(This is this, minus the rose-colored sea glass.)
Strung out and washed up, my tank top hangs off my bony shoulders as I buy two cokes to give us some sugar energy, bridging the gap between the two evening shows and when we can get to the pub and split a whiskey poured over a slow dance. We haven't loved each other the right way for years, we're just mutual parasites trying to suck the nostalgia from each other, reliving the innocent days of lights and excitement, that weird bubbly half-choked feeling that rises in your throat just before the floor drops out from under you on one of the screamer rides.
Fucking tattooed freaks, the man behind the counter mutters as I count out change. I nod and smile. Recognition. But he has already scooped my dirty American dimes off the counter and turned away. The Freak show is a nineties washed-up reflection of the glory days, a victim of its own success. People are too horrified to come now, they don't wish their curiosities to be turned transparent. We make them so uncomfortable.
I resolve never to be like them. The Averages, the Rubes.
I pass one of the midgets. Simon? I think. We don't use real names here. He makes me feel huge even though he's almost as tall as I am. He nods and begins to deal his charm on me. We're fairly new so we've kept to ourselves thus far. I'm alone more than ever as Loch continues to work around the clock making bank and when he's not working he's high until he's low and asleep. We're hanging by a thread.
I hear you used to be the wire walker on the Steadmann outfit a few years back. What are you doing slumming with us?
I was underage. We were driven out.
Cut your losses then?
Yes.
Did you adapt to the fire show? How did that come about?
We always did it on the side. Some shows are slow to settle up so we busked and did some underground stuff that didn't work out. I like the fire though.
Can't forget about it if you're still here.
I know it.
Your... friend. He worries about you.
Not anymore he doesn't.
Don't bet any money on that color, Doll. He does. He just can't get out of his own way to do anything about it right this minute. So you watch yourself. This is no place for a girl like you.
He went inside the tent and I walked back to the room. Loch is still sleeping. He doesn't even know I left. I put the lukewarm cokes on top of the broken television and lock myself in the bathroom. The shower is only marginally warmer than the drinks but I stand there forever staring at chipped tiles and trying to be brave. I came this far, the least I can do is play the game one more time.
