The Black Cat Carnival

Maybe I should turn back. Ma will wonder where I got to.

Someone shouted my name. I stopped, turned, and looked but didn’t see anyone.

I should turn back.

But I want to see the cat again. If it weren’t for the cat, I would never have found the flyers for the carnival.

Where is my bike?

We hadn’t lived in Quiet Hill for long, and I was still finding my way around the village. The coal mine sat between the east side and the mountains. The Appalachians were to the west. Our town sat in the valley between everything else. It felt like living in a crater. One filled with smog or fog. Or both. 

I had never ventured to the southern edge of town before. We didn’t have a lot of people, but we had a fair amount of space. We were poor, but no houses sat right on top of their neighbors.

Where is my bike? For real though.

The question wouldn’t leave my mind. I was walking which meant my bike must’ve been at home.

Right?

Life in Quiet Hill was different from Ohio. In Toledo, where I was born, the houses were close together. The apartments were tiny and cramped. Here, there was so much open space. When we arrived here, Mama took one look and said three words.

It isn’t natural.

These were the same words she used any time something didn’t make sense to her. It isn’t natural. Then she’d shrug her shoulders and say no more about it. I attempted to get her to say why it wasn’t natural. I never liked people being too close, but Mama said that’s on account of me being autistic. I don’t know about that.

I should turn back. It’s been almost a half hour since I saw the cat.

I caught a flash of something black against the sea of white sheets I was wandering through. This part of Quiet, like the rest, at least the bits I’ve seen, weren’t close together, but the clotheslines were. It made no sense to me.

The place I had left the street and sidewalk was a subdivision. It was built in an enormous circle. I mean, it was huge. And all the backs of the houses faced the center of that circle. And it was filled with clotheslines. What’s even stranger is that it must’ve been laundry day at every house in the division. Every clothesline was filled with sheets.

This is weird. Mama’s going to be worried about me.

I told myself she would still be watching her programs. Though I didn’t have a watch, so that might or may not be true.

I’d just passed Tracey Jenkin’s house. She’s the only other kid that’s in both my 3rd grade class and my Sunday School class. Red hair, pigtails, freckles. My older brother, Owen, said I had a crush on her. Why would I want to crush her? She’s cute. She is nice to me. I think she’s autistic like me, but Momma said it’s best not to ask such questions. She might think I was rude. 

I strolled past Tracey’s house and didn’t see her Red Schwinn, so I figured she wasn’t home. I wanted to see her. I couldn’t say why, but part of me needed to see her smile. Just one smile and I could be on my way. I guess it was like a vitamin for me, which is weird on account of how much I hate vitamins. But they’re good for me.

I guess that means Tracey’s smiles are vitamins. They’re good for me.

“Kenny! Kenny! Kenny!”

The voice was coming from above me that time. But it felt like it was coming from everywhere. It was much louder then.

“God?” I whispered. Mama was an atheist, so I thought I was one too, but when you hear a voice shouting your name from the skies above, it makes you think. I stared up at the skies, waiting for him to speak again. The sheets brushed against my bare calves, making me shiver with anticipation.

But that wasn’t the voice of a him. Was it Kenny?

That was true. The voice sounded familiar but it sounded like a girl’s voice, not a man’s. I waited, but it didn’t speak again.

My attention returned to the swaying sheets in front of me. My mind might’ve been playing tricks on me, but they felt closer together since I entered the field.

Something black darted through my peripheral vision. I turned in time to see the cat again. It was just a flash. I felt like it was playing with me, luring me in here, but why?

It’s just a cat. Relax, dude.

That’s what I told myself. All I knew was it was smallish and black and fast. It led me on a crooked path through the sheets. It zigged and zagged, and I felt lost in a white infinity.

This is my life now. I hope Momma doesn’t miss me as much as she misses Daddy. Or drink too much bourbon.

I wish the sun would come out. We’ve been here for nearly two months, and I don’t remember the sun coming out even once. Owen said it did while I was in a school assembly, but I think he was pranking me. Or just being ornery.

I stepped between two king-sized sheets. I didn’t like doing that. Every time I stepped between two like that, everything disappeared. For just an instant the gray skies were gone, the ground was gone, the houses, the muddy grass beneath me. All of it gone inside a sea of swirling whiteness.

“It isn’t natural,” I whispered to the sheets as I slipped between their cool scratchiness. When I emerged, I looked down. There, half-buried in the mud, was another flyer.

I was starting to think I’d imagined the others. I bent down to retrieve it. I had thought about picking up one of the others, but I got the feeling it would’ve upset Ma, so I refrained. She loved that word: refrained.

I shook the flyer, and mud dotted the white sheets in front of me. Oops!

