Late summer was a time for swimming holes, and the Inkwells was becoming more popular than ever. There were lots of young people mixing in with the usual crowd of hippies from the China House; sunning themselves on rocks and jumping from the outcroppings into the pools. Some wore clothes, some didn’t. Everyone tried hard to project the attitude that it didn’t matter if you were naked or not, but it mattered. A lot. At least it did for the male, teenage, low self-esteem demographic. A couple of times on hot weekends, Mike, Annie, and Marty wandered down to see what kind of party might be getting thrown. Passing the garden, Marty recalled that he hadn’t seen those kooky hippie nudists, Frederick or Camille, in quite a while, and he silently wished them well. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming surge of affection for his surroundings, and an inclination to take off his clothes and be one with nature. Oh no! He didn’t fall for that one! Not the telepathic New Age guru vibration from another galaxy! No way, Jose! He shook it off, determined to have fun with his garments on.
Thankfully, only a few die-hards were unclothed when they got there. The Inkwells were dominated by serious party people that weekend, and taking their clothes off was a low priority compared with blasting their brains into smithereens. Some guys had motorcycle gang jackets, and were drinking heavily from liquor bottles. Mike instantly got tense, as he was the type of greenhorn steer that always wanted to tangle with the bulls. Annie did a nice job refocusing his attention by taking off her shirt and jeans to reveal a yellow bikini. The problem was, the biker dudes saw her, too. Then their biker chicks saw them looking at the young blood, and cajoled their men away by putting on some music and taking their tops off. The energy level kicked up a notch, and Marty heard a bottle smash. The three of them got up and splashed around in the creek for a while, out of sight. Marty reflected on the many people who came to this unique spot and enjoyed the confluence of positive energy… but some of them took it too far. When they returned to the craggy platform, Annie dried herself and put her jeans back on, grumbling about the rocks being too rough.
One of the fiercest gang members kept staring in their direction – particularly at Annie – and Mike was returning fire; launching testosterone missiles from his eyes in defense of his woman. Still feeling an undercurrent of affection for people and the earth, Marty took a joint over to the fierce biker dude and lit up, offering it to him with a sincere smile. “We live right over there,” he gestured in a truthful direction, “And we’re glad to see you guys here, having such a great party! Welcome!” He handed him the joint, while being glared at with bloodshot eyes; rock-hard as death. It was a make-or-break move.
The biker’s face deftly flipped from murderer to friend, and he politely took the joint with an appreciative air. “Awfully nice of ya, neighbor! I knew you was cool when I saw ya.” He inhaled a huge hit with gusto, and passed it behind him to the jiggling blurs of flesh at which Marty was trying not to look. “I’m Nick,” he thrust out a gloved hand with all his fingers poking out of it. Marty focused on his face with all his newfound benevolence, and for some reason he thought of his relatives back east, whom he hadn’t seen in many years.
“I’m Marty.” He could see deep into the well of Nick’s rebel soul, and felt he was a nice guy at heart, despite the demonic images tattooed over nearly all his visible skin. He probably had family, too, or maybe he was lonely… Marty figured he should quit while he was ahead. “I have to go now, but have a good time while you’re here.” He waved and walked away.
“Sure man, and thanks for the weed!”
Then Marty got a little cocky, and added, “Oh, and please make sure to take all your litter with you when you go. The creek will thank you.” Nick stared crazy daggers again, as if he couldn’t decide whether to kill him right away or beat him up first, and then he burst into laughter as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in history. He turned around to relay the message to his gang.
“Ha ha! You heard the hippie kid – pick up yer goddamn trash!” They all laughed, and the three of them returned safely to the house to get some more weed, having brought only the one joint that was just used to save all their lives. Mike wanted to go back and fight, but Marty made something to eat, and then they watched a little TV, and when they finally went back to the Inkwells a little later, the bikers were gone and the area where they had been partying was spotless.
Mike was definitely feeling his oats lately. In the manner of a brash young stallion that gets laid regularly, he felt like he could take on anything. Everywhere we went, he wanted to challenge every rival. Marty often had to tell him to knock it off, because he didn’t want to fight any person, and if Mike started something, he’d naturally have to get involved. The twin sons of different mothers were very close, and Mike usually listened to Marty’s counsel. Which was a good thing, because he wasn’t much bigger than his little brother – about 5 foot 9 and 170 lbs. – and there were lots of beefy thugs who would squash him like a bug.
