and her sister calmly quieted little frozen Elvis, an alternate outfit was fished out of one of the strollers. He gladly stripped off his chilly pink costume and shook lemonade out of his hair and boots before slipping into a pair of blue jeans, a striped t-shirt, and a tiny brown cowboy hat.
Lucy glanced across the madness and realized his outfit matched his cousin's, even down to the boots.
She felt a pang of jealousy. Always a middle child, she watched her little brother and older sister breed with rapidity and ease (with their respective spouses, of course), and yearned--no, longed--no, craved--children and a family of her own. How she wanted her own little cowboy dressed in triplicate.
Alas, no one noticed her. No one loved her except her family, because they had to. She want want wanted someone to love. She want want wanted someone to see her, to really see her.
All the time from its quietest, darkest, most glittery depths, her heart screamed like a little Who in Whoville: We are here!
We are here!
We are here!
He didn't even know her name.
Whatever it was, he would say it every day until forever. All she'd have to do is smile, and he would know she was his.
A Mexican in mirrored sunglasses watched from a different vantage point entirely. Hiding inside a $4,000 grandfather clock, he hoped Lucy would smile. He would die to see her smile just one more time.
Sneller watched her too, from underneath a ten gallon hat. His bald head began to sweat, worried her father would spot him. He'd been following Lucy once in his car (actually one of the times he'd been following Lucy in his car), and pulled into a parking lot three spaces from her car, wanting to "spontaneously" happen upon her smiling face as she disembarked from her car with her long sculpted legs.
Lucy's father, alerted to a suspicious follower by Lucy herself via cell phone, sped quickly in front of Sneller, slammed his truck into park basically in Sneller's nose, and hopped out so quickly that Sneller was face down on the truck's hood with his hands behind his back before he could even see who'd accosted him.
Mr. Ballman quietly informed Sneller, while Lucy waited in her car, that if he ever caught him following, discussing, or slightly bothering his daughter again, he would make full use of both his machete and his baseball bat.
Sneller quivered. He ducked behind a blanket display as Mr. Ballman's gaze wandered sideways, wishing he'd invested in some of those adult underpants he'd considered while following Lucy on her long car trips. He wanted to see her one more time. He lifted his head. Ballman must have smelled fear, because he'd made a beeline for the blankets. Sneller shot back down faster than a jack in the box, sitting in his own pee. He'd have to wait a little longer.
A security guard watched Lucy, too: a guard with a fake mustache.
Meanwhile, as Lucy and her sister calmly quieted little frozen Elvis, an alternate outfit was fished out of one of the strollers. He gladly stripped off his chilly pink costume and shook lemonade out of his hair and boots before slipping into a pair of blue jeans, a striped t-shirt, and a tiny brown cowboy hat.
Lucy glanced across the madness and realized his outfit matched his cousin's, even down to the boots.
She felt a pang of jealousy. Always a middle child, she watched her little brother and older sister breed with rapidity and ease (with their respective spouses, of course), and yearned--no, longed--no, craved--children and a family of her own. How she wanted her own little cowboy dressed in triplicate.
Alas, no one noticed her. No one loved her except her family, because they had to. She want want wanted someone to love. She want want wanted someone to see her, to really see her.
All the time from its quietest, darkest, most glittery depths, her heart screamed like a little Who in Whoville: We are here!
We are here!
We are here!
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Chapter 16
Startled passersby, stunned into statuesque silence, stood with mouths open, staring at a miniature Elvis screaming a curse word.
Before any shock turned to mirth, and people wondered why Elvis would be so dismayed at a flaming caramel apple cart, there was a momentary pause in the established movement pattern of this wing of the Embarcadero. A large group, shocked into silence, suddenly became a massive stumbling block for routine southern shoppers, who generally eye every booth in passing, not turning to look at what's ahead until it's already past.
This unfortunate series of behavior patterns set off a chain of events even Elvis would not have expected.
In one long unchained melody of Chaplin-esque proportions, Texans bumped and butted their way into a Domino effect of fried food smelling, cowboy hat wearing, generous package laden passersby colliding in such a way that Lucy was reminded of a laser light show they once saw in Colorado.
