Monday - Punch Line
Oct. 23rd, 2006 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I waved to The Carney, a.k.a. Jim, and blew him a kiss as I drove past his giant Ferris Wheel. I haven't written about him lately because no one has been dying in my life. I started seeing him on my drive when I was in the middle of a busy period for funerals, which happens every few years. I'm not complaining about the dry spell; the less grief and stress for me, the better.
He waived back and laughed as he pretended to reach up, catch my kiss and put it in his shirt pocket with his pack of cigarettes. We got together this weekend and talked, he and I, to discuss life, death, and the punch lines that connect them.
I've been thinking about him a lot lately, and wanting to speak with him. On Friday night after I was done with my day and settled in for an evening alone (due to Jeff's work schedule), I crawled inside of my head and walked up to meet The Carney where he operates The Ferris Wheel of Life and Death.
"What brings you around?" he asked, as amicable as ever.
"Lonely," I said. I was kind of bummed that the Honky Tonk we went to the last time we talked has been torn down for the construction of the new highway bypass they are building through my town. It figures that when I take The Angel of Death to a bar, the next thing I know they take a wrecking ball to the place. Not wanting to jinx any other establishment, I decided to sit on the fence next to him and watch him work.
"When haven't you been lonely?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders. Even when I'm with the people I love, I'm still kind of lonely. It's just part of who I am. I put up barriers to keep them from invading my solitude too much. On one hand, I need solitude the way most people need air. But just like air, you don't want so much of it around you that there's nothing solid beneath your feet. Sometimes it feels like I'm freefalling.
"Do you want me to go away?" I asked, "Am I bothering you?"
"Not at all," he said, "Not many people stop to talk to me. Sit and stay awhile."
I leaned forward and watched The Wheel spin. I couldn't make out any of the faces of the riders; the details of the people always look like they are in a fog until he stops it and lets some of them off. The lights on the cars are always crisp and bright, though, and the painted designs on the cars, each a little different than any of the others, are always sharp. The Wheel is hypnotic to watch. No one else has ever been able to hypnotize me, but I have a knack for losing myself in whatever is happening in front of me and hypnotizing myself.
"How come I never see my mom here?" I asked him. "I saw Amanda with you that one time, and she's been dead a couple of years. That means I could see my mother, right?"
"You don't want to see her," he told me, taking a drag on his cigarette, "you could see her here, if you tried."
"I don't know how I should picture her," I mused, "Like she looked when she died? But that wasn't really her; when she was living she didn't look anything like she did when she was dying. Maybe I could see her how she looked before the cancer? Or young, maybe, like she looked before I was born." I paused for a moment.
"To tell the truth, she wasn't the sort to hang out at carnivals. It's hard for me to imagine her here at all." I caught the smell of popcorn on the wind, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. The carnival's visual motif doesn't go beyond the immediate area where I see Jim, but from outside his vicinity I could hear and smell other carnival things.
"What's bothering you that you want to see her so bad?" Jim asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe it's the fact that I've reached the age she was when I was born. It feels like a countdown on my own life now."
"That's not the way it works," Jim said. "That part's all in your head."
"Even if it weren't, you wouldn't warn me," I pointed out.
"Nope." He chuckled a little.
"You suck."
He laughed a little louder. "You think you're the first one to tell me that?"
"No, but not many of us do to your face. We write poems about it, or shout it to the empty air. We make movies and write novels and plays about it. We create paintings and sculptures and crap like that. I feel kind of privileged to sit on this fence and tell you that to your face."
He touched my cheek with his calloused hand and turned my face toward him. "But you weren't looking at my face when you said it. You were looking at The Wheel." He was right. I forget to look at faces sometimes. I get lost in the world around me, and forget to connect with the people in it - even the ones who aren't exactly people.
I looked at his strange eyes, which aren't any real color I can describe, and I smiled sweetly. "You suck," I said again.
"No, I don't," he said. He was smiling, too. The corners of his eyes crinkle into crow's feet when he does. "I'm not good, I'm not bad. I'm just part of life. I just am."
"I just am, too," I said.
"Nothing wrong with that."
"There kind of is. I want to be more."
"You're more than you know."
"I doubt that."
"Be patient," he said.
I sighed. I'm too patient; that's the problem. I've been waiting for my life to happen, and worry that I may have missed it.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," I said.
"You always think a lot."
"More than usual, though."
"And?"
"All I can come up with are more questions. Which leads to more thinking. It's a vicious cycle. I need to knock it off." I heard the music of a carousel in the distance, and caught the warm sweet scent of funnel cakes waft by on the wind. There are more rides and more booths to this metaphysical carnival than I ever suspected.
