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ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I stopped at the Red Light and looked over to my left, where the Angel of Death operates his Ferris Wheel. I was surprised to see him talking to someone I knew, an 18-year-old girl named Amanda who was once a roommate of a friend of mine. I do not know why she was standing there where the ride exits, as Amanda did not get off of the ride recently. She died in a house fire well over a year ago.
She was a pretty girl, with long brown hair and dark eyes that flashed with intelligence and pluck. Her family was poor and she grew up in a ramshackle trailer just up the road from the house where she would eventually die. I wouldn't describer her as sweet; poor kids who are sweet don't fair to well. She was a little rough around the edges, but considerate and not unkind. From what I knew of her, I liked her.
She and her boyfriend, Mike, were sleeping in a room that was part of a windowless addition on the main house in an area used to be the garage. On August 10, 2004, her landlady woke them at 2 AM by banging on the outside wall with a piece of a 2x4 to wake them up. She shouted that they needed to get out because the house was on fire. Mike was leading Amanda by the hand through the thick smoke when the roof collapsed behind him and he lost his grip on her hand just as he made it to the back door. The heat and the flames were too intense for him to go back in and find her, though I heard that he tried.
He was on his knees in the back yard screaming, "I lost Amanda," over and over again when the paramedics picked him up to load him into an ambulance.
I was wondering what made her come back to the Gate to see the Carney after all this time when I saw him reach in his pocket, take out a cigarette, and hand it to her. Ah, I though, that explains it. As I recall, she smoked Marlboros and looked down her nose at the Dorals that the Carney smokes, but maybe cigarettes are hard to come by where she is. She put the cigarette into her mouth and the Carney took out his own cigarette and held it toward her so she could light the one she bummed off of him. She took a long drag and then exhaled slowly, her face easing into a blissful smile just before she mouthed the word "thanks" to him.
I remember that at her funeral, her boyfriend gave a brief eulogy in which he talked about the fact that she had played the part of a fairy at the Texas Renaissance Festival the year before, which is held not too far from where she lived.
"Now she has traded her fairy wings for angel wings," he said, "I love you, baby girl."
As the light changed to green and I started to drive away, I saw Amanda throw back her head and laugh at something the Carney said to her. I remember the sound of her laughter as hardy and kind of throaty, with a deep rich tone that belied her years. It was good to at least see her laughing, and I only wished that I had to time to roll down my window to see if I could hear it one more time.
She was a pretty girl, with long brown hair and dark eyes that flashed with intelligence and pluck. Her family was poor and she grew up in a ramshackle trailer just up the road from the house where she would eventually die. I wouldn't describer her as sweet; poor kids who are sweet don't fair to well. She was a little rough around the edges, but considerate and not unkind. From what I knew of her, I liked her.
She and her boyfriend, Mike, were sleeping in a room that was part of a windowless addition on the main house in an area used to be the garage. On August 10, 2004, her landlady woke them at 2 AM by banging on the outside wall with a piece of a 2x4 to wake them up. She shouted that they needed to get out because the house was on fire. Mike was leading Amanda by the hand through the thick smoke when the roof collapsed behind him and he lost his grip on her hand just as he made it to the back door. The heat and the flames were too intense for him to go back in and find her, though I heard that he tried.
He was on his knees in the back yard screaming, "I lost Amanda," over and over again when the paramedics picked him up to load him into an ambulance.
I was wondering what made her come back to the Gate to see the Carney after all this time when I saw him reach in his pocket, take out a cigarette, and hand it to her. Ah, I though, that explains it. As I recall, she smoked Marlboros and looked down her nose at the Dorals that the Carney smokes, but maybe cigarettes are hard to come by where she is. She put the cigarette into her mouth and the Carney took out his own cigarette and held it toward her so she could light the one she bummed off of him. She took a long drag and then exhaled slowly, her face easing into a blissful smile just before she mouthed the word "thanks" to him.
I remember that at her funeral, her boyfriend gave a brief eulogy in which he talked about the fact that she had played the part of a fairy at the Texas Renaissance Festival the year before, which is held not too far from where she lived.
"Now she has traded her fairy wings for angel wings," he said, "I love you, baby girl."
As the light changed to green and I started to drive away, I saw Amanda throw back her head and laugh at something the Carney said to her. I remember the sound of her laughter as hardy and kind of throaty, with a deep rich tone that belied her years. It was good to at least see her laughing, and I only wished that I had to time to roll down my window to see if I could hear it one more time.
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Date: 2006-02-08 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 02:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 04:40 pm (UTC)Mom recently commented that maybe God gives lesser souls more time on Earth to find their way to Him. Makes me wonder what I'm doing wrong. :)
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Date: 2006-02-09 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 08:24 pm (UTC)