As silly as this all sounds to some, I was saddened. Yes, it's only a lady bug but it didn't matter. I reached down with my hand and tipped it over only to find it still made no movements. I felt bad for taking a life and sat there thinking about all of it and how this pertained to my life. I did an injustice, trying to help the little guy I only did more harm than good. By the time I finished my cigarette and my thought process I stubbed out the cigarette only to look down and see that the lady bug was, though not moving, turned a different direction... After a couple seconds I noticed leg movement and then the lady bug was on it's way, to dry ground, I assume... And there was a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, not everything I touch turns to shit.
Possible hope...
Labels: death. hope, lady bugs, life
I walked out into the humid afternoon heat for a cigarette. I needed to get away from the fluorescent lights gleaming down on me and the screaming of a child and the racket of wrestling hounds around my feet. One of the old green patio chairs, outside the door, had a puddle of water and tree debris in it's seat that I had previously ignored. Inside the puddle kicking it's little legs uselessly was a lady bug, on it's back. It took me all of a half a second (or less) to decide to help the poor bug struggling. I tipped the chair over and let gravity take the water and the lady bug to the ground, and what I had hoped was a safe place for it to get back on it's feet. I watched for the lady bug and after a moment of scouting found it on the damp ground, still on it's back, kicking. I decided to help it further by nudging it with the tip of my shoe, to turn it over... it didn't work, he just slid but his kicking ceased.
God Can’t Save You Now
This isn't the original written piece, (as that was lost somewhere out there in the digital world years ago) this is a rewrite. It's still very much a true story, albeit it from a slightly skewed perspective under the circumstances. I hope you enjoy the tale more than I enjoyed the real-life experience!!
The summer night air was as thick as honey and it clung to my body like a second skin. The crickets and frogs chirped out a steady rhythm in the large parking lot and when I closed my eyes and held my breath, my heart seemed to beat right along in unison. The bugs zigged and zagged lazily, wings heavy in the humidity, under the golden glow of dimly buzzing overhead lamps. A slight breeze stirred and wafted the all-too-familiar scent of the carnival toward me. It was a combination of sawdust, freshly deep-fried corndogs and funnel cakes, Italian sausage, sweat-coated bodies, of course, manure… though not the greatest of combinations, somewhat pleasant and comfortingly familiar.
Lights blazed and flashed, drawing your attention from one attraction to another. Voices boomed in the night, drawing the crowds in like helpless moths to the flame. Plush animals and plastic blow-ups, in a thousand varieties, shapes and sizes littered net walls, begging to be the trophy on some girl or kid’s arm. Goldfish swam hapless circles in their small plastic-bagged universes as if they somehow knew that once they were taken home they would be flushed down the toilet whether they were belly up or not. It’s dirty… dingy… but you’re alive in the carnival. You’re scared here but thrilled at the anticipation. This is the place you come to escape your day to day zombie march through life.
And here I was, ready to be awakened. What do I do first? And there it was… lit up like Pigeon forge at Christmas… that is to say, it sparkled like Dolly Parton’s silicone breasts coated in sequins and rhinestones in the midst of a dozen spotlights (or am I the only one who thinks of Pigeon Forge that way?). The ride flashed its glorious red lights down upon me as it slowly spun in the air, the riders squealing in delight! I had to be on it next! I grabbed the bravest (and nearest) friend and got in line.
Our little plain paper tickets were taken and torn in two before they were dropped in a chipped and rusted red painted metal box. The man in the booth at the base of the ride, the carnie, in his ripped jeans and Metallica T-shirt ushered us through and we were led by another to our semi-circular booth. I was too excited to pay too close of attention to my surroundings as my eyes glazed over with both terror and delight!
Tonight I would reach limitless heights and speeds, all for the sake of the thrill of making it back down to solid earth alive! What could be more exciting?
I came back down to earth as two more girls were put in the half-circle booth with my friend and I. I should tell you now I am not a small woman. On the verge of being six feet tall I obviously do not weight 110 lbs, but after having had a child (and gorging on foods for nine months because I was “feeding two”) I was heavier and plumper than a woman my height should be… My two new booth buddies were quite rotund themselves. Honestly, they could have made two of me, each! And that’s a whole LOT of me…
That was when I decided to notice the obscene amounts of duct tape around me… perfect timing really, because I was still in thrill mode. Now, I’m not talking about duct tape on the cracking vinyl seats (though there was plenty there, too) I am talking about duct tape holding bars and rods together the way steel bolts really should have been. The man locked the lap bar into place.
“Where are my shoulder restraints? Handle bars?” I wanted to ask. He walked on to the next booth and I was left alone with my half thoughts, petite friend and the newly acquired curvaceous ride buddies across from me… If I had been in a more logical frame of mind at that moment I might have felt on the verge of sheer panic.
It wasn’t long after the lap bar was locked into place that the ride started moving. Heavy metal music was blaring at decibels that would have put a jet engine to red-faced shame. Now, picture this, there are 10 or so of these semi-circular booths in the shape of a ring stationed on a large disc somewhat off the ground. The entire disc begins to slowly spin. Not too bad, right? Oh, hmmm… now the booth starts to spin in unison.
Still… this isn’t too bad… yet…
The entire platform begins lifting into the air (I did mention I would be reaching great heights correct?) all the while the entire disc, or maybe the booths (or perhaps both?) begin spinning faster and faster (I also mentioned great speeds!). Still panic hasn’t reached that lovely little piece of brain where my survival instincts are stored. No, at this moment I was still thrilled, chilled and excited!
