Two Way Joint

Her breasts were just beginning to grow and I was absolutely sure that I was falling in love. I had never in my life seen anything as spectacular. As we walked through the midway, I was drawn to sneak glances at her chest, a great mystery revealing in small blooms before me. She was so beautiful, I thought, her brown tussled curls falling to her shoulders. Her skin sparkled against a sky so black it seemed to expand forever, her eyes glistening beneath the lights, her smile white and wide. And now having breasts was almost too much for my young heart. I certainly did not need the extra incentive, but I was thankful nonetheless. It was like being in Paris, feeling awe at seeing the Eiffel Tower, its strong beams and precise angles. And then, for the first time, hearing French breathlessly whispered in your ear. It was dizzying.

With a loud click, we were locked into our seats of the Tilt-A-Whirl, the metal bar pushed against our laps. We looked at each other with nervous anticipation. The safety latches clinked in the other cars around us, sharp echoes ricocheting in the night. There was nervous laughter from a couple in front of us, though they were out of our sight, hidden by the back of their round car, a shiny purple with red lighting bolts. Suddenly, the gears started to turn against each other and, slowly, we began to move. Beneath our feet, we could feel all the parts of this large machine waking from its slumber and joining in, gear grinding against gear, piston pushing into piston, gaining momentum and power. Our capsule began to glide and almost as an afterthought, spin. Forward and then a looping twirl. In a matter of seconds, we were at full speed and we pitched forward and flipped around backward, quicker and faster. Our bodies moved back and forth on the metal seats, our butts slid together, touching, only momentarily, and then we were pulled apart. I could feel her presence next to me but I could not look at her, I stared straight ahead, trying to focus on my hands, gripped tightly around the handlebar, my fists flush red and pale white. I tried to concentrate on keeping my wits ¬¬¬¬— and my dinner. We swung left and then jerked right. The neon sign for the Fair store whizzed past me, the trees behind the mall a fuzzy green blur. My stomach jumped, my muscles tensed. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something, anything, besides my body being whipped and tossed against my will, against gravity. I thought of a bright yellow meadow, like in that scene from “The Wizard of Oz,” the one at the end of the yellow brick road. I couldn’t do it. I decided to try and just wait it out. With my eyes shut, I could actually feel the skin on my head spin, all my insides being tussled and jumbled. When the ride finally slowed and gradually wound down, our car finally ceased spinning right in front of the ride monkey, a good looking, and young guy in his twenties, thin, with a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, his scraggly mustache a sandy blond. His hands rested on the control box, and he smiled. He reached a hand across his chest and scratched his shoulder as we stumbled out of the car, our legs rubber; our sense of balance had been left in our seats.

What had been — just two days before — the dirty grey cement parking lot of the North West Plaza had been magically transformed into a carnival midway, it’s light radiating a clear yellow glow, a palpable energy bubbling with possibility. It was as if a large blanket had been thrown over this city block and it was completely changed into something else. Something new had emerged from the desolate slabs of sectioned concrete. Rows of booths had popped up, an assortment of rides extended from side to side and over and up, higher than the mall, taller than streetlights. There was a fresh aroma of cotton candy and hot dogs and a stale, intoxicating scent of grease and freedom.

The carnival was a great place to be on an early September evening, the most amazing place for a boy who thought about girls all day long but was without the freedom of a car, or an apartment or even his own room. The carnival offered a ticket to another world, a new world that had been erected especially for this town, this configuration unique to this neighborhood. It would be gone in a day or two, but for right now, it was a magic space. It was a world where kids were not only allowed to run free, but were welcomed to do so. The carnies knew that parents used the carnival like a babysitter and took comfort in how far a handful of one-dollar bills would take them. The color of money was green, plain and simple, regardless of who was buying the tickets. As long as they weren’t Lot Lice, and actually spent money on games and food and rides, kids were just as welcomed as adults. Even more so, actually, for they were usually a lot less suspecting of scams, and aggressive and combative when they suspected they had been had.


Lynette was thirteen and a cheerleader, beautiful and breathtakingly radiant. She had brown hair that fell to her shoulders, her skin as clear as a sunny day. The bridge of her nose had a slight bump as if it had been broken many years ago when the bone was smaller, but was now an enticing curve. Her Jordache jeans were skin tight, hugging her long thin legs, and she wore a sky blue t-shirt. She was popular and fun and the most attractive girl in the 7th grade. I was a fourteen-year-old boy, a full grade ahead, but desperately struggling not to fall within the cracks.

We waked past the Bumper Cars and a row of games — Duck Race, Basket Throw, Ring Toss, Water Gun Race and Milk Crate Toss — past the ticket booths, a popcorn machine, hot dog and funnel cake stands. I kept my hands stuffed in my pocket, my fingers gripping my remaining nineteen tickets. They were the currency of youth and all the power I had. I pulled out two tickets to win the “really cute” yellow bear that Lynette pointed to at the Balloon Shooting booth, but I could not shoot out enough balloons, the final soft round red balloon swayed and teased, but would not pop.

“That’s okay,” she told me, “I have a stuffed bear at home anyway. On my bed. It was just kinda cute, but I don’t need it.” You had to like a girl who could reason like that.

We stopped at a set of stairs leading into the make-shift boarded structure with two doors — one on the left went into the Fun House and other going right to the house of the Lizard Boy. A jointee sat on a stool between the two doors, cigarette in his lips, taking tickets for each. He looked to be our age or maybe a little older.

I looked to Lynette. “You wanna go in?”

“Which one?” she asked, her face a soft yellow in the light.

