Jeff Jacobson - Foodchain

The bite from the potluck dish tasted like a deep fried turd. Frank tried to swallow, turned, tears burning his eyes, his gag reflex threatening to explode.

Through the stinging tears, he got a closer look at Annie. She wore cutoffs; white, dangling threads accentuated her strong, tan legs. Her flip-flops were nothing more than flat strips of rubber that used to be neon orange, smudged with grime. Silver toe rings glittered. One of them bore a grinning skull. The bottom of her feet were black, darker than dirt. The white halter top had risen, revealing a sliver of a round brown belly. Heavy, full breasts strained the fabric; the raised buds of nipples were clearly visible in the night air. She had straight black hair that hung just past her earlobes and a round face made for smiling.

Frank swallowed the bite of potluck without tasting it anymore and nodded dumbly, head itching maddeningly under his long hair, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, of everyone around him, as if a brilliant spotlight had focused on his lanky frame, and he was the center of attention, stared at by the mothers, Sturm, the clowns, even the quiet gentlemen somewhere deep in the shadows. “S’good,” he said, but couldn’t quite suppress the coughed gag that escaped from his mouth.

Annie’s smile just grew wider. The dimples grew deeper. “You want to go on a ride with me?”

The creek bed and scrub beyond exploded in light and for the briefest moment, Frank wondered if he had died. But it was just the massive klieg lights that had powered on with an impact that made everyone jump in mid-conversation. The smart ones were expecting it, and already had their shooting glasses on, tinted yellow, gold, or blue.

Shotguns appeared. Frank followed the curve of the tables that weren’t only meant for eating; now he could see that they were arranged around a shooting range. In the harsh glare of the field lights, there was a square concrete bunker that even now had started flinging clay pigeons out into the sky above the farmland. Shotgun blasts split the night with flat, booming thunder.

“If you don’t want to go on a ride, that’s okay. I understand if you don’t want to go with me.”

Frank suddenly remembered Annie. “Um, hell no. I mean, yeah. Yeah. Let’s go. Let’s go on a ride.” He found himself smiling back at her. He nodded at Sturm and the mothers as he slipped the plate onto the table, let Annie link her arm through his, and they slowly moved off towards the carnival. As they walked away, he heard one of the mothers say, “Now what’s all this we hear about all these new animals at that auction yard of yours?”

* * * * *

Annie leaned in close and said in a loud stage-whisper, “Sorry you had to eat that. Mom made it for Sturm special, if you know what I mean.”

Frank shrugged. “You didn’t make it?”

Annie shook her head. “No. Not sure exactly what all went in there, but I know for a fact that the main ingredient was a raw catfish that Ernie caught out of the ditch last week.” She thought that was funny. “Sturm and my moms got a little feud going. They’re unbelievable cooks, and Sturm knows it, but he’s scared to try anything they make, because he doesn’t know what they’ll put in it.”

“I don’t blame him.”

Frank and Annie took it slow, wandering through the carnival, through the garish lights, the shouts and screams, the smell of egg roll on a stick, dunked in sweet and sour sauce. Frank caught a quick glimpse of Theo a couple of times, dashing from one ride to another with a few of his buddies, but the Glouck boys were nowhere to be found.

“This one,” Annie said, and squeezed Frank’s arm.

“This one?”

“This one.”

It was called “WHEEL OF SCREAMS” and was just a large flat disc, about thirty feet across, with a six-foot wall around the outside. They went up the steps, walked out onto the disc, painted in a giant spiral circling out from the center, and found a couple of open spots on the wall. “Stand there, with your back up against the wall, and grab hold of those bars,” Annie instructed. There were no straps, no safety bars that went across your hips and held you in place. Just vertical bars along the wall, like playground bars. At the last minute, Theo and his followers jumped on and found places along the wall opposite of Frank and Annie. The operator said, “Y’all have fun,” and slammed a bar down, shutting the ride off from the outside world. Frank started to sweat, nervous, worried that he would puke up the potluck dish, the chicken, the potato salad, the corn dog.

The disc to spin, slowly. Frank swallowed and exhaled through his nose. Annie’s hand found his on the bar between them. The world revolved; Frank saw the carnival worker, rolling a smoke on the front steps, then the big bouncing balloon castle with its segmented floor and walls, always leaning slightly over, as if a corner had split open, the Corn Dog and Egg Roll trailers, the distant startling white lights of the shooting range, and the carnival worker again, but just the back of his head this time, as he walked down the steps.

Annie gripped his fingers tighter as the machine gained velocity. Frank felt himself slowly pressed back into the wall as the ride spun faster and faster. With a lurch that sent Franks’ stomach scrabbling queasily up onto the back of his tongue, the disk started to tilt. One edge rose and rose, until Frank realized the whole disc was on some kind of arm, resembling more of a wheel than a disc. It kept rising, until the wheel was almost completely sideways, holding its passengers in check through centrifugal force.

Something deep inside Frank relaxed its clenched fist just a bit, and he found himself grinning, almost enjoying the rush of wind, the powerless feeling of watching the pavement slide past, followed by the jet black darkness of the night sky, the ground again, giving way to the sky, the ground, the sky. He uncurled his fingers from the bars, letting the ride take him, giving up control. Annie whooped, raising her own arms, fingers spread wide. Frank closed his eyes, opening his palms to the stars and neon lights.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good.

* * * * *

As they staggered slightly away from the Wheel of Screams, still feeling the effects, Frank wanted to ask Annie if she’d like to try another ride, but just as he was about to speak, they both watched Theo fling an empty beer bottle at Ernie Glouck’s head.

The bottle missed, and by the time it had shattered against the pavement, Ernie had launched himself at Theo. They went down, Theo tearing at the Ernie’s Laker jersey, Ernie slamming punches into Theo’s midsection. The rest of the Glouck boys swarmed the two fighters while Theo’s friends slipped through the crowd and ran.

For the third time that night, Frank wondered where the clowns were, but didn’t have time to wonder long because Annie was no longer standing next to him. She stormed into the circle of teenagers, grabbing her right fist in her left hand, twisting and turning like a pissed-off tornado, jabbing her elbows into anyone who came close. Her brothers, both by blood and by marriage, had enough experience with their oldest sister to get the hell out of the way. She came upon Ernie, hanging onto Theo’s hair and T-shirt, kneeing the bigger kid repeatedly in the left kidney while Theo kept slamming his bleeding knuckles into the back of Ernie’s head and getting nowhere.

Annie planted her back foot and kicked Ernie square in the small of his back. Her brother spasmed and released Theo before rolling over onto his side, flailing as if in the grip of an electric current. Theo backed off for a second, let his eyes wander over Annie, then turned back and punched Ernie in the face.

“Little boy, what is the matter with you?” Annie asked, walking toward Theo, slow, taking her time, rolling those formidable hips like an expensive, wide yacht in calm waters.