He crushed out his cigarette and looked at me. "One of these days, you'll stop thinking. Don't wish for that now. It's not time."
"I'm not wishing for it. Look, I'm just kind of worried that my life may be a joke, and God is the only one laughing. When I die, I want to find out what the punch line. I want to laugh, too."
Jim groaned and shook his head. "You people always get so wrapped up in yourselves. I've seen lots of jokes lived out that were stupider, or lamer, or more pointless than your life will ever be. Get over it."
"I didn't say my life was a stupid joke; I'm kind of hoping it's a funny one. I just want to know the punch line. I hope it's a pun. I like puns."
He seemed to think for a moment as he lit up a new cigarette. "Listen, I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but I'm going to anyway.
He took a long drag on the cigarette, then leaned his head back and blew one of those amazing, spectacular smoke rings that he blows. “Your life isn't exactly a joke; it's more of a limerick."
I perked up; this wasn't what I expected to hear. I was half right, at least. A limerick is a poem with a punch line; it's a hybrid of verse and humor. I milked him for details. "A dirty one? Do any of the words rhyme with 'Nantucket?'" I asked hopefully. "Those are the limericks that stick in people's minds."
"Nope. Sorry. It's clean."
"Rats," I said, "No one remembers the clean ones."
"Don't worry about it. It's pretty charming," he said. "A few people will remember it. Just enough."
"My life doesn't have reason, but at least I'll have rhyme," I mused. "I guess that's more than a lot of people get."
"It'll have plenty of both, I promise," he said.
I guess I have no choice but to take this on faith.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ # ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
He waived back and laughed as he pretended to reach up, catch my kiss and put it in his shirt pocket with his pack of cigarettes. We got together this weekend and talked, he and I, to discuss life, death, and the punch lines that connect them.
I've been thinking about him a lot lately, and wanting to speak with him. On Friday night after I was done with my day and settled in for an evening alone (due to Jeff's work schedule), I crawled inside of my head and walked up to meet The Carney where he operates The Ferris Wheel of Life and Death.
"What brings you around?" he asked, as amicable as ever.
"Lonely," I said. I was kind of bummed that the Honky Tonk we went to the last time we talked has been torn down for the construction of the new highway bypass they are building through my town. It figures that when I take The Angel of Death to a bar, the next thing I know they take a wrecking ball to the place. Not wanting to jinx any other establishment, I decided to sit on the fence next to him and watch him work.
"When haven't you been lonely?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders. Even when I'm with the people I love, I'm still kind of lonely. It's just part of who I am. I put up barriers to keep them from invading my solitude too much. On one hand, I need solitude the way most people need air. But just like air, you don't want so much of it around you that there's nothing solid beneath your feet. Sometimes it feels like I'm freefalling.
"Do you want me to go away?" I asked, "Am I bothering you?"
"Not at all," he said, "Not many people stop to talk to me. Sit and stay awhile."
I leaned forward and watched The Wheel spin. I couldn't make out any of the faces of the riders; the details of the people always look like they are in a fog until he stops it and lets some of them off. The lights on the cars are always crisp and bright, though, and the painted designs on the cars, each a little different than any of the others, are always sharp. The Wheel is hypnotic to watch. No one else has ever been able to hypnotize me, but I have a knack for losing myself in whatever is happening in front of me and hypnotizing myself.
"How come I never see my mom here?" I asked him. "I saw Amanda with you that one time, and she's been dead a couple of years. That means I could see my mother, right?"
"You don't want to see her," he told me, taking a drag on his cigarette, "you could see her here, if you tried."
"I don't know how I should picture her," I mused, "Like she looked when she died? But that wasn't really her; when she was living she didn't look anything like she did when she was dying. Maybe I could see her how she looked before the cancer? Or young, maybe, like she looked before I was born." I paused for a moment.
"To tell the truth, she wasn't the sort to hang out at carnivals. It's hard for me to imagine her here at all." I caught the smell of popcorn on the wind, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. The carnival's visual motif doesn't go beyond the immediate area where I see Jim, but from outside his vicinity I could hear and smell other carnival things.
"What's bothering you that you want to see her so bad?" Jim asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe it's the fact that I've reached the age she was when I was born. It feels like a countdown on my own life now."
"That's not the way it works," Jim said. "That part's all in your head."
"Even if it weren't, you wouldn't warn me," I pointed out.
"Nope." He chuckled a little.
"You suck."
He laughed a little louder. "You think you're the first one to tell me that?"
"No, but not many of us do to your face. We write poems about it, or shout it to the empty air. We make movies and write novels and plays about it. We create paintings and sculptures and crap like that. I feel kind of privileged to sit on this fence and tell you that to your face."