“Oh, hell,” I whispered, glancing around. I sped up after that. This was crazy. I was done with it. I didn’t care about no stupid carnival.

I don’t have money for no carnival anyhow. This sucks.

I spaced out and hoped the voice would speak again. But it did not.

I forgot about the muddy flyer in my hand. But when I looked down, I saw it wasn’t muddy. Maybe that little shake dislodged all of it.

But that idea made me go all queasy on the inside, so I dropped it. I refrained from thinking about it further. I looked down at the flyer again. I don’t know my words so well yet, and most of the letters seemed to be swirling and moving and not right. But one word I knew popped out on the flyer.

FREE Admission!

Who doesn’t love free?

Owen liked to say, “Free is my favorite adjective,” anytime he was around adults. They always laughed at that. I don’t know why. Adults are weird. Owen is weird. The world is weird.

I read some more of the flyer.

FREE popcorn for children whose name starts with a ‘T’ or ‘K.’

I’d always hated my name. Kenny. What a dorky name. But that day, I was glad. That settled it. This was too good to walk away from.

I guess I’m going to the carnival after all.

Then I got queasy again. The wind blew, and it looked like it might rain. But like the sunshine, I cannot remember it raining even once in the three months we had been here.

Then why is the ground damp?

That was a good question that made me queasier. But then I heard the music. It was faint at first, but I’ve got exceptional hearing.

That’s what Daddy always said before he disappeared, that is.

The music got louder. I stepped between two damp sheets that gave me goosebumps on my arms. There in front of me was an enormous white tent. I had arrived. I looked up and tried to see the top of it, but it seemed to go all the way up to the sky.

“Kenny!”

“God?” I said, stopping and turning my back to the tent. But I didn’t like having my back to the tent, so I turned back to the tent. The bass drums inside sounded an inviting beat, but I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.

“Kenny?”

It was still loud, though it didn’t sound like it was coming from the sky. It sounded close to my ear, my good ear.

“Yes, God,” I whispered, no longer able to look away from the tent. It was a marvel. I felt at home.

“I’m not God, silly!”

Two clowns stepped out of the tent. They were dressed in black and white and had white and black grease paint covering their faces.

How did I not see that flap before?

The clowns smiled at me. My stomach twisted and felt like it did the time I drank spoiled milk. The clowns squatted and gestured for me to come close. Their palm-up hands with long, long fingers made me sleepy.

Don’t be scared. I’m here. I might as well check it out.

I smiled and looked at their faces. My smile melted. Their eyes were dark black circles.

They’re contact lenses. Don’t be a wuss!

But it was too late. I blushed crimson red as my shorts filled with hot pee.

“Momma is here. She used to be a nurse.”

The sweet voice had returned. I felt a hot breath on my ear.

I looked up, but I was alone. The skies were almost blotted out by the edge of the tent that soared to infinity.

“Momma, look.”

The breath was near my ear again. I loved how it tickled me.

“Shh. It happens, Tracey. He was in an accident. We’re lucky, but we need to wake him. I think he’s concussed.”

Warm hands on my cheeks. Strong fingers pried my eyes open. The tent, clowns, and steel gray clouds disappeared.

But my eyes were open. How do you open eyes that are open?

I tried to sit up.

“No, no. Try to stay still… what did you say his name was?”

“Kenny,” my right ear tickled again.

“This is the boy you told me about? The one you like?”

“Mom! Geez! Cringe much?”

She likes me?

I tried to turn to see her. It was Tracey, after all, and she liked me!

“Try not to move your head,” Stephanie, Tracey’s mother, said as her hands held my head immobile.

“What…happened? Where did the cat go? Where is the tent? The clowns? I didn’t like the clowns?”

“Mom hit you…”

“Tracey. Please. Let me tell it. I feel awful.”

Tracey slid around where I could see her. She was the most beautiful thing. I fell into her green eyes. I shivered when I remembered the clowns’ eyes, so black.

“What?” I sounded drunk. I was as tired as I ever remember being.”

“He’s going into shock. I need you to stay with me. You need to stay awake.”

“No carnival, then?” I sounded like Mom in the evenings.

“No carnival for you. Stay out of the tent. You hear me? You must stay awake and stay out of the tent. I’m sorry…”

“Kenny,” Tracey said, wiping her eyes.

“Kenny. I didn’t see you. I checked the rearview mirror, but when I got to the sidewalk, you came from around the eucalyptus and, well, I’m afraid I owe you a new bike. Your bike was destroyed. And you might have a concussion.”

Her nurse hands held my head still. I could hear the ambulance siren. I felt smaller hands take mine and I promised myself I’d stay awake. She was holding my hands, and I didn’t want to forget any of that.