“I dunno,” I said, “Whichever one you want. Or both.” I tried to think how many tickets that would use up and if I would have enough.

I looked at the sign for Lizard Boy. A painted figure with a solemn human face on a green lizard body, it’s tail swooping down and over into the L of his name. I wasn’t sure I could take the spectacle, especially after the Tilt A Whirl. “The drawing of that guy kinda creeps me out.”

Lynette raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, maybe later on that one. I’m not a big fan of lizards.” She smiled at me. “Let’s do the fun house though and then the Ferris Wheel.” She grabbed my hand and we climbed the stairs. We walked through the mirrored walls, the slanted floors pushing us left and right. We pointed and laughed at our gargantuan heads, our stubby little legs, our index fingers fat and elongated. We didn’t realize it but we traveled in a circle and ended up exiting out the same door that we went in. As we descended the stairs, Lynette looked back over her shoulder at the Lizard Boy sign and laughed. She pointed across the fairground.

“C’mon, let’s go to the Ferris Wheel. Look how high it goes. I wanna see what it looks like from up there.”

“Wait a minute,” she stopped, turned and began to run to our right. Then she stopped and ran back to me. “Will you buy me a cotton candy?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As we walked back towards the line for the ride, she tore a piece from the pink sticky cloud, and slid it in her mouth, her chin moving upward. We stood behind a mother and father, who tried to retain their place in line while alternately chasing down their two small boys, who kept running off in different directions. I reached in, and with a finger and a thumb, and grabbed a layer of cotton candy and let it dissolve on my tongue, the stickiness becoming wide and thin. We were sharing our first meal, I thought. With a squeal and a frantic wave of her hand, Lynette stopped Diane or Debbie something, a small blond friend who had been walking by with her boyfriend. He was tall and handsome with a chin so strong and imposing, I was convinced it could whoop me all by itself. He wore a football jersey — a white 49 against his red jersey. That number gave no clue as to whether he played offense or defense, but he seemed pensive and agitated. He looked at me — seizing me up and down — and then his lips curled in disgust, and he turned his head away, looking far down the midway. A minute or two later, as they walked away, he turned back to us, shook his head and laughed.

“Your chariot awaits, m’lady,” I joked as Lynette and I boarded the Ferris Wheel, steadying the carriage as it continued to swing gently, even after it touched the ground. We were the last couple in and once we settled in, the large wheel began to turn. We were lifted up, almost straight up, as if on air. The motion was smooth and I moved in a little closer, our thighs almost touching. Lynette looked out, like a kid, as the world below us got small — the trees turned upside down and the houses were squashed to their roofs. Her eyes widened and her smile shined like a beam in the dark night. The sky was pitch black now, stars just small pinholes littered absently as far as the eye could see. Once our little car reached the top, the town opened in front of us. I had never in my life been so high.

“Can you see your house?” I asked.

“Um,” Lynette turned in her seat and looked around a car dangling slightly behind us, “No, I don’t think so. Can you?”

“No,” I said with a laugh. I looked left and right and could see nothing. “I have no idea where my house is.” Yet I could see everything, I could see so much in every direction. It was dark but I could make out trees, and streets and flickering lights and warehouses and cars with their headlights illuminating its way. As the arc turned the other way, we faced the same direction as our car descended.

When we made our way back up, the city spread before use and we were on top of it again. It was intoxicating. Nobody was higher than we were; there was no way anyone could be. We were royalty. I was the king, if only for a split second and if only in the here and now. Lynette sat next to me. She was beautiful, she was a cheerleader, she had a great nose, she had breasts and she was with me, only me. My heart thumbed in my throat, it echoed like a drum, off tempo but loud. It got louder until I panicked. I reached in to Lynette’s neck and kissed her, catching the corner of her mouth with mine. I closed my eyes and held my lips against hers, partially, and breathed in, the summer evening pouring into my skin. I could feel sweat rest between us and I noticed that the ride had stopped, I didn’t realize until I pulled back. The ride had stopped with us on top. She smiled and I looked away.

“Oh look, look,” Lynette was pointing down over the edge of our car. “It’s the vegetable guy. Look, down there.”

There was no roof and you could see right into the Fun House and the Lizard Boy’s house. In a small, square room, with carpets hanging as a backdrop, two sets of lights pointed towards a young man sitting on a pillow, without legs. He was without a shirt, and from our vantage point, we could see his skin was a flaky layer of scales glistening beneath the light. He looked up at us. At the top of the Ferris Wheel, on top of the world, I looked down and extended my middle finger in a great salute. Fuck you Lizard Boy, I thought with a smug smile. Fuck all the carnies, fuck the rides, fuck number 49, fuck that Balloon Shooting game, fuck it all. This moment transcended me somewhere without merit as the big Ferris Wheel turned again and brought us both back to the ground. Lynette did not see what I had done but smiled and raised her eyebrows when our car went past the landing, which meant we would get to go up again. The wheel pushed forward, lifting us back up into the night. When we reached the top I peered over the steel edge of our car and watched Lizard Boy emerge into view again. As he did, he extended his hand and gave me the finger right back. No emotion in his face, but an aggressive and well placed return gesture that shot through the air.

“Oh my gosh, did you see that? The vegetable guy,” Lynette grabbed my arm. “The vegetable guy just flipped us off. He just flipped us the middle finger. I never saw that before.” She began to laugh. “Oh my gosh, that is so hilarious.”

The sky swallowed me up, the stars disappeared and black fell away in shattered pieces. “Good for you, Lizard Boy,” I thought, “Good for you.”