this, Stace. I gotta get her. God, my mom will kill me if she hears her name over the loudspeaker.â
Stacy raises her eyebrows again and shrugs. âSorry. You have to know the secret. The gypsy lady over by the Ferris wheel said itâs a secret of life.â
âMy sister pay you?â I ask. Stacy does know the secret, and I know she knows the secret; but Iâm aware there are worse things in life than being connected to Stacy Ryder for the rest of it, and youâre not around to turn her head. And what the hell, Christy is long gone now anyway.
We wander around together for more than a half hour before Stacy finally shows me the secret, gently holding my hand in place at the wrist while she releases the pressure and slides her finger out; youâve seen those things, right? Then she just looks at me innocently and shrugs, and I want instantly to lay down my life for her in some heroicand totally selfless way. But Christy has already been bailed out of Lost and Found by Mom, and my name is the one blaring over the loudspeaker every five minutes. Mom is searching furiously for me, intent on grounding me until my thirty-seventh birthday for turning a helpless five-year-old loose in such a dangerous place as the traveling carnival. I paid a lot of dues in my time for that little shit. Iâm sure you did, too.
Anyway, to celebrate my liberation from the ridiculous handcuffs, which canât have cost more than three cents to make and whose secret of life is lost on me at the time, and to get in as much pleasure as I can before my impending incarceration, I take Stacy for two rides on the octopus and one on the hammer, leaving us nearly too sick to blow the rest of my money on hot dogs and cotton candy. No sense having cash during lifelong confinement. They have to feed you anyway.
Â
Iâm sure I have earlier memories of Stacy, Pres, but thatâs the one that always comes first. Being hooked to her and getting free of the handcuffs by releasing, instead of pulling hard. God, if I ever get her straight in my head, well, letâs just say my life could take a turn for the simple. It was easier when you were still here because there was never any doubt who she was with. I grew up. I got bigger, I got stronger,I may have even gotten smarter, but not smart enough to understand the effect sheâs always had on me. She may very well have been put on this planet by a sadistic, malevolent God to run my hormones wild and right into a brick wall and to make me feel truckloads of guilt for coveting the one thing my brother had that I wanted.
Boy, she was in love with you, Pres. She may have liked me better, but she loved you. I hated it. I saw her first. She was in my class at school. She copied off my homework. But she loved you. I tried to reason with her. By the time I was a sophomore and you were a senior, I had about an inch and fifteen pounds on you. Thatâs when I started giving her the line about the Duster and the Corvette. That was cheap, Pres. I know it was.
She teased me back by asking why she should buy more car than she could use, but more or less wasnât really what it was all about. I donât want to be unfair or devalue what you guys had, but I think Stacy thought she could save you. I think that was a big part of her love. And I hate to say it, but Iâm beginning to see thatâs a trick; it happens a lot, I think. Things get misnamed. Look what Mom and Dad called love.
Itâs hard for me to say these things, Preston, with you dead and all because it seems inequitable to pass judgment on your relationship with Stacy when youâre not here to tell me Iâm full of shit. But you left, and Iâm stuckhere to make sense of it, so Iâm giving myself some leeway.
And speaking of your suicide, I havenât come completely clean to the rest of the world about it. And I donât know if I will. I even feel strange about writing it down. Iâve
Stacy raises her eyebrows again and shrugs. âSorry. You have to know the secret. The gypsy lady over by the Ferris wheel said itâs a secret of life.â
âMy sister pay you?â I ask. Stacy does know the secret, and I know she knows the secret; but Iâm aware there are worse things in life than being connected to Stacy Ryder for the rest of it, and youâre not around to turn her head. And what the hell, Christy is long gone now anyway.
We wander around together for more than a half hour before Stacy finally shows me the secret, gently holding my hand in place at the wrist while she releases the pressure and slides her finger out; youâve seen those things, right? Then she just looks at me innocently and shrugs, and I want instantly to lay down my life for her in some heroicand totally selfless way. But Christy has already been bailed out of Lost and Found by Mom, and my name is the one blaring over the loudspeaker every five minutes. Mom is searching furiously for me, intent on grounding me until my thirty-seventh birthday for turning a helpless five-year-old loose in such a dangerous place as the traveling carnival. I paid a lot of dues in my time for that little shit. Iâm sure you did, too.
Anyway, to celebrate my liberation from the ridiculous handcuffs, which canât have cost more than three cents to make and whose secret of life is lost on me at the time, and to get in as much pleasure as I can before my impending incarceration, I take Stacy for two rides on the octopus and one on the hammer, leaving us nearly too sick to blow the rest of my money on hot dogs and cotton candy. No sense having cash during lifelong confinement. They have to feed you anyway.
Â
Iâm sure I have earlier memories of Stacy, Pres, but thatâs the one that always comes first. Being hooked to her and getting free of the handcuffs by releasing, instead of pulling hard. God, if I ever get her straight in my head, well, letâs just say my life could take a turn for the simple. It was easier when you were still here because there was never any doubt who she was with. I grew up. I got bigger, I got stronger,I may have even gotten smarter, but not smart enough to understand the effect sheâs always had on me. She may very well have been put on this planet by a sadistic, malevolent God to run my hormones wild and right into a brick wall and to make me feel truckloads of guilt for coveting the one thing my brother had that I wanted.
Boy, she was in love with you, Pres. She may have liked me better, but she loved you. I hated it. I saw her first. She was in my class at school. She copied off my homework. But she loved you. I tried to reason with her. By the time I was a sophomore and you were a senior, I had about an inch and fifteen pounds on you. Thatâs when I started giving her the line about the Duster and the Corvette. That was cheap, Pres. I know it was.
She teased me back by asking why she should buy more car than she could use, but more or less wasnât really what it was all about. I donât want to be unfair or devalue what you guys had, but I think Stacy thought she could save you. I think that was a big part of her love. And I hate to say it, but Iâm beginning to see thatâs a trick; it happens a lot, I think. Things get misnamed. Look what Mom and Dad called love.
Itâs hard for me to say these things, Preston, with you dead and all because it seems inequitable to pass judgment on your relationship with Stacy when youâre not here to tell me Iâm full of shit. But you left, and Iâm stuckhere to make sense of it, so Iâm giving myself some leeway.
And speaking of your suicide, I havenât come completely clean to the rest of the world about it. And I donât know if I will. I even feel strange about writing it down. Iâve
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