A large man tip toed into the backside of a stick-thin tattooed girl in cut-offs, who spun round so fast to tackle the offender her long braided hair smacked a bearded man in the eyeballs, causing him to reach both arms up to cover his whiplashed eyeballs. His elbows clipped a middle aged woman in the jaw, and when she lurched sideways, a good natured chap tried to catch her, and missed, instead grabbing onto a large woman's breasts. Upon realizing his mistake, he turned to run, still staring at his haphazard (and quite massive) victims, and collided so violently with an old wrinkled woman that her unlit cigarette and false teeth popped out of her mouth, shooting forward approximately three feet, where they landed in the unlidded 48 ounce iced pink lemonade of a germophobe, who immediately released the styrofoam cup into the wild blue yonder, with force.
This lovely cold pink rain landed directly upon both Elvis and the flaming sandwich, which had subsequently been dropped by a stunned fried grilled cheese man who now wielded a fire extinguisher.
And yet the freezing acidic lemon rain rendered the now moot extinguisher quite useless.
Time can do so much.
Before any shock turned to mirth, and people wondered why Elvis would be so dismayed at a flaming caramel apple cart, there was a momentary pause in the established movement pattern of this wing of the Embarcadero. A large group, shocked into silence, suddenly became a massive stumbling block for routine southern shoppers, who generally eye every booth in passing, not turning to look at what's ahead until it's already past.
This unfortunate series of behavior patterns set off a chain of events even Elvis would not have expected.
In one long unchained melody of Chaplin-esque proportions, Texans bumped and butted their way into a Domino effect of fried food smelling, cowboy hat wearing, generous package laden passersby colliding in such a way that Lucy was reminded of a laser light show they once saw in Colorado.
A large man tip toed into the backside of a stick-thin tattooed girl in cut-offs, who spun round so fast to tackle the offender her long braided hair smacked a bearded man in the eyeballs, causing him to reach both arms up to cover his whiplashed eyeballs. His elbows clipped a middle aged woman in the jaw, and when she lurched sideways, a good natured chap tried to catch her, and missed, instead grabbing onto a large woman's breasts. Upon realizing his mistake, he turned to run, still staring at his haphazard (and quite massive) victims, and collided so violently with an old wrinkled woman that her unlit cigarette and false teeth popped out of her mouth, shooting forward approximately three feet, where they landed in the unlidded 48 ounce iced pink lemonade of a germophobe, who immediately released the styrofoam cup into the wild blue yonder, with force.
This lovely cold pink rain landed directly upon both Elvis and the flaming sandwich, which had subsequently been dropped by a stunned fried grilled cheese man who now wielded a fire extinguisher.
And yet the freezing acidic lemon rain rendered the now moot extinguisher quite useless.
Time can do so much.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Chapter 15
The Embarcadero is 27,000 feet of shopping heaven. In Spanish, "a place from which to embark,"it brings along every mysterious, wondrous, overwhelming feeling associated with a street fair chock full of exhibitors.
Luckily for Lucy, this carnival of consumerism contained air conditioning.
She smelled caramel apples.
Lucy and the Ballmans bobbed and weaved from booth to booth. Cowboy hats danced on poles. Scarves swayed in compressed breezes. Indian blankets buffered sounds from Swiffer booths, with skinny men on microphones squeezing mops over spaghetti sauce floors.
Lucy looked around, quietly.
Last year she finished an entire year without shopping.
Her nostrils seemed to fill with the acrid smell of smoke. Maybe her brain wanted her to believe shopping was an addiction, and this was a crack tent. Maybe her fashion girl heart wanted her to believe shopping was a soul-soother, and this was a mecca.
Either way, a bone-chilling scream erased her compulsion to purchase.
It was Elvis.
Perhaps it hasn't been mentioned yet, perhaps it's better left unsaid. Speech impediments, after all, are not something polite Texans like to discuss.
Instead they just quietly say, "bless your heart."
But this speech impediment just went public.
It was Elvis.
He spied a fire in the fried grilled cheese booth, and wanted to alert the authorities. He began to scream smoke in a way only a three year old blonde boy dressed as the King can.
His speech impediment eliminated any "s" conjuctions from his vocabulary. School became ool. Skunks became unks. And smoke became...
A four letter word, beginning with the letter F.
He shouted it to the rooftops.
Smoke.
Luckily for Lucy, this carnival of consumerism contained air conditioning.
She smelled caramel apples.
Lucy and the Ballmans bobbed and weaved from booth to booth. Cowboy hats danced on poles. Scarves swayed in compressed breezes. Indian blankets buffered sounds from Swiffer booths, with skinny men on microphones squeezing mops over spaghetti sauce floors.
