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.
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