The Priory Lit. Mag

Any knowledge of traveling fairs that reached the one-horse town of Hicksonville, Minnesota was obtained via the media. For instance, the Ferris wheel from “Grease” and, of course, vibrantly colored flashing lights were all expected. None of the inhabitants had ever witnessed a fair first-hand because no exotic carnival had ever breached the cornfields and delighted the population of 500 farmers, daughters of farmers, and son of daughters of farmers.

Then the Reesly Brothers rolled in on a dark October night. By morning, a forsaken field was transformed into a playground of creaky rides, fire-eaters, and flashing lights. The funhouse in the center was painted with red and gold caricatures of exotic animals and half-naked women. Mirrors covered the interior; they stretched small children to impossible heights and squished the parents to half their size. Tales of the magical carnival spread like locusts through the cornfields.

Mary Lou Jackson, sweet sixteen, walked a mile from her farm to see what Old Molly Sue described as “A place to send yer kiddies when they need a good ol’ scarin’”. She stepped over a long, white power cord that marked the threshold. Booths and walls covered in gaudy and suggestive art towered over her. A cluster of young boys crushed against a booth that advertised a game of shooting a rubber ball into a small, plastic hoop. A ball went in just as she walked by, and large, round lights flashed as a generic jingle played. The boys cheered. To her right, a tall contraption whipped small mesh boxes of kids upside-down, flailing around like a beached fish. She marched farther, passing a sugar-booth that suffocated her with the intoxicating scent of hot sugar and heavy fat. Walking faster now, she came face to face with a long-armed machine, dizzily whirling more kids in metal seats around and around, shrieking as they came closer, their screams fading as they were wrenched away. The sour taste of bile rose in her throat so she turned once more. An immense, upright wheel met her gaze, tamely rotating. It seemed safe; she took her pace in line behind a young couple.

Soon she was sitting in a swinging basket that barely held her in place in the large, spinning machine. One rush of cool air and stomach-twist later, she was above the fair. She could see everything: a dragon flying down a track, a booth with colored blocks and quarters flipping inside, ducks swimming in perpetual circles, a man with extremely long legs and a ridiculous polka-dot bow tie, and a body lying lifeless on the ground surrounded by paramedics pumping his chest. She could see the fire-truck with peeling red paint idling just outside the grounds. The sheriff’s car crouched next to the scene, fenced in caution tape and uniformed persons and more lights flashing blue and red. There are always flashing lights at the fair.