Lucy looked around, quietly.
Last year she finished an entire year without shopping.
Her nostrils seemed to fill with the acrid smell of smoke. Maybe her brain wanted her to believe shopping was an addiction, and this was a crack tent. Maybe her fashion girl heart wanted her to believe shopping was a soul-soother, and this was a mecca.
Either way, a bone-chilling scream erased her compulsion to purchase.
It was Elvis.
Perhaps it hasn't been mentioned yet, perhaps it's better left unsaid. Speech impediments, after all, are not something polite Texans like to discuss.
Instead they just quietly say, "bless your heart."
But this speech impediment just went public.
It was Elvis.
He spied a fire in the fried grilled cheese booth, and wanted to alert the authorities. He began to scream smoke in a way only a three year old blonde boy dressed as the King can.
His speech impediment eliminated any "s" conjuctions from his vocabulary. School became ool. Skunks became unks. And smoke became...
A four letter word, beginning with the letter F.
He shouted it to the rooftops.
Smoke.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Chapter 14
Once more walking in a slow caravan towards the Embarcadero, Lucy let her mind slowly two-step through sights and sounds of this Fair.
Zac Brown's band warmed up on stage, letting cat calls and good natured slip ups go with a yell.
"There's no dollar sign on peace of mind," they sang...
There were so many food vendors lining this path to the Embarcadero. It was like death row. Oh, FRIED OREOS.
"I thank God for my life."
Turkey legs.
"Sic'em on a chicken."
Fried Snickers. Fried butter. Fried Frito pie.
"I think we lost a chicken."
Fried Jambalaya. Fried beer.
"But you can get another one..."
FUNNEL CAKES.
A perennial favorite--ahem, necessity-- Mr. Ballman bought a couple freshly fried, super powder sugared, awesomely fragrant plates of cakes to split amongst the women and children, who had suddenly lost any ability to proceed in a forward direction.
Lucy wondered if she'd ever have a husband like her father. He loved through action. He spoke almost as rarely as Big Tex, but when he did, you knew he meant every word. But then again her parents met before their 20th birthdays. Lucy wasn't a spring chicken anymore. She was getting older.
"Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in." Who wants an old fried chicken?
Lucy's eyes began to tear up, so she glanced away from her father's smile to look at fat people eat fried food. Her blue eyes landed on an orange and white striped food pavilion. They sold fried Oreos.
At a senior banquet ten years ago, Lucy's father declared his children were like Oreos. No, DOUBLE STUFFED Oreos. And Lucy was the double stuff in the middle.
"He said I wanna see you again."
Oh man, here come the tears again. Lucy put on her sunglasses, then gazed at her big sister and her little brother. Oh, to be anything but the only unmarried middle child. Unattached. Unloved. Unwanted in the way that all these couples wanted each other. She was only in a family by default.
"When you're in the lost and found..."
She flicked an errant teardrop who'd escaped beneath a purple leopard print rim on her sunglasses.
"I don't want you but I need you."
Zac Brown ended their warm up set with a cacophonous drumroll, making Lucy's mother jump. Her red hair flashed in little rimlets of sun shining between food pavilions.
Lucy looked at them and wondered.
She wondered where she was going.
It seemed like she was always here.
Zac Brown's band warmed up on stage, letting cat calls and good natured slip ups go with a yell.
"There's no dollar sign on peace of mind," they sang...
There were so many food vendors lining this path to the Embarcadero. It was like death row. Oh, FRIED OREOS.
"I thank God for my life."
Turkey legs.
"Sic'em on a chicken."
Fried Snickers. Fried butter. Fried Frito pie.
"I think we lost a chicken."
Fried Jambalaya. Fried beer.
"But you can get another one..."
FUNNEL CAKES.
A perennial favorite--ahem, necessity-- Mr. Ballman bought a couple freshly fried, super powder sugared, awesomely fragrant plates of cakes to split amongst the women and children, who had suddenly lost any ability to proceed in a forward direction.
Lucy wondered if she'd ever have a husband like her father. He loved through action. He spoke almost as rarely as Big Tex, but when he did, you knew he meant every word. But then again her parents met before their 20th birthdays. Lucy wasn't a spring chicken anymore. She was getting older.
"Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in." Who wants an old fried chicken?
Lucy's eyes began to tear up, so she glanced away from her father's smile to look at fat people eat fried food. Her blue eyes landed on an orange and white striped food pavilion. They sold fried Oreos.