He touched my cheek with his calloused hand and turned my face toward him. "But you weren't looking at my face when you said it. You were looking at The Wheel." He was right. I forget to look at faces sometimes. I get lost in the world around me, and forget to connect with the people in it - even the ones who aren't exactly people.
I looked at his strange eyes, which aren't any real color I can describe, and I smiled sweetly. "You suck," I said again.
"No, I don't," he said. He was smiling, too. The corners of his eyes crinkle into crow's feet when he does. "I'm not good, I'm not bad. I'm just part of life. I just am."
"I just am, too," I said.
"Nothing wrong with that."
"There kind of is. I want to be more."
"You're more than you know."
"I doubt that."
"Be patient," he said.
I sighed. I'm too patient; that's the problem. I've been waiting for my life to happen, and worry that I may have missed it.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," I said.
"You always think a lot."
"More than usual, though."
"And?"
"All I can come up with are more questions. Which leads to more thinking. It's a vicious cycle. I need to knock it off." I heard the music of a carousel in the distance, and caught the warm sweet scent of funnel cakes waft by on the wind. There are more rides and more booths to this metaphysical carnival than I ever suspected.
He crushed out his cigarette and looked at me. "One of these days, you'll stop thinking. Don't wish for that now. It's not time."
"I'm not wishing for it. Look, I'm just kind of worried that my life may be a joke, and God is the only one laughing. When I die, I want to find out what the punch line. I want to laugh, too."
Jim groaned and shook his head. "You people always get so wrapped up in yourselves. I've seen lots of jokes lived out that were stupider, or lamer, or more pointless than your life will ever be. Get over it."
"I didn't say my life was a stupid joke; I'm kind of hoping it's a funny one. I just want to know the punch line. I hope it's a pun. I like puns."
He seemed to think for a moment as he lit up a new cigarette. "Listen, I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but I'm going to anyway.
He took a long drag on the cigarette, then leaned his head back and blew one of those amazing, spectacular smoke rings that he blows. “Your life isn't exactly a joke; it's more of a limerick."
I perked up; this wasn't what I expected to hear. I was half right, at least. A limerick is a poem with a punch line; it's a hybrid of verse and humor. I milked him for details. "A dirty one? Do any of the words rhyme with 'Nantucket?'" I asked hopefully. "Those are the limericks that stick in people's minds."
"Nope. Sorry. It's clean."
"Rats," I said, "No one remembers the clean ones."
"Don't worry about it. It's pretty charming," he said. "A few people will remember it. Just enough."
"My life doesn't have reason, but at least I'll have rhyme," I mused. "I guess that's more than a lot of people get."
"It'll have plenty of both, I promise," he said.
I guess I have no choice but to take this on faith.
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no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 04:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 04:53 pm (UTC)decided he must make history:
he took on the task
to make people laugh,
by rolling his wheels into comedy.
He created a small social ripple
when he challenged the masses to chuckle;
he changed all the rules
by making it cool
to break down and laugh at a cripple...!
Sorry, it's the best I could do on short notice. ;D
no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 07:59 pm (UTC)Consider it a gift (boy, am I cheap); use it as you like.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 10:50 pm (UTC)I think a ferris wheel operator is an excellent occupation for death incarnate.
I thought I once saw the grim reaper. He was the dayshift bartender, servicing the morning drunks at a bar called the Lantern Inn. The Lantern Inn opens at 10 am...and there are always at least a couple people waiting to get in even at that hour.
Ask Jim sometime if he has an associate who is a day shift bartender.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 12:18 am (UTC)This is a really good piece. Thanks for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-24 04:54 pm (UTC)Weird Mind's Eye
Date: 2006-10-24 08:12 pm (UTC)Although Daddy looked plumb awful in the hospital, I'm glad I didn't see him in the casket. In my mind, he looks like he did when Rorie was born, and even when he was sick, he was still full of life. I remember Clay looking like a porcelain doll in his casket -- so very dead. I couldn't bear having any memory of Daddy looking like that.
I still see Papaw as he was on his 80th birthday, and Nanny as she was on their 50th anniversary (before her health started failing). Somehow, I remember our uncles Alfred and Doug as they were JUST before they got sick, and Uncle Norman's memory is always tied to the smell of pipe tabacco -- all I "see" is a still pic of him sitting in an easy chair, a welcoming smile on his face, just about to rise as we enter the room.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 06:00 pm (UTC)i want some now, but :)... oh well...
sorry for the delayed comment.. im catchin up from being away for the past week and a half or so....
:)
mmmmmm popcorn