The Accidental Siren

11.2 Carnival

Whit found himself cradled in the carnie’s arms as the man transferred him back to his chair.

“I'm too old for these sissy rides,” he said, craning his head to Mara. “How was your first carnival experience, beautiful?”

She flashed a dimpled grin. “Killer,” she said. “Totally killer.”

Whit navigated our path back to the midway meeting point, but the girls weren’t there.

Mara plopped down on a picnic table and crossed her feet on the bench. She asked for the time and scanned the sea of heads.

Whit rolled himself to the milk bottle game. The boy behind the counter wore the same red and white stripes as the rest of the carnies, spitting into a microphone and rattling off words like a paint-huffing auctioneer. “Three balls, three bucks, three tries! Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Step riiight up!” He looked at Whit. “Legs don’t work? Then roll right up! Three chances to put your aim to the test! Three chances to impress your girlfriend! Three chances to prove to your friends that you're a major league pitcher! Three balls, three bucks, three tries!” The boy covered the mic and leaned toward Whit, “I bet you wished you had three balls, kid. Am I right?”

“Watch it, bum.” Whit pulled out his wallet and gave him three dollars. “Hey Jamsie-boy,” he said. “Let's see how you throw.”

I looked to Mara for approval. She was beaming.

“Think I can do it?” I asked.

“Cutie, I know you can do it!”

“What prize do you want if I win?”

She scanned her options. “I want the ginormous mallard duck.”

I looked at the hanging bird, then sauntered backwards to the counter and said, “One ginormous duck, coming up.”

“Three balls,” said the boy in the red and white stripes. “Three tries to knock 'em down!”

I sized up the pyramid of ten milk bottles, aimed, and threw the first ball as hard as possible.

“Miss!” said the boy in the red and white stripes.

I grunted. Whit laughed.

“Come on, James!” Mara said and clapped.

I threw the second ball with better precision but less force... and pelted the bottom right jug and toppling three more. 

“Woohoo!” Mara said. “Seven left!”

I lowered my shoulders, aimed my last round, and pitched. The ball nicked the highest tier, but nothing fell.

“Too bad, so sad!” said the boy with the red and white stripes. “But so close!”

Mara pretended to pout. “I guess I'll never get the duck that I always wanted!”

“How about you, pretty girl?” said the boy with the red and white stripes. “How 'bout showin' these children what a woman can do?”

She leapt from the picnic table and skipped to the booth. “I only have five dollars and I’d rather try an elephant ear.”

“I bet one of your friends can spot you the cash!”

Whit rolled his eyes as if he wasn't thrilled to lend Mara cash.

We cheered her on as she spun her arm in wild circles, then released the ball. It missed the bottles and twacked the rear wall.

“Too bad, so sad!” said the boy in the red and white stripes. “Two shots left, pretty girl!”

Mara rolled the second ball in her hand as she scrutinized her target. She pulled back, threw it, and thwak! Missed again.