At a senior banquet ten years ago, Lucy's father declared his children were like Oreos. No, DOUBLE STUFFED Oreos. And Lucy was the double stuff in the middle.
"He said I wanna see you again."
Oh man, here come the tears again. Lucy put on her sunglasses, then gazed at her big sister and her little brother. Oh, to be anything but the only unmarried middle child. Unattached. Unloved. Unwanted in the way that all these couples wanted each other. She was only in a family by default.
"When you're in the lost and found..."
She flicked an errant teardrop who'd escaped beneath a purple leopard print rim on her sunglasses.
"I don't want you but I need you."
Zac Brown ended their warm up set with a cacophonous drumroll, making Lucy's mother jump. Her red hair flashed in little rimlets of sun shining between food pavilions.
Lucy looked at them and wondered.
She wondered where she was going.
It seemed like she was always here.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Chapter 13
Lucy watched as her nephew, clad only in a cloth diaper and a Batman t-shirt, plumply rolled onto his forearms.
A year's supply of disposable diapers at stake, and he could care less. His mother didn't care, either: they were diaper hipsters. Dipsters.
But it was a race, and it was a distraction.
She didn't want time to move. Heightened emotions of a 60 second baby crawl meant 60 seconds of not thinking about that departure line at DFW airport's military gate.
Would he come home?
Lucy stared long and hard into her brother's jaw, trying to memorize its strength, its joy. So much like his father's. Lucy looked at her father, behind them, holding a grandkid.
Boy, how his face shined. Shined with happy. Shined with momentary glee.
Three weeks ago it shone for a different reason. Slick with tears, it still looked strong, but awash in joy she could stand to stare at her father's face forever.
And that's what it was, forever.
Every year.
The fair.
Lucy heard music in her head, tuning out cheering, tuning out organs from adjacent tents, tuning out Big Tex bellowing in background hums. For a minute, it was all right to be back here, to be doing the same thing over and over and over and over and over again.
It was all right for it not to change.
And then, like an organ grinder halting his pedals, the music stopped. Lucy came back into focus. Oh how she wanted it to change. Oh how she wanted to be able to make her father's face light up like that with a grandchild of her own. Oh how she yearned to be the one standing near a duct tape finish line at a baby crawling race with her cell phone, screaming at her child to come and get it. Oh how she wanted to be loved, to be loved in the way all these other twosomes became two and then three and then us.
Oh how she wanted.
Lucy watched her sister-in-law hoist her child up into the air, victorious, giant smiles captured on television cameras for evening news segments. She watched reporters take her name. She watched her brother head over to furl her up into a hug, in his shoulder, on his arm.
She turned away, fighting tears.
Someone was watching her from behind the tent poles, but she didn't know.
She had never felt more alone in all her life.
A year's supply of disposable diapers at stake, and he could care less. His mother didn't care, either: they were diaper hipsters. Dipsters.
But it was a race, and it was a distraction.
She didn't want time to move. Heightened emotions of a 60 second baby crawl meant 60 seconds of not thinking about that departure line at DFW airport's military gate.
Would he come home?
Lucy stared long and hard into her brother's jaw, trying to memorize its strength, its joy. So much like his father's. Lucy looked at her father, behind them, holding a grandkid.
Boy, how his face shined. Shined with happy. Shined with momentary glee.
Three weeks ago it shone for a different reason. Slick with tears, it still looked strong, but awash in joy she could stand to stare at her father's face forever.
And that's what it was, forever.
Every year.
The fair.
Lucy heard music in her head, tuning out cheering, tuning out organs from adjacent tents, tuning out Big Tex bellowing in background hums. For a minute, it was all right to be back here, to be doing the same thing over and over and over and over and over again.
It was all right for it not to change.
And then, like an organ grinder halting his pedals, the music stopped. Lucy came back into focus. Oh how she wanted it to change. Oh how she wanted to be able to make her father's face light up like that with a grandchild of her own. Oh how she yearned to be the one standing near a duct tape finish line at a baby crawling race with her cell phone, screaming at her child to come and get it. Oh how she wanted to be loved, to be loved in the way all these other twosomes became two and then three and then us.
Oh how she wanted.
Lucy watched her sister-in-law hoist her child up into the air, victorious, giant smiles captured on television cameras for evening news segments. She watched reporters take her name. She watched her brother head over to furl her up into a hug, in his shoulder, on his arm.