When the Marin County Fair came along that summer, it was time to join the crowds that poured into the fairgrounds. Marty tried to get up the nerve to call a girl so he could double date with Mike and Annie on all the rides, but it seemed too awkward to just call out of the blue like that and invite someone he hadn’t seen since June, and a million other excuses streamed into his brain the way water gets shot into a clown’s mouth until it pops the balloon. He fantasized about having a sweet girl next to him, clinging meekly to his protective arm on the scary rides… but in the end he had to settle for Grunion – or rather, Susie. He made her buy her own cotton candy.
They stood in line for a long time to try a new ride called the Gravitron. Boobers came by with his brothers, and he joined them in line. The ride resembled a huge, spinning hamster wheel on its side; with the people strapped to the inside of the rim, facing the center. It tilted up and down menacingly like a power saw. It was totally radical, dude! The carney who ran it stopped their group at the front of the line, even though it wasn’t full yet, apparently so he could stare at Amy’s tits for a while. Mike noticed this, of course – it was what he watched for all the time – and he stood firmly between the grimy, muscular carney and his scantily clad girlfriend until they got on the ride. The carney followed them in, which he hadn’t done with the group before, and did a “safety check” on a few of the harnesses that held people in place. While staring at the strapped-in Mike with a challenging leer on his face, he yanked on Annie’s belt. Mike immediately moved to try and take his harness off, but the carney abruptly laughed and turned away announcing, “Let ‘er roll!”
Mike had to hang on like everyone else for three minutes while spinning on the tilting, turbo merry-go-round. It was a fun ride, and the centrifugal force increased to the point where Marty imagined blasting off in a real rocket ship. He had a nasty premonition that if someone vomited, it would hang in mid-air and whip around the wheel, and fly into his face by inertia. Knowing too much about science is often a deterrent to simply having fun. The ride ended, and they exited by the back gate, where the same ruffian was provoking Mike with his defiant glare.
“What’s your problem, man?” Mike asked finally, throwing down the glove.
“No problem, boy.” The expression on the carney’s face revealed he was lying, and there was indeed a very big problem. “I’m just taking care of my customers, you know?” His eyes were psychotic with challenge, as if lusting for a fight. He reached out to put his arm around Annie, and Mike slapped it away with his left hand, and swung in with his right, landing square on the carney’s jaw. They quickly fell to the ground, grappling for space to throw a punch. Marty and Boobers moved apart so they could intervene from two sides if needed, while Susie screamed. People instantly crowded around, “A fight! A fight!” but there was another carney standing near the exit and he broke it up before Mike needed any help. He actually seemed to be getting the better of the situation. Then some other carneys saw the fracas from a distance, and started pushing through the crowd, as Marty and Boobers pulled Mike quickly to his feet.
“Come on, it’s time to split!” Marty pointed to the exit, and grabbed Susie’s hand, and they disappeared into the crowd. They dodged around a couple rides, and did a complete U-turn in the opposite direction to throw off any pursuit and see if they were being followed. Marty quickly removed his distinctive, bright red jacket, and stashed it under his shirt. But there was nobody after them, so they slowed down and stopped acting like teenagers in a horror film.
Mike was all riled up with testosterone, and couldn’t let the incident go. The others did their best to calm him down. “Forget it, dude,” Marty implored sensibly. “You already showed him you won’t take any shit.”
“Mike, if you fight that guy again, I’m gonna kick your ass,” added Annie for support. Susie teared up, as if he was drafted and going off to war.
Later, when they were safely in their Federation clubhouse drinking Henry Weinhard’s with Boobers, and blasting Aerosmith on a beat-up boom box that had one speaker blown out, Mike asserted, “I’m going back there tomorrow.”
“Whatever, man. I gotta work,” Marty shrugged, and that was the end of his involvement.
