The Big Top was at the end of the pathway and was lit up with spotlights. To the right of the Midway was where the thrill rides were set up. A mild coaster was set up for the younger children called the “Ghost Coaster.” Some of the rest of the rides were knock-offs of other rides that Peter had seen all over the country. The “Danse Macabre” was sort of a modified tea-cup ride. The bumper cars were themed after the old Mother Goose Rhyme, “Hickory Dickory Dock.”
Further back were the rides that seemed to bring the more daring towards the back of the carnival. The “Scream-O-Rama” put the riders up against a round wall and held them fast with centrifugal force. The spinning ride then pivoted upwards and dropped the floor out from under the thrill seekers. It was a white-knuckle grip for sure!
Along the left, were the barkers calling out to everyone that “Seeing is believing, friends!” or “Step right up!” Promises of conjoined twins of all species were spelled out along the walls of the enclosed stages. A hypnotism show was starting in a few minutes, according to a promising young man passing out flyers on the Midway.
Peter had to look twice at the young man. He had a familiar look to him. Sandy blond hair topped his head along with a fez that was skewed to the left of his ear. Cake makeup made his face a wash of white with exaggerated freckles. A blue diamond over his right eye seemed to bring the character together.
There was something about him though. Peter couldn’t quite place his finger on it. He took the blue piece of paper as the youth smiled up at him. Mass hypnotism and other magician’s tricks were outlined. Peter knew it was to get the easy marks into an enclosed space. It was all about distraction and misdirection.
Still holding the flyer in his hand, Peter heard the music from a squeeze-box over the din of the crowd and the barkers. Playing the squeeze-box and dancing thought the crowd was a striking woman clad in a what looked like work boots, striped leggings, and a skirt that seamed to be composed of random rags. The ruffled shirt and corset she wore accented her waste and arms as she pumped the squeeze-box. Her oval face was dusted with glitter and framed with pink hair. A silk top hat was affixed on her head with a pink hat band that matched her hair. A pair of brass goggles with dark lenses
She held a grace about her that Peter hadn’t seen. It was mesmerizing. She had either had lessons in dance, or was naturally gifted. Despite the boots, she was able to bound and spin with ease. Wrapped around her right wrist was a leash attached to a similarly dressed Capuchin monkey with greying fur.
The crowd soon gave the woman room on the Midway as a circle formed around her. The monkey squeaked and squawked as it mimicked her movements. It held out the tiny matching top hat to the crowd and collected the coins and bills that the crowd threw to it.
Peter was surprised when he found his cheeks hurting from his grinning at the pair. The Capuchin pulled at the leash and guided the woman towards Peter. Her green eyes had flecks of gold that matched the glitter on her face. Black lines outlined her eyes both above and below, making them pop.
The pink-haired squeeze-box player smiled briefly at Peter and whirled around towards others in the crowd. The monkey followed collecting the money that was offered and screeching in thanks. Peter was transfixed.
As the pair came around for a second pass, the monkey crawled up Peter’s leg and stopped on his shoulder. Tiny hands grabbed Peter’s face and brought both he and the monkey both eye to eye.
Small brown brown eyes peered deeply into Peter’s own as if pondering something. From within an impossibly tiny pocket, the monkey brought out a piece of paper and waved it in front of Peter’s eyes.
“Okay, okay.” Peter chuckled at the monkey and took the note. Peter looked to the monkey’s master and saw her smiling. With a quick tug on the leash, both she and the Capuchin were gone from the circle and lost in the Midway crowd.
Peter found himself still smiling as the crowd dissipated. Long after the music faded from the squeeze-box and the din of the barkers returned, Peter remembered the note in his hand.
“Love to live in lover’s knots but live to love in why’s and why-nots? Passion need not be brief as passion’s told, but meet me in haystacks, sans briefs, if passions are bold.”
It was signed, “Tinker,” with a mark on the corner in the shape of pink lips where she kissed the note. Peter could feel the pressure in his chest build as his heart started to beat faster.
Peter made his way past the big top and towards the bails of hay and straw that were used to line the animal cages and sideshow stalls. In fever, Peter raced around the bails and stacks looking for Tinker.
“There you are,” came a voice that seemed to crawl under Peter’s flesh. Peter let out a sound that he didn’t recognize immediately. It was raw and guttural. He needed her. “My pet.”
Tinker reached out and slid her hand on Peter’s cheek. Day-old stubble brushed against calloused fingertips and painted nails. Tinker’s hand seemed to encompass his face, holding it gently, safely. He was lost within her.
“Shall we dance, my pet?” Tinker smiled down to Peter. Peter screeched in happiness as Tinker put on his leash and top hat.
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