The stickiness of cotton candy

by James A. Miller

    

Jack stepped out into the hot desert night and let the door bang shut.

Damned car.

At the fringe of his hearing, he could pick up music playing.  He held his breath just to be sure. Yes, it was there. The Eagles. Somebody, somewhere, was listening to the same station he had on in the car.

He scanned the highway to where the canopy of stars met the darkness of the earth. Up ahead he saw a halo of illumination -- a small town possibly, but the distance was difficult to judge. Two, maybe three, miles.  He took one last look at the dead car, then turned and started toward the light.

Small white flowers peppered the edge of the road. If Sean were still alive, he would be picking the flowers as they walked.  Within a hundred feet there would be a handful, and Sean would want his father to hold those small flowers. But Jack would have told him to put them down, and reprimand Sean that he was slowing their pace with the flower picking. That’s what he would have said then, but now -- now was different. Now he would hold the flowers. Now he would hold rocks and frogs and butterflies. He would hold anything Sean wanted him to, and he would hold it for as long as Sean wanted. 

But there was no little hand to pick the flowers, so they remained alongside the road. 

Frustration and sadness swung Jack’s foot into the little flowers, clearing a dark path in the bright border of the road. He wasn’t going to think about Sean. He had already thought everything there was to think. Only guilt remained. He would just keep walking and not think.

A half mile later, the music was louder with other sounds mixed in: pipe organ music, laughter, screams of excitement, and loud talking. It was the sound of a carnival.  Over the dark horizon, sitting in the glow of the shimmering light, was the colorful semicircle of a Ferris wheel turning against the night sky.  He stopped to listen.

The sounds became clearer, like he had tuned in a station. He could pick out individual voices, and the chatter of the men at the games, barking and calling for the people in the crowd to come near.

But it was so out of place. There had been no sign of any kind, nor should there have been.  The last billboard promised no gas for 150 miles. There was no mention of a carnival or circus. It was the middle of the desert. But that didn’t matter, as long as someone there would be able to help.

A mile later, Jack crested a hill and walked down into the full glory of the carnival.  The calliope-like sound and the sweet scents of thousand-calorie treats surrounded and permeated him. Brilliant electric lights were everywhere illuminated everything -- and this carnival had everything:  a roller coaster, fun house, haunted house, Tilt-o-whirl, the Zipper. All of the games were there too; the ring toss, three balls for a dollar to knock over a pyramid of lead milk bottles, and even that game where you spray the clown’s mouth and the balloon inflates. The prizes were extraordinary, not the usual thin black T-shirts and cheap rock and roll mirrors, but gigantic stuffed animals, watches, and cell phones.

It reminded him of the fair back in Wisconsin; back when he was a kid, only this was way better.

They even had grass. The whole carnival appeared to be on one large, perfect circle of green.  The cost to bring in and maintain that amount of sod in the middle of the desert had to be staggering.  It was so unnecessary, yet so inviting.  He envisioned taking his shoes off. The coolness of that dark, perfect grass would feel so good after all that walking.  But there was no time for any indulgence. He had to get help. Maybe borrow a cell phone, or find a police officer or security guard.

 There was no guard, gate, or ticket taker. Admission to the carnival was open, and once Jack stepped onto the grass, it began to feel very much like home, back when he was a kid, relaxed, and yes, it even felt like the air was easier to breathe. 

A sign read “Free Cotton Candy Day!”  A line of people underneath it lead to where two brightly dressed men in a booth rolled narrow paper cones in big metal bins. They were wrapping the white paper cones with the fibrous treat, then giving them out to the patrons; handing out all that free sugar.