Mike did go back, but instead of getting into a fight he found that the lascivious carney had been fired, and there was now a job opening. He talked his way into running one of the rides, and the boss assigned him to the choo-choo for the kiddies. There was a pronounced hierarchy of rides among the carneys, and you had to start at the bottom. Marty teased him about it but was secretly envious, as if Mike had crossed over into some alternate dimension of coolness like running away with the circus. “Are you going to go with them when they move on?” he asked soon after he found out. The fair was scheduled to be in another county in two days.
“I dunno,” Mike shrugged. “Not for this ride. I want the Zipper. If I get the Zipper, I’ll go.” The fantastic Zipper was like a cross between an electric mixer and a propeller. It had a giant arm rotating on an axis, while spinning cars containing nauseous riders tracked around the perimeter of the arm as it turned. It was duly nicknamed “The Vomit Comet.” After the new and exciting Gravitron, it was the most prestigious ride.
Mike came back the next day all pumped up. “One of the carneys got arrested,” he revealed excitedly, and described some convoluted pecking order that put him in position to be an assistant for the Zipper if he covered somebody else’s shift. He was there an hour early, cleaning the smelly stuff out of the spinning cars to demonstrate his sincerity. It was another workday for Marty, so he wished Mike well when he called the pet store to share the good news, that he was going to help run the Zipper! Then later that afternoon, Marge got an urgent call from the hospital that Mike had been in an accident, and was in the emergency room! That was all she knew, because when she heard the word ‘accident’ she let the phone receiver fall, grabbed her purse, and yelled “Marty!” as she flew out the back door of the store.
The hospital was only 10 minutes away, and when they arrived they were surprised to see two carneys in the hall. The scruffy gentlemen were extremely respectful and subdued. “He was hit in the head by the Zipper, ma’am,” one of them explained compassionately to Marge, assuming she was Mike’s mother. He was wearing filthy jeans and a stained T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve, but had the manners of a priest.
“He’s going to be all right,” the other one cut in with an air of authority. This must be the boss, or king of the carneys, Marty mused speculatively, still recording cartoon impressions while worried sick about Mike. This one wore a leather vest and slightly cleaner jeans, and reeked of cigars. The carnival boss continued his diagnosis, “It was a glancing blow.”
Marge brushed past the welcoming committee and went in to see Mike. He was sheepish and conscious. “Guess I shoulda stuck with the choo-choo, huh?” He had a white bandage wrapped around his head at an angle, and tried to explain what happened. “I don’t know, I was just reaching down, and, boom!” He waved dramatically, and cracked up. Marty could tell the medication was kicking in. Briefly, he wondered what they gave him, and if there was any left over.
“As I was saying, he was trained in proper safety procedures before operating the ride, ma’am.” The two carneys had followed them in. The bossy one was trying to establish that the carnival wasn’t at fault, while the other one – Mike’s guilt-ridden co-worker – was adjusting his pillows solicitously. They seemed terribly out of place in the sterile, white room, and the acrid odor of tobacco filled the close quarters.
Suddenly, the nurse showed up. “What are y’all doing in here? I’m gonna get fired! All of you who ain’t family, git! It’s past visiting hours!” She glanced at Marty subtly and nodded, as if to let him know she was doing them a favor by clearing out the riff raff.
The carneys actually paid Mike’s hospital bill in full – in cash – before they left. When Marge thanked him, the boss man shrugged and said simply, “It’s our way.” Later, Mike told him they took up a collection, and every one of them contributed what they could, with the owners giving the most. This was to make sure there wouldn’t be any worker’s compensation or lawyers involved, even though Mike hadn’t actually been trained, and did have a concussion… Anyway, Marge believed that lawyers ate their young (an opinion she developed after getting burned by G.O.D.’s own attorneys in the divorce settlement), and she wanted no part of a lawsuit. The county reimbursed her for all of Mike’s medical expenses anyway, so she just sort of kept the money.
Marty was duly impressed with the code of honor among the carneys, taking such good care of Mike… even if he’d only been with them a couple of days. Sometimes, it’s the roughest looking people who have the smoothest manners. He was used to having all sorts of marginal people stay at the Rusty Bucket Ranch for a couple of days or more, out there in the woods, until they found a job or moved on. The tribe took care of its own folks, and its guests, too. All of us are on a difficult path together, he reflected, and have to help one another along the way.