In a Year...

 

 

Freakshow

 

I was wandering around the carnival, my feet blistered and sweaty. A layer of dust coating every exposed surface of my body. The sun was glaring at me, and I felt uncomfortably wet. I walked around, not wanting to ride any of the insane devices which had been set up in just few days with a minimum amount of bolts and training to run. The games held no fascination for me. I didn’t have any desire to waste twenty dollars on playing a game that was very carefully rigged so that I wouldn’t win, but if I somehow did, I’d get a beautiful cupie doll with a street value of about two dollars.

I wandered from one end of the carnival to another, alone, weaving in between families. My experience at the carnival was feeling more like a waste with every passing moment. Spinning cups and straw stuffed toys swept by me in a whirl wind blur of color and nausea.

I sighed and halted, looking around for the exit which would take me to the never ending parking lot where I would wander aimlessly until I found my car. As I squinted through the crowd, I caught sight of a red sign set up in front of a tent. I peered at the sign with near-sighted perseverance, finally edging up close enough to make out what it said.

Freak Show, it screamed in gold curving letters. There was a long line of people outside of the tent. Barking outside of the tent was a short man in typical ringmaster clothing. He was a small, greasy man standing on a barrel. Rather than human, he more closely resembled the man on a Monopoly box. A cartoonish character, selling his wares.

"Come see our freaks by the dozens. Be appalled by the hairy woman and the Siamese twins." His speech seemed to go on forever, and long before I had fallen into line, I had stopped listening.

I stood behind people from all different walks of life. There was no defining factor that united the people in line. I wondered what would make these people want to look at a freak show. I then wondered why I did.

The line seemed to last an eternity, but finally I was granted access to the overly warm and musty tent. The floor was littered with rather disreputable straw, and there was the hot, wet stench of human permeating every molecule of air. People were filling the tent to capacity, and occasionally I could make out ropes dividing those who were there to see the show and those who were part of it.

I seemed to have many options open to me. Every few feet there was another display with throngs gathered around it. Randomly, I edged my way up to a nearby attraction, pushing and shoving until I was in front.

In front of me was a small pedestal with a few words of description engraved on it.

The Elephant Boy

Marvel of the modern world.

A perfect man-boy, hideously deformed.

I looked up with trepidation, unsure of what I would find looking back at me.

It took several seconds for my mind to realize exactly what it saw. Before me stood a man of medium height and build. He had reddish hair on both his head and his chin. He wore a pair of faded corduroy pants and a tee shirt. His sneakers were as ratty looking as the straw on the ground, and he made eye contact with everyone who stared at him in awe.

I stood there, looking for some sign of the advertised deformity, and found none. He seemed a perfectly average specimen of the human species.

I began getting angry, wondering what kind of sham the carnie was trying to pull on me. I turned to go, when the comic little man who had initially drawn me in grabbed my arm to halt me.

"Do not let his appearance fool you, my lady," he said in a grandfatherly voice. "Speak," he commanded of his exhibit. The little man was addressing the audience at large once more. "Listen to the tale of woe from the most unique of my collection. Open your hearts and pity this poor fool of circumstance."

The boy was no longer looking at people, but instead he gazed at the ground, as if he wished it would suddenly swallow him. "Once," he began, "my dad rubbed cum in my hair. Once," he continued, "my mom told me it was alright if I wanted to touch her. Once, I forgot how to read, and to speak, and how to do mathematics." he continued on in a similar vein. "I’ve never been kissed by a girl. Never been held. I’m twenty three, and have never made love." The faces in the audience wavered between pity and humor. There were a few nervous chuckles in the crowd. "I sometimes look in the mirror and tell myself that I’m stupid. That I’m a piece of shit. Because it’s true." By this time, he seemed to have forgotten that we were all watching and listening to him, and was just reciting a litany.

I began feeling nauseous. I was feeling such an explosion of pity, mixed with the idea that my life wasn’t nearly that bad. I was torn between wanting to listen to him and wanting nothing more than to make him stop reliving all of his painful thoughts and memories. I found that pity was a double sided coin. I could feel better about myself while feeling badly for him. But underneath, I knew it was a selfish thing I was feeling. It had nothing to do with him.

Finally, I made my way out of the tent, and sat down.

For some reason, I stayed until after dark. Until the carnies began coming out and being sociable. Greasy looking men with mullets and sleeveless tee-shirts leered at me while I waited outside of that tent. The ringmaster came out and looked sidelong at me. One by one, the freaks made their appearance as well.

The first one to come slithering out of the tent was a pale, thin middle aged woman. She wore no makeup, and her mousy brown hair was straight and hung to her shoulders. She walked with her shoulders held up and her head down.

A large, hairy woman followed, as did a man who’s legs were an intertwined mass which loosely resembled a fish tail. Freak after freak came out of the tent. Some classic, and some nearly as normal looking as the people who gawked at them.

I waited what seemed an eternity before he made his appearance. He looked just as he had inside. I stood up and walked towards him. His eyes met mine. My hand rested on his arm. "why?" I asked him. "Why do they call you the Elephant Boy?"

He smiled gently. "Have you ever seen, the movie The Elephant Man?"

"Yes."

"In it is a line. He said, "I have friends. I used to say that."

"And now?" I called to his back, as he went on his way.

"I used to say that," he said more softly, as his form grew smaller on the horizon.

 

 

Copywrite 2002 Trudy Smock