She turned away, fighting tears.
Someone was watching her from behind the tent poles, but she didn't know.
She had never felt more alone in all her life.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Chapter 12
At last Lucy Ballman and her family mustered strength to decide on a stroll through the Embarcadero to buy more fudge and look for a new flag pole topper. Afterwards they would check out quilts and cooking demonstrations in an adjacent Creative Arts building.
They made this decision as if it were a lighting bolt: magical, time-defining, imagistic, anachronistic, sudden, sure, elemental.
Lucy helped gather pacifiers and discarded napkins, keeping her head down, trying not to look both surprised and shocked at another sameness.
Every year. Every year. And as usual, the lightning bolt decision had been like pulling teeth.
What do you want to do?
I don't know. What do you want to do?
Well, I don't know. What do you want to do?
I want to scream.
I do.
I want to run away.
Lucy smiled at Elvis and followed his happy hops away from those dark windows. With a glance over her shoulder to ensure her mother hadn't forgotten her cell phone or sunglasses this year, Lucy bit her tongue. She could see eyes staring at her through the windows.
Oh. Well it was an office after all. They had the right to stare at loud people who'd probably entertained/interrupted Friday morning task lists for three quarters of an hour.
Still, Lucy, unnerved, practically walked backwards, trying to ascertain why she still felt eyes upon her back, even at this end of International Boulevard, with fountains all around, and food carts blocking every sightline.
A band warmed up on the Chevrolet Main Stage beside them, and Lucy measured her steps with drum beats. One last look behind her... and blam.
She knocked over a giant billboard. Righting the errant sign, she read: "Welcome Walker and the Texas Rangers to the Chevrolet Main Stage: Friday at 4 and 8 pm."
Well then. More country music, apparently. Not for her.
Eyes watched her from the stage, interested. Eyes watch her from behind, interested.
Her clan had unexpectedly stopped at Oak Farms Children's Activity Center, so Lucy disappeared into a red and white striped circus tent, following familiar infant bellows.
Television cameras blocked her path.
Her sister-in-law was leaning over a short plastic barrier, placing her crawling babe on a white line of duct tape.
As a whistle blew, Lucy heard a television reporter beside her announce a live shot from a baby crawling contest at the State Fair of Texas.
Oh. Live.
Lucy ducked out of their shot.
Crawl, baby, crawl.
They made this decision as if it were a lighting bolt: magical, time-defining, imagistic, anachronistic, sudden, sure, elemental.
Lucy helped gather pacifiers and discarded napkins, keeping her head down, trying not to look both surprised and shocked at another sameness.
Every year. Every year. And as usual, the lightning bolt decision had been like pulling teeth.
What do you want to do?
I don't know. What do you want to do?
Well, I don't know. What do you want to do?
I want to scream.
I do.
I want to run away.
Lucy smiled at Elvis and followed his happy hops away from those dark windows. With a glance over her shoulder to ensure her mother hadn't forgotten her cell phone or sunglasses this year, Lucy bit her tongue. She could see eyes staring at her through the windows.
Oh. Well it was an office after all. They had the right to stare at loud people who'd probably entertained/interrupted Friday morning task lists for three quarters of an hour.
Still, Lucy, unnerved, practically walked backwards, trying to ascertain why she still felt eyes upon her back, even at this end of International Boulevard, with fountains all around, and food carts blocking every sightline.
A band warmed up on the Chevrolet Main Stage beside them, and Lucy measured her steps with drum beats. One last look behind her... and blam.
She knocked over a giant billboard. Righting the errant sign, she read: "Welcome Walker and the Texas Rangers to the Chevrolet Main Stage: Friday at 4 and 8 pm."
Well then. More country music, apparently. Not for her.
Eyes watched her from the stage, interested. Eyes watch her from behind, interested.
Her clan had unexpectedly stopped at Oak Farms Children's Activity Center, so Lucy disappeared into a red and white striped circus tent, following familiar infant bellows.
Television cameras blocked her path.
Her sister-in-law was leaning over a short plastic barrier, placing her crawling babe on a white line of duct tape.
As a whistle blew, Lucy heard a television reporter beside her announce a live shot from a baby crawling contest at the State Fair of Texas.
Oh. Live.
Lucy ducked out of their shot.