Memories of Sean splashed like frigid water:  Sean in that chair in the theater, looking like he was sleeping -- his head tipped to the side, Jack passing the movie snacks to Cindy, right over top of Sean’s head. They had even bought cotton candy.  The theater sold it in mixed bags of Blue and Pink.  Cindy called it “insulation,” because the pink stuff did, indeed, look like the batting in their attic.  They had laughed about that, laughter over cotton candy that turned out to be cruel, cutting irony. As Sean sat there unconscious and dying from diabetic shock, Jack and Cindy shared cotton candy with each other, passing it back and forth inches above Sean’s dead head. A little bit of that sugar could have saved Sean’s life, had they given it to him earlier. The boy had never even complained, or said he felt sick. He just went to sleep, and away, forever.

It never seemed fair.  There was no warning. The first time they learned that their only child had Diabetes was the day he died from it.  The doctors went on and on about how unusual it was, how rare for a child to die so quickly, how there must have been complications, but after time, their reasons didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change the fact his boy was in the ground.

After that, life with Cindy tapered away in a dark, descending spiral. The loss spawned guilt, and the guilt turned to blame. From blame there were fights and ugliness, and the decision that maybe he and Cindy were better off apart. From there, you load up a VW Corrado and head back to Wisconsin by yourself, because that’s where the only good memories remain -- the ones that were made before death and guilt. The ones before you had to find out that they made a casket the size of a suitcase.

There was the nauseatingly sweet smell of the cotton candy, the scent of Sean’s death. He backed away from the scene and bumped into a short, bald man eating the cotton candy.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said.

“Aren’t they all so wonderful?” Said the man.

“Isn’t what wonderful?”

“All the boats -- they’re so lovely.”

Jack looked in the direction the man was facing. There were no boats. He looked around the carnival. Still no boats. No water at all.

“I’m not sure --”

But the man had wandered off.

Jack looked for help. Maybe someone who wasn’t eating that awful reminder of Sean, but everyone seemed to have gotten in on the free treat.  He approached two twentyish boys, both of whom were sporting an abundance of tattoos and piercings, intently watching the roller coaster.

“Hey, would you guys let me borrow your cel, or maybe make a call for me?”

They turned to Jack; both had a serious set of nose rings, and two different colors of slicked and erratically dyed hair, eyes glazed.

“Wha?”

“Er… Never mind.”

Their minds were away for the night. Due to some chemical influence, no doubt, well on their way to experiencing a much different carnival than he was.

Jack walked to the game where you try to toss a coin onto a plate. The man running the game dressed like the others, in a vibrant, almost electric mix of colors. Brightly dressed men were running all of the attractions. It was a privilege he thought typically reserved for overly tan, toothless guys who looked like they lived in defunct cars.

“Excuse me sir.”

The colorful man turned to Jack and held a hand out to him ready to give coins for the game.

“Oh, uh, no. I don’t want to play. I need to find a security guard or the main office of something.”

“Go on, it’s free,” said the man, his hand poised to drop quarters.

“Free? How can it be free?”

“It’s free.”

“But you’re handing out money?”

The hand waited in the air.

“Take them. It’s free.”

“This is weird. What kind of carnival is this?”

“It’s free. Go on and take the coins.” 

Jack looked at the people playing the game; intent faces, focused on their games, having such a good time. Stacks of stuffed animals were piled next to the people playing. Jack remembered this game always gave out the dish where you landed the coin. Just as he thought that, the stuffed animals were gone, and stacks of dishes sat in their place.

The hand was waiting, ready to drop the coins into Jack’s hand, smiling a big, red-lipped smile. And the more Jack looked at that smile, the more he wanted the coins.  Maybe he could win some dishes too, some dishes for mom, or for Cindy. Maybe Sean would want to win some too. 

The lips were such a dark red.

A vision of the house lights coming up after Cindy screamed and that horrible dark red color of the theater chair. A maroon backdrop against the cold paleness of Sean’s blued skin. Cindy screamed again. People gathered around them to see. He remembered lifting Sean’s dead body into the aisle, doing his best to remember what little CPR he knew, and how Cindy screamed for help. 

He could picture the mouth screaming those screams.

