Freaks and Fortune

Someone's hand, warm from the morning sun, was pressed firmly on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and, for a few wild seconds, I still thought I was at home. I panicked and let out a strangled, "How late am I?"

"You're not late, you just-"
"Right. Yeah, I know," I insisted, even though I didn't. I waved the hand away.

I had been dreaming. The fairground was flooded, completely submerged. The Ringmaster's body - it's intimidating height seeming pale and lifeless - drifted past me as I tried to swim toward the ferris-wheel to safety. A stress dream. Something that I thought I'd left behind in Florida.

I assumed living and working at Piccadilly's Family Circus would get easier as the days went on but, apparently, that took months. Years, even. I had figured they would've at least stopped calling me "new girl" by Friday, but it was Monday and none of the other errand-girls seemed to know my name. I had introduced myself, of course. Several times, in fact.

But, to their credit, the life of an roustabout at Piccadilly's was so fast that it left streaks of color blazed into your eyes, as if the days themselves were an impression of light on the insides of your eyelids. The only way I could think to describe it is that everything is always happening all the time. Forever.

People are always rushing, always busy, always doing something that is significantly more important than you are. There are so many rules that nobody ever tells you about, but expects you to know anyway. Crates of chickens are being hauled from Tent A into the Main Tent, so don't bother that man with questions about directions. The Lion Tamer needs his stage make-up done, and even though he is yelling at you, don't improvise and do it yourself because you really have no idea what you are doing and a lot of people will be mad. The Tightrope Walker has to have her ankle bound, but your job is to run and get the nurse in the first aid tent, even though you took a safety class when you were a lifeguard. The Freaks are throwing a party in the storage unit and have to be reprimanded, so you’re forced to go and break up the festivity and get booed by a bunch of partying teenagers.

I groaned and pressed the back of my head into my pillow. The Freaks. A knot of stress and embarrassment wiggled in my stomach.

The twisted hierarchy at Piccadilly’s Family Circus extends from the lowly roustabouts, who were errand-runners like me, to the performers, to the Ringmaster - Mr. Piccadilly himself.

The Freaks, as they are not-so-fondly referred to around the Roustabout cabins, are the four teenage Side-Show Freaks that reside on the west end of the fairgrounds. They are supposedly the most important members of the Circus; second only to the formidable Mr. Piccadilly. The Freaks are almost super-human magnets for customers of all ages and put on the Circus’ most lucrative acts. The pull of The Freaks is so powerful that there are actually groups of people who follow “The Teenage Aqua-Boy” all over the country.

“New girl? Are you crying?”
“I’m resting my eyes.”
“Well, you’re going to be late.”
“Hm,” I grunted.

I waited a few moments to open my eyes, just to annoy whoever had called me “new girl.” I finally sighed and threw off the standard-issue quilt that was given to all the errand-girls who bunked in Cabin B-2. I was jostled as my cabin-mates rushed past me to get the week’s chore assignments. I dressed in my yellow “STAFF” polo and work-jeans (designer jeans, actually, that I had brought with me from Florida. I’m sure the cashier at trendy store I’d purchased them from would cringe if she saw how they were being used now).

Chore assignments were given out weekly, with the dignified jobs going to established roustabouts that had been with the Circus for years. Naturally, if you arrived unannounced in the middle of May, you were stuck with things like “elephant clean-up duties.”

The heat was sharp and crisp. I could feel it sink into the top of my head the second I stepped out of the cabin. I snapped my red hair into a frizzy bun and crunched through the dead grass outside Cabin B-2. I hit the pathway and kicked up loose dirt as I, however unwise, decided to walk slowly. A wide expanse of fairground fanned out before me. Brightly colored booths were being readied for the day's festivities. I smiled as I envisioned a bird's-eye-view of the Circus: a handful of colored candies scattered on the dry, dead ground. I narrowly avoided a head-on collision with a midget on stilts and I had to dodge one of the clowns who, unfortunately, reminded me somewhat of The Joker.

I arrived at the deserted Time-Card Booth and Anthony Piccadilly, the Ringmaster's son, winced when he saw me.

“Late,” he commented.
“I know.”
“You can’t keep doing this to me, Florida! I love you. I really do.” Anthony was charming. What with his crooked smile and smart-ass voice, I found myself always wanting to linger around the Time-Card Booth longer than necessary; if not for attention, then at least for entertainment. “I hate giving pretty girls ugly jobs. But you’re new. You’re late.”
“I can’t help it. What can I do?”
“Walk faster?”
“Shut up.”
He gestured to the schedule that had been posted at the front of the booth. “Needless to say, there’s no place to go but up.”

Ivy Bailey: Elephant Clean-Up Duties, West-Arena, Fairground Sector 6

He leaned back into the air-conditioned booth and punched my card into a small machine that stamped it with the date and time.

“What would you do for me if I punched your card in with everyone else’s?” Anthony asked in an off-hand sort of voice, casually waving my time-card in front of my face.
“You mean… mark me early?”
“Yeah, sure. If you want to put it like that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I like you, I guess.”
“That would be awesome,” I breathed.
“Yeah, but what would you do? For me?”
“I’d marry you,” I said, fiercely serious.
He laughed. “Sorry… I’m preoccupied at the moment.”
“What’s her name?”
“Brian.”
“Right,” I nodded, catching on quickly.
“My father puts on make-up and shouts for a living. What do you expect?”
“So I have nothing to offer, then?”
“Well, not exactly. I’m just not going to live life with one hand tied behind my back, and all that.”
“One of those ones?” I asked. “I can live with that.”
“Stop flirting and get to work,” he ordered dryly, a wry smile twisting his face.
“Alright, alright,” I conceded, backing away from the Time-Card Booth. “Will you still punch my card in early?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“How you handle today.”

I stopped and pulled a concerned face. I had moved out of the blue shadow of the booth and now had to squint against the morning sun.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I called.
Anthony just shrugged.

If it was one thing that unnerved me more than anything else, it’s being kept in the dark. Throughout my old life, back in Florida, I had always been kept at arm’s length. From important business and family matters to the colors of my room, my parents made each decision without consulting me. “Power,” my father had once said to me, “means never having to do anything yourself.” But when decisions were made for me, no matter how small, I found myself feeling powerless more than anything else.

I had become aware of this powerlessness when I was nine and three-quarters old. I had written a fantastic Christmas list that year, with each item ranked in order of importance and price. But, come Christmas morning, there wasn’t a single present under the tree that had been on my list. No Soc-Em Boppers, no Harry Potter books, no dirt bikes. My parents had hired consultants to research the most popular toys amongst young girls and that matter was taken entirely out of my hands. Nobody had even looked at my list. It was then that I realized that my life wasn’t exactly out of control… it was just out of my control.

Piccadilly’s Family Circus and Carnival was supposed to change that. It was supposed to change everything.

The smell of elephant dung stung my nose and I turned away on reflex. I started out toward the shed for my shovel and wheelbarrow.

Maybe it would change. Maybe.