Crawl, baby, crawl.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Chapter 11
Meanwhile, Lucy's family grew tired of shiny cars and flawless leather smiles. Delightfully chilled to their bones, their air conditioned heads felt ready to face October heat, and they departed, collecting Lucy beside her door.
Baby Ballmans rode shoulders and strollers across an empty service street and an early morning International Boulevard to an equally deserted patch of green grass.
This grass, outside heavily tinted windows of administrative offices in the Tower Building, offered three desirable factors: one, partial shade; two, proximity to delicious smells floating out from the food court; and three, easy access from gate 5, where Laney's husband had just parked his truck.
Lucy followed her father over to Fletcher's hot dog stand to help him carry a couple dogs back for Elvis and his cowboy cousin. She bit into a perfectly crisp beige tip while it was a little too fresh, and used mustard to quench her burning tongue.
Wisely, the mothers cut their dogs into rapidly cooling, bite sized chunks for littles to nibble on. Lucy lounged in the hidden nook of a perfectly placed wall, watching bees buzz between marigolds and yellow rose bushes to her left. To her right, beyond her perfect little pink bow flats crossed at the ankles, she watched state fair goers go about their business.
How strange life was.
Three weeks ago they'd buried her father's mother. Three weeks, and the first time she ever saw her father cry. In three days her brother would return to Afghanistan. In three weeks both her sister and her sister in law would have brand new baby girls. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three...
She looked at the back of Big Tex's waving hand as he bellowed another recorded welcome message. She could see only three of his fingers. She could see three belt loops on his jeans. She could see three Mexicans coming out of the service door at the bottom of his boots. She could see three looks on their faces. She could see...
THREE FINGERS IN HER EYEBALLS.
"Max!!!!" she shouted, and she giggled her way into a dogpile of nephews and mustard stains and used napkins.
Rolling herself onto her knees, she crawled a few feet over to a stroller, strategically jammed between two rose bushes so it wouldn't melt.
As she worked to dig her camera bag from its bottom shelf, Lucy stared at her reflection in the black window before her face, wondering who worked on its inside, and whether they were watching her, too. What they must think.
Lucy unzipped the waterproof bag, given to her as a gift on her 25th birthday by the photographer who photographed Donald Trump's wedding. She pulled her camera out to snap some candids of her family, particularly the children.
Children have no self-defining fear of being photographed, no smile-altering pride, no self-esteem-crippling age to detract from their pure emotions, written all over every toothy grin and goofy smile. Even the sadness was real.
Lucy saw them play, and captured their frolicking realness with Big Tex frozen sweetly in the background.
Elvis picked a marigold for her, and she couldn't take her eyes off his dimpled grin long enough to notice that her press badge had fallen into a rose bush.
Beady, greedy eyes watched her from the other side of the window.
"Get me that badge," the eyes said.
They weren't smiling.
Baby Ballmans rode shoulders and strollers across an empty service street and an early morning International Boulevard to an equally deserted patch of green grass.
This grass, outside heavily tinted windows of administrative offices in the Tower Building, offered three desirable factors: one, partial shade; two, proximity to delicious smells floating out from the food court; and three, easy access from gate 5, where Laney's husband had just parked his truck.
Lucy followed her father over to Fletcher's hot dog stand to help him carry a couple dogs back for Elvis and his cowboy cousin. She bit into a perfectly crisp beige tip while it was a little too fresh, and used mustard to quench her burning tongue.
Wisely, the mothers cut their dogs into rapidly cooling, bite sized chunks for littles to nibble on. Lucy lounged in the hidden nook of a perfectly placed wall, watching bees buzz between marigolds and yellow rose bushes to her left. To her right, beyond her perfect little pink bow flats crossed at the ankles, she watched state fair goers go about their business.
How strange life was.
Three weeks ago they'd buried her father's mother. Three weeks, and the first time she ever saw her father cry. In three days her brother would return to Afghanistan. In three weeks both her sister and her sister in law would have brand new baby girls. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three...
She looked at the back of Big Tex's waving hand as he bellowed another recorded welcome message. She could see only three of his fingers. She could see three belt loops on his jeans. She could see three Mexicans coming out of the service door at the bottom of his boots. She could see three looks on their faces. She could see...
THREE FINGERS IN HER EYEBALLS.
"Max!!!!" she shouted, and she giggled her way into a dogpile of nephews and mustard stains and used napkins.
Rolling herself onto her knees, she crawled a few feet over to a stroller, strategically jammed between two rose bushes so it wouldn't melt.