The perfect red lips weren’t shiny and greasy, like lipstick. The unnatural color was a part of him, embedded in him, like a tattoo.

Jack looked down at the man’s hand; opening, dropping coins, and saw his own hand was outstretched, ready to receive. Jack pulled back and watched the coins fall to the ground.

“N-No. No thank-you,” Jack said, backing away.

The colors on the man’s face melted into anger, then morphed into a sinister smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find something you like. There’s something here for everyone.”

Jack backed away scanning the crowd. There had to be someone who could help. But everyone seemed to be involved a game or on a ride, and almost all of them had that cotton candy. There was something for everyone -- something that suited them all.

Something just right.

Jack felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see a lanky woman with short dark hair holding the hand of a six-year-old girl. 

“Do you know how to get out of this place?” The woman asked.

“That’s a good idea. I was just thinking of leaving myself.”

“I know. It’s creepy isn’t it? I mean, how everything is so…”

“So perfect. I know what you mean. Come on, I’ll show you where I came in.”

Jack walked them back to where he was certain he had entered, but instead of seeing desert, he saw a little kid’s teacup ride. Beyond that were two clowns giving away elephant ears, and to each side were more rides and games.

“It should be right here,” Jack said.

“What should?” asked the woman.

“The way out. This is where I came in.”

“That’s been happening to us too,” said the little girl.

The girl had long, dirty blonde hair and familiar pouty cheeks. She could have been Sean’s sister.  Jack knelt down.

“Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll find a way out.”

He stood giving the woman a weak smile.

“Have you seen a main office or security building?” He asked.

“No, it’s all just games and rides and food,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m guessing there is no main office.”

“Why do you say that?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what this place is all about yet. How about landmarks -- something where we could get our bearings?”

“What if we went up really high on the Ferris wheel?” Said the little girl.

“That’s not a bad idea. What’s your name?”

“Jenny.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Jenny. Maybe we could see a way out from up there.”

The three walked to the Ferris wheel. A large, pot-bellied man waved them in, beckoning for them to ride.  The coloring of his lips was dark red, like the man at the coin toss.

Jack grabbed the woman’s hand.

“Let’s not.”

“What?” Said the woman.

“We shouldn’t go on it,” said Jack.

“But I want to go,” challenged Jenny.

“I don’t think it’s safe, Honey. Have you guys gone on any rides yet?”

“No, we haven’t done anything.”

“No games, no cotton candy?” Asked Jack.

“No. I think – I think we just got here.”

“Don’t you remember?”

“No. I don’t know what we were doing before this. I – I don’t remember anything.”

“How about you, Jenny? Do you remember what you were doing before you came here?”

Jenny shook her head. 

“Do you think you could have eaten something?” Jack asked the woman.

“I dunno. Maybe. I feel hungry. I think we just got here, but it also feels like it’s been a really long time. I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, because nothing here makes sense,” Jack said.

“I don’t get what you mean.”

“I think we are being lulled to sleep – having the wool pulled over our eyes. I get the feeling this whole place is poison. It’s all around us; in the games, in the rides and especially in the food.” 

Jack inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of caramel apples and fried foods.

“For all I know, it’s even in the air.”

“I’m sure it’s fine; we’re just a little lost,” said the woman.

“Maybe. Or maybe we should be a little scared.”

“I’m not scared Momma.”

Jack smiled at the girl. Sean was never scared either.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he said. “I remember the way the Ferris wheel looked when I entered.  I’ll move around until it looks to be about the same size and position.”

Jack walked back and forth, sizing up the wheel.

“Here. It’s right about here.”

“What is?”

“The edge. I should be standing on sandy soil right now.”

“But we’re in the middle of the carnival.”

“I think it only seems like that. I think that’s what they want us to think.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Some government experiment maybe, testing out hallucinogenic drugs or mind control or something. Whatever it is, we stumbled into it or were somehow selected against our will.” 

