Do I need a ticketWait, he said and he staggered toward me, his eyes locked on mine. Then he veered off around the corner and I figured maybe he's had enough alcohol and he has to go to the bathroom. He comes back around the corner holding the hose. Oh. He needs some water, I think and then I remind myself of what he's doing and mentally breathe a sigh of relief because the water bucket is only going to help so much in an emergency. An endless supply is a much better idea.
To buy this ride?
Convenient it appears in front of me
The expression on your face gives a sign
And I don't like it
And then he turns it on me and I shriek. It's ice cold. I put my hands up and turn around, shouting his name but he doesn't stop. He walks closer and raises the hose up over my head, making sure to soak me good. Making sure my hair is wet, my shoes, and a four foot circle on the ground around me.
He drops the hose on the ground at my feet and nods. You're safer now. Don't you move, Peanut. I swear to God, if you move- He loses his train of thought and returns to the unplanted garden, the turned earth where he is learning to manipulate the flames. He can already throw fire, juggling so many torches I have a hard time keeping count, but he wants it all. Tonight he's eating it. Fire is cake to him.
Lochlan's so smashed right now I have my doubts that he should even continue. They're teaching him fire-eating out behind the utility buildings at the end of the road where the parking lot is, jammed full of our campers where we sleep between days spent working the midway. He wanted me to be there to watch his evolution and learn a few things too, he said and so he woke me up in the middle of the night, helping me dress, chattering quietly about securing our future. Taking things higher, burning up like a comet in the sky. I nodded sleepily. Future. Sky. Fire. What does he think my dreams are at night?
They're not this, standing dripping and shivering in the middle of the night in late August watching him learn he has more than a natural affinity for this. Don't inhale. Don't spill. Don't swallow. Pay attention because this can kill you but you know, it will also render you blind drunk in the space of the first twenty minutes so good luck remembering your techniques at that point. Good luck indeed.
Every time he puts flames on his tongue I hold my breath along with him. Every time he shoots fuel out between his teeth and lights it on the upswing with the torch I force myself to keep my eyes open in case I need to drop, grab the hose and save his life.
But at the same time I'm rapt. The flames dance white-hot in his eyes. He is visceral and alive and excited. He's a natural, they tell him and he's proud. Chest-thrust out, ego-soaring proud. Stumbling-drunk proud. Pretty sure of himself and finally when I realize he's having trouble holding still when he should I ask him to stop.
Loch, please! Enough for tonight.
No, Peanut, I'm just getting the...hang of things...just a little longer.
Please?
He stops and stares at me. He rocks slightly. Then he smiles crookedly and nods. Yeah. Okay. He points his finger and staggers backwards two steps. Admit it. Your blood is thrumming. I can feel it from here. I just want to get this right and then I'll teach you. We'll do it together and then we can buy that land up on the Cape and we can have everything we've talked about.
Right so pack it in before you have an accident. Your luck has run out for the night, Mister. I give him my caller voice and he grins.
Yeah, okay.
The gear is packed up and the others drift away into the darkness at the edges of the night. Lochlan puts his arm around me and apologizes into my hair for getting unintentionally drunk off the grain alcohol they were using for fuel, for soaking me in cold water, for waking me up, for keeping me a captive audience, and for being so thorough in planning our future. Ours, together. All of this is for me, although after tonight I'm thinking maybe he should be a house painter or something and I'll work in a bakery. Safe things. Easier things with regular pay. Nothing that devalues his efforts, with half his talent given away for free when people don't pay for the entertainment, instead disappearing into the crowd, forcing him to return to the back end of the lot and run rides. Forcing me to want to steal just to help out.
But Lochlan reads my mind. Naw, Bridget, the plan now is to make them pay up front. Spread the word, create an irresistible show, maybe on the sideshow circuit down south and then negotiate the profits from admittance fees and concession. I have it all figured out. We'll be world famous.
We?
You'll be incredible. I'll eat fire off your skin. We can kiss, exchange flames. You can mimic me behind my back and make them laugh-
He stops and grabs my head in both hands. He brings his forehead down and presses it hard against mine. Shared brains. We both waver now because he's controlling my movements. I laugh as I keel crazily to the right and then overcorrect and veer far down to the left but then he gets us under control.
Listen to me. You're so brave. You were brave to come with me and braver still to stay. If I can do anything you can do it twice as well. Matt says he's going to pass my name along, that it's a..what's the word? Attrition! Attrition kind of thing where you have to wait for a space or be that good that they make a space and acquire your act, but he knows enough people. So we develop this and make it different and then word will get around. Let's do this. Let's live off this magic we found. Let's keep it unreal, let's...oh fuck, I'll be right back.
He took off running out into the middle of the field, and stopped, bending over, hands on his knees, bringing up all of the fuel that found its way into his stomach. Hopefully none of it went into his lungs because I don't think he could expel that. He remained swaying crazily in that position forever while I shivered and plotted and twisted and planned and by the time he made his way slowly back to me, a new clarity on his face, we had it figured out without saying a word. Our take on on the traditional act of fire-eating. It hasn't been done before. Or maybe it has but we don't know yet, we'll have to wait and see. The only thing we know is that even if it's been done before, it will have never been done like this.
We make our way back to the camper and clean up best we can. As we settle back in under the blanket, my hair freshly towel-dried, detangled and loosely braided, my limbs safely ensconced in his hundred-and-ten-degree clutch, he tells me that the beauty of the next five or six years, until I am an adult, is the time we will have to learn and practice, to plan our future together, and to further perfect our mind-reading. He lies there smiling at me, this terribly drunk magnificently affectionate flame-haired teenage boy taking back over from the winsome, inherent showman I watched earlier in my sleep.
I drift off with the taste of alcohol on my lips, his I love you promise ringing in my ears. I burn without fire. I feel dizzy. I have that weird hyperventilaty-scary-happy feeling that only comes from Lochlan. Like I can't breathe when I'm around him but I can't breathe without him either.