As she worked to dig her camera bag from its bottom shelf, Lucy stared at her reflection in the black window before her face, wondering who worked on its inside, and whether they were watching her, too. What they must think.
Lucy unzipped the waterproof bag, given to her as a gift on her 25th birthday by the photographer who photographed Donald Trump's wedding. She pulled her camera out to snap some candids of her family, particularly the children.
Children have no self-defining fear of being photographed, no smile-altering pride, no self-esteem-crippling age to detract from their pure emotions, written all over every toothy grin and goofy smile. Even the sadness was real.
Lucy saw them play, and captured their frolicking realness with Big Tex frozen sweetly in the background.
Elvis picked a marigold for her, and she couldn't take her eyes off his dimpled grin long enough to notice that her press badge had fallen into a rose bush.
Beady, greedy eyes watched her from the other side of the window.
"Get me that badge," the eyes said.
They weren't smiling.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Chapter 10
He watched her.
Oh, he watched her.
Remember how she smelled in California? When other cars made it difficult for their bus driver to turn, gravity pulled her body into his, and his heart soared.
She smelled like syrup. Like syrup on cupcakes. Like vanilla creme. Cream puffs.
Cream puffs. That's what they would call each other. They would get married. They would have pet names. They would sit on buses and not wait for gravity to bring them back together.
He watched her.
He breathed, looking for courage to approach.
He opened his mouth to form pretty vowels, wanting his first hello to be as perfect as her face. Her face. Her face turned, feeling sunlight, and he was on his way.
Two steps later and his heart broke into pieces. Someone else plopped down upon his spot beside her on the lucky lucky bench. He froze.
The thin Indian woman was Bindi. Lucy hadn't seen her since high school. Cowboy stood in his place, listening to Lucy's voice curve into beautiful bell curves and drift over his eyes like vanilla cream.
He reached out his hand to touch her, feeling fuzzy electricity on his fingers, and he froze, two paces away. After a time he realized other passersby flew in and out.
A door slammed. He heard a toilet flush. He came back to life as if out of a dream, placing the hand that reached firmly into his pocket and the other brushed the invisible dust off the back of his neck. He turned, broken heart leaning like a dizzy bus on two wheels, turning corners into madness.
He found himself in a men's bathroom, and closed the door.
Three dark skinned men spoke another language in hushed tones beside him.
Was is Arabic? African? He didn't know. He didn't care. He watched a fake mustache fall to the floor beside his left foot. A dark skinned hand hurriedly reached out to rescue the accidental fur, with an Arabic/African expletive. Indian. Maybe Indian. Maybe these were Bindi's people. Whoever they were, he didn't like them.
They had stolen his girl.
Oh, he watched her.
Remember how she smelled in California? When other cars made it difficult for their bus driver to turn, gravity pulled her body into his, and his heart soared.
She smelled like syrup. Like syrup on cupcakes. Like vanilla creme. Cream puffs.
Cream puffs. That's what they would call each other. They would get married. They would have pet names. They would sit on buses and not wait for gravity to bring them back together.
He watched her.
He breathed, looking for courage to approach.
He opened his mouth to form pretty vowels, wanting his first hello to be as perfect as her face. Her face. Her face turned, feeling sunlight, and he was on his way.
Two steps later and his heart broke into pieces. Someone else plopped down upon his spot beside her on the lucky lucky bench. He froze.
The thin Indian woman was Bindi. Lucy hadn't seen her since high school. Cowboy stood in his place, listening to Lucy's voice curve into beautiful bell curves and drift over his eyes like vanilla cream.
He reached out his hand to touch her, feeling fuzzy electricity on his fingers, and he froze, two paces away. After a time he realized other passersby flew in and out.
A door slammed. He heard a toilet flush. He came back to life as if out of a dream, placing the hand that reached firmly into his pocket and the other brushed the invisible dust off the back of his neck. He turned, broken heart leaning like a dizzy bus on two wheels, turning corners into madness.
He found himself in a men's bathroom, and closed the door.
Three dark skinned men spoke another language in hushed tones beside him.
Was is Arabic? African? He didn't know. He didn't care. He watched a fake mustache fall to the floor beside his left foot. A dark skinned hand hurriedly reached out to rescue the accidental fur, with an Arabic/African expletive. Indian. Maybe Indian. Maybe these were Bindi's people. Whoever they were, he didn't like them.
They had stolen his girl.
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