“So how do we get out?”

“If I’m right, and I am standing in the desert, then there has to be some way to tear the shroud off of this thing and let reality show through.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“Yeah, I’m still kind of hazy on that part. This will sound weird, but I think you should slap me.”

“Slap you?”

“Well, if it’s mind altering, that’ll help snap me out of it. I’m ready when you are.”

“If you say so.”

The woman slapped him -- hard. Jack felt his head swivel and jaw slide off to the side. A hot painful stinging filled the side of his face. Jenny started laughing.

“Think that was pretty funny, huh?” Jack said to the girl.

“Yeah,” Jenny said, giggling.

“Did it work?” The woman asked.

“No, but it sure wasn’t for lack of trying,” jack said rubbing the side of his face.

 “Ok, so maybe it’s more of a technology thing, like a field generator or an image projection system of some kind,” he said.

“But this is real. I can feel the grass. I can feel this trashcan. According to you I should be holding desert sand right now or touching a rock,” the woman said.

“Maybe we have to tear down the system somehow.”

Jack walked over to a trashcan and dug through it until he brought up a half-eaten caramel apple. He threw the apple down toward where he thought the edge should be, but it only landed on the ground twenty feet away.

“What was that about?” asked the woman.

“I am trying to tear a hole in it.”

“Tear a hole in what?”

“In whatever reality they are projecting. There has to be some way to do it. I think I need a more massive object.”

Jack picked up the trashcan and threw it in the same direction as the apple. The edge of the trash can landed on a bundle of thick black cables running to a junction box, cutting through the insulation and shorting the conductors. There was a loud pop followed by a shower of sparks. A large square of blackness blinked into existence where the elephant ear stand used to be.

“There it is,” said Jack.

He ran to the void and peered into it, expecting to see the desert, but there was only an empty eternal blackness.

“Be careful Jack!” Said the woman.

He turned back to her.

“What did you say?”

“I said to be careful.”

“No. You said my name. I never told you my name.”

“Oh, I am sure you mentioned it,” she said.

“No, no I didn’t.”

“Relax,” she said.

Jack backed away from the woman and child, easing back to the black opening. He turned and looked down. There was no floor, only darkness, but the desert had to be there. It had to be just past the void. He backed through into a sensation of falling. He reflexively grabbed for anything.  His hand felt the warmth of a human arm.

“Don’t go, Daddy!”

It was Sean.

Jenny and the woman were gone. He was holding his onto Sean’s arm, dangling off a precipice. He looked down -- infinite nothingness.

“It’s not your fault Jack. It was never your fault.”

 It was Cindy, standing behind Sean, looking down and reaching out to him. She was crying.

He wanted to believe her. It would be so easy to climb back up and be with her and Sean. It would be perfect and lovely if he could just believe.  It could be like it was before the theater, warm and real and full, with laughter and joy. It was right there.

But it wasn’t.

“You’re not real,” Jack said. “Neither of you are. Cindy I left you in California with the house. Sean -- Sean --”

He wanted to tell Sean that he couldn’t be real, that they had buried him months ago, but those words were too hard to say.

“Sean, I have to let go.”

“No, Daddy no!”

Jack let go. As he fell, he looked back up at the void, seeing it from the other side for what it actually was. There was no woman or girl, only oily-black creatures with wide, pupilless eyes and long mantis-like arms. The fall felt like a slow drop into forever until the hard stop of Arizona ground knocked the wind out of him. Jack moved to get up, gasping for air, and then forfeited back into the warm sand. Above, he saw a glowing white window -- where he had fallen from -- floating in a backdrop of stars. It moved slowly and silently past him revealing the metallic bottom of a large craft. It rose into the air, and then with incredible speed, disappeared into the starry blackness of the night sky.

There was an after-moment of quiet, sudden, stillness, and in the distance, the nearly imperceptible sound of Don Henley singing.

 

END