“’Pop-up carnival,’” I quoted. “And I left home to go for a morning stroll.”

Brent chuckled, “Yeah… looks like it’s put on some weight since I was last here. Wow.”

Wow, indeed. The vast collection of rides, stands, tents, and booths stretching out before us definitely wasn’t what I was expecting from a fly-by-night temporary amusement park.

Most of our gang was already assembled, awaiting the siblings, Laurel, and I. As we approached, they were observing the swollen carnival with just as much shock as Brent and myself.

Comments included :

“Did it SWALLOW all the other fairs?”

“Must’ve gotten a big investment to buy or rent all of this.”

“It’s almost bigger than Conneaut Lake now.”

“Maybe the carnies have been replaced by robots!”

“Game’s are probably still rigged.”

“There are so many food stands…”

One guess who that last line is attributable to.

Qualitatively, the rides were on brand : dingy, vaguely-foreboding contraptions of ancient metal. There just happened to be an obscene amount of them. Too, there were at least as many game tents lining either side of the formidable midway.

Most importantly, as Cal observed, there were a LOT of food stands. Their combined scent created an intoxicating perfume… saccharine, greasy, deep-fried perfume. One prolonged whiff made me feel heady.

Driving to the fair, Brent asked if we should stop for food. Various loose objects were thrown at him. Probably not a good idea to assault the driver of an in-motion motor vehicle, but his joke was not appreciated. Cal threatened legal action but Brent just cackled.

Standing downwind of all of that wonderful cuisine, even Brent became momentarily distracted by its allure.

The one thing the fair DIDN’T have in abundance was customers. At that point, our troop accounted for nearly half of all visible patrons. All of those attractions, all of that food, and only a handful of folks to enjoy them. Heck, there were more carnies mulling about than marks.

Interesting thing, though. There was a group of surplus carnies in the empty space between the rides and the row of trailers behind them. They appeared to be disassembling one of the rides.

I noticed this as I was being introduced to Dean’s girlfriend.

Shifting my gaze back to the couple, I realized they were both staring at me expectantly. “Call him, ‘Your Honor,’ I guess,” Dean said, frowning.

“No, sorry,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you…uh...Mar...ry...an...nne...er…”

The woman laughed; Dean scowled.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I humbly request a redo – in three seconds. First, just tell me : how long has this carnival been here?”

“Like two days,” Dean said. “Why?”

I pointed. “Are you sure? It looks like they’re already tearing it down.”

Several eavesdroppers, Dean, and, uh… his beau, followed my gesture.

After watching the workers for several moments, Mrs. Dean said, “That is so weird. They’re leaving?”

“Sure looks like it,” Brent said. It was his turn to point. “They have a couple of the booths already shuttered and road-ready, too.” He was right; a booth for something called “The Silent Night” was chained to another food stand. Both were closed and collapsed.

“Stupid is what it is,” Dean said. “Seriously, that’s absolutely idiotic.” As if personally offended by the peculiar business strategy, he charged toward the group of workmen.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Intrigued, many of us followed.

“Excuse me… EXCUSE ME.”

One of the carnies looked up, appearing none-too-thrilled by Dean’s tone. “Huh,” he replied, without inflection. A few of his fellows stopped working and dubiously watched our group approach as well.

“Sorry to bother you,” Dean told him/them. He glanced at the half-disassembled ride. “Is this your last day here?”

“Yup.”

“But you just got here two or three days ago, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“And now you’re moving on? Why? Is there some kind of problem?”

The man shrugged, gesturing to his coworkers. A few were snickering. “There a problem?” he asked them.

“Nope,” one said.

“Show must go on,” another invoked. The snickering intensified.

The main carny turned back to Dean and shrugged again, as if the snide aphorism explained everything. “Next stop, Dubois,” he said.

“Come on, Dean,” Mary…? said, grabbing Dean’s arm. “They probably want to be left alone.”

The carny nodded toward her. “Lo’ssa work to do.”

Behind Dean, Cal spread his arms. “How is this even profitable?” he asked. “There’s like nobody here as it is.”

The carny’s eyes shifted in his direction. He shrugged again, though the corner of his mouth tightened into a thin, ugly smile. “Enjoy the fair,” he said and turned away, shooing the other employees back to work.

“I think that’s our cue,” Brent said, mirroring the carny’s gesture. “Come on, let’s leave them be.”

