“I hate to waste time waiting like this,” Chrissy said, abut I really
want that candy apple.”
“It won’t take long,” Bob said.
“There’s so much more I want to do.”
“Relax. It’s only eleven-thirty. The carnival won’t shut down until
at least one o’clock.”
“But it’s the last night,” Chrissy said. She took a deep breath,
savoring the blend of aromas that permeated the night: popcorn, cotton
candy, garlic-flavored french fries, hot roasted peanuts, and more.
“Ahhhh! My mouth is watering. I’ve been stuffing myself all night,
and I’m still famished. I can’t believe I’ve eaten so much!”
“It’s partly the excitement,” Bob said. “Excitement burns up
calories.
And all those thrill rides. You were scared half to death on most of
those rides, and fear burns up calories even faster than strenuous
exercise.” He was seriously trying to analyze her unusual appetite.
Bob was an accountant.
“Listen,” Chrissy said, “why don’t you wait in line and get the candy
apples while I find the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you over there by the
merry-go-round in a few minutes. That way we’ll kill two birds at the
same time.” with one stone,” Bob said.
“Huh?”
“The expression is, We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
” “Oh. Sure.” aBut I don’t think it applies here exactly,” Bob
said.
“Not quite.
Anyway, you go ahead to the ladies’. We’ll meet at the carousel like
you said.”
Sheesh! Chrissy thought. Are all accountants like this?
She walked away from the refreshment stand, through the damp wood
shavings that covered the ground, through the calliope-blast from the
merry-go-round, past a high-striker where a muscular young man slammed
a sledgehammer into a scale and rang a bell overhead to impress his
date, past a dozen pitchmen who were spieling a mile a minute, trying
to get people to play all sorts of games where you could win a teddy
bear or a kewpie doll or some other piece of junk.
A hundred attractions played a hundred different songs, but somehow the
various strains of music didn’t sound the least bit discordant when
they . came together, everything fused into a single, strange, but
appealing melody.
The carnival was a river of noise, and Chrissy waded through it,
grinning happily.
Chrissy Lampton loved the Coal County Spring Fair. It was always one
of the high spots of the year. The fair, Christmas, New Year’s Eve,
Thanksgiving, the Halloween dance at the Elks’ Club, the Las Vegas
Nights at St. Thomas’s Church (one in April, one in August)–those
were the only days of excitement in the entire year, the only events
worth looking forward to in all of Coal County.
She remembered part of a funny and rather dirty little song that had
made the rounds when she’d been in high school: Eueryone who lives here
has the zits, Good old Coal County sure is the pits.
Anybody with a brain has got to split Cause this is where God squats
when he gets the shits.
In high school she used to laugh at that song. But now, at the
still-tender age of twenty-one, grimly aware of how limited her future
was in this place, she didn’t find those lyrics very humorous.
Someday she would move to New York or Los Angeles, to a place with
opportunities. She intended to split as soon as she had six months’
worth of living expenses in her savings account. She already had
enough for five months.
Soaking up the color and glamour of the carnival as she walked, Chrissy
headed toward the amusements that stood at the fringe of the midway,
behind which she expected to find a comfort station within a couple of
hundred feet. The public restrooms were in cinder-block buildings
scattered around the perimeter of the fairgrounds.
AB she made her way through the crowd, a pitchman at a duck-shoot game
gave her a loud wolf-whistle.
She grinned and waved in reply.
She felt terrific. Even though she was temporarily stuck in Coal
County, she had a wonderful, sparkling future. She knew she was
good-looking.
She had a lot of smarts, too. With those qualities she could carve out
a niche for herself in the big city in record time, easily within six