We returned to the fair-proper, Dean and Cal muttering about the absurdity of the carnival’s schedule. I think the rest of us were content letting the matter drop. If the carnival wanted to leave Kittaning, it could leave Kittaning.

“Can’t say I blame them,” Laurel noted. “Everyone else wants to.”

Her comment inspired a few “ain’t that the truth”-style rejoinders (including one from Cal), and helped redirect attention back to the matter at hand. Or, as Cal put it, “Now, where are we eating?”

“First things first,” Brent said, brightening. “WRISTBANDS.”

“We’re really doing this?” I asked Brooke. She and Brase were absent from Dean’s exchange with the carnies. They got flagged down by some friends and had been speaking to them during the affair. Brooke just returned. Brase was still conversing.

She smiled, “One thing you’ll learn about my brother : If he says he’s going to do something, he does it.” Her gaze shifted toward Brase. “Both of them, actually.”

Brent eagerly shepherded members of the group toward the ticket booth, hard-selling the “astounding value” of the all-you-can-ride pass with so much fervor he may have been on the payroll. Considering the disinterested eye roll his pitch received from the ticket seller, though, maybe not.

Brooke and I got in line behind Dean and… his girlfriend, and I was reintroduced to MARISSA with much better results. Dean had more to say about the fair’s abbreviated schedule. His complaints transformed into an explanation of the episode for Brooke, while MARISSA and I exchanged subtle, sympathetic head shakes.

Behind me Laurel said, “Don’t be worried about their bottom line.” Reflexively, I turned to face her and saw she was speaking to Cal.

“Why not?” he asked. “If they go under, I can’t count on their delicious sundries next year!”

She smiled but shook her head. “I think they’re doing just fine.”

He frowned, puzzling at her cryptic reassurance. So, interloper that I was, I pressed, “How do you know?”

Laurel held her arm out, putting at her wrist. “Take a peek if you see that guy again.”

“His watch?” Cal asked. “A nice one?”

Laurel raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, REALLY expensive-looking. Solid gold, I think, but it must be dyed or something. It’s color was strange.” Her mouth twisted thoughtfully. Then, “Like looking through a kaleidoscope, you know?” She shook her head, “No, that’s not quite right… whatever.” She shook her head again. “Either way, the thing didn’t come from a department store. I think they’re doing just fine.”

~~~

With our matching bracelets, we could have been a cult of small town thrill seekers. “Brethren of the Band!” Brent proudly announced, earning groans from his girlfriend and sister. He frowned at them, “Hey, you have a better name? I’m all ears.”

“His parent aren’t the only ones obsessed with alliteration,” I said, earning chuckles from the girls.

Acquiring my ride pass proved complicated. It wasn’t a question of money or even scarcity; I wasn’t allowed to purchase one.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Brent exclaimed, stopping me mid-transaction. “Sorry; forgot.” He pulled out his wallet. “I’ve got you.”

I dismissed his generosity with a wave. “No way,” I said, “you graciously invited me, I should be covering you.” I frowned at the band already on his wrist. “… I thought I should have had much sooner.”

“Bah.” He thrust a bill toward the cashier. “You’re my guest.” I slapped at his hand until he recoiled, giggling. “Ok, ok.” He made a show of sliding the money back into his wallet. “If that’s the way you want it. But,” he pointed past me, “Someone else might disagree.”

I turned, seeing that Cal had stepped forward and begun quietly whispering to the cashier.

“No!” I said, maneuvering myself between them before the transaction could complete. “Thank you, both. I do appreciate it, really, but I’m a big boy. I can pay for myself.”

Cal pouted; Brent laughed. Neither consented to laying the matter to rest. Cal held up a finger, “Actually, you’re right. Brent, we should probably duel for the privilege.”

Brent nodded, face growing serious, “Choose your weapon, scoundrel.”

“You are NOT dueling,” Brooke interjected, “because neither of you are paying.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “He can pay for himself.”

“Thank you, Brooke,” I told her. Then, to the guys, “As I said, it’s incredibly generous of BOTH of you, but I--”

“With my money.”

My mouth froze, my body whirled. Two bracelets were lain in front of Brooke by a clerk who appeared overjoyed to have the spectacle end. I’m not positive he even charged her.

Cal shrugged, “I can live with that.”

Brent nodded, “Me too. Let’s return to this duel idea, though. Could be fun.”

“Absolutely.”

Brooke handed me my bracelet with a smug wink.

I could have argued, could have complained, but in truth, I was quite satisfied with the outcome as well.