Then I felt the vibrations and heard the creaking of metal dragging against metal, like the sound of a car crash in slow motion, drawn out to cause that twinge of unease. You know which one I’m talking about, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your toes curl… like nails down a chalk board!
I am left to assume the blaring heavy metal music is to disguise the sound of the ancient metal beast as it groans in torturous pain… not for the rider’s sake, oh no… we heard it nice and clear as a bell in our half-moon cages of impending doom! No the music is to disguise the sounds of death that rolled off of the crumbling mountain of ancient ore, for the future victims it had lured into a nice long line!
So let us recap quickly… I'm in a spinning/rising “mature” piece of rusting junk, that has a case of the death rattles, held together by mere duct tape that has a case of the dry rots, with two chubs across from me and a single bar across my lap... are you with me? Good! Now, repeat after me: “Dame. Not. Happy.” Can you say that?
I can!
The ride is rapidly gaining momentum, and as it speeds up the entire raised platform does something… well… queer. It begins to tilt.. Yes, you heard me, TILT. As it spins and our booth takes another turn on the tilted disc my companions and myself are slammed into this duct tape riddled lap bar and it does something even more “queer” than what the platform did… it budged.
I repeat: IT BUDGED! The BAR BUDGED!! Itisnotsupposedtobudge!!!! (Yes! This is me panicking!)
The least I can tell you is I lost any and all cool I thought I had retained throughout the beginning of the ordeal.
Let me take you on a side road here, small intermission, if you will, to explain the type of person I present myself to the public. I’m a “tough” girl… You know the kind: I don’t giggle, I don’t get squeamish, I don’t scream about spiders and bees. I always know what I’m doing and I always know how to handle a situation without getting panicked. In a moment you will see this little façade ignite and burst into a shrapnel cloud of pathetic whimpers and shrill, child-like screams… I should also note here and now, before I tell the rest of the story, that I am not religious. Anyone who knows me well will tell you this to be the truth. I am occasionally slightly spiritual, more so when this took place than even now but I haven’t been religious or “god-fearing” since maybe 10... With that being said, let’s get back to the tale of a hot sticky summer night on a duct-tape covered carnival ride from Hell, in the middle of Nowheresville, Tennessee…
With every spin of the disc the degree by which it tilts increases, as well as the harder our little half-booth whips around. Let me quickly remind you of the girth of the young girls across from me, yet again. My friend weighed maybe 90 lbs if she had eaten prior our little adventure and myself weighed in at about 180lbs way back when. That’s 270 lbs. On the other side, the girls weighed probably 250 lbs a piece, as my experience would tell me now by their height and girth and bone structures. That’s 500lbs, possibly more. The weight ratio is so severely off that the little booth is taking us for some seriously jarring jolts. And… with every whirl the lap bar budges and trembles (possibly with fear! If inanimate objects indeed ever feel fear, this one did!).
At this point my white-knuckled-death-grip is not satisfying my brain’s reasoning capabilities, or what’s left of them, and decides the only thing that can possibly help me at this point is screaming wildly into the night sky in hopes of even the smallest amount of relief.
I oblige my brain with much gusto!
I scream like there is no tomorrow. This isn’t an “Ohhh! I’m scared! Heehee!” kind of scream, this is an “Oh dear Lord, I am going to fly off into the night in a half ton piece of scrap metal and die an obliterated death and no one will be able to tell which piece of me they’ve found!” sort of scream… Finally out of my mouth comes something I’ve never heard before, I repeat NEVER heard before...
“Oh! Dear God… Save me!”
The Carnie at the gate, remember the one in the holey jeans and Metallica T-shirt, the one with the obvious great sense of humor, the one standing at the controls to both the death metal, and the metal monster of death? Well he seemed to finally take notice of my pure terror filled screams that reigned supreme over all other screams ever heard in that carnival… Suddenly, the music quiets and a calm voice comes over the loudspeaker as if to console me on some level:
“Honey… GOD CAN’T SAVE YOU NOW!”
And with a howl of maniacal laughter (perhaps the maniacal part was my imagination but I seriously doubt it) the ride speeds up!
Oh. My. God…
I was told later from friends and strangers alike, who watched the entire ordeal from the beautifully safe position of the stable and solid ground, that the ride lasted three times longer than it normally did and was visibly faster, much more so than both prior to my ride and the later to come rides. I can tell you that I’ve never ridden another ride that resembled that one in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I’ve only been on one fast ride, a roller coaster, at Dollywood, made out of wood… The Thunderhead. Yeah, that was such a brilliant idea too!
There isn't much towards a moral here, except maybe: never trust a crazy carnie at the controls… especially if he thinks he has a good sense of humor!
This isn't the original written piece, (as that was lost somewhere out there in the digital world years ago) this is a rewrite. It's still very much a true story, albeit it from a slightly skewed perspective under the circumstances. I hope you enjoy the tale more than I enjoyed the real-life experience!!
The summer night air was as thick as honey and it clung to my body like a second skin. The crickets and frogs chirped out a steady rhythm in the large parking lot and when I closed my eyes and held my breath, my heart seemed to beat right along in unison. The bugs zigged and zagged lazily, wings heavy in the humidity, under the golden glow of dimly buzzing overhead lamps. A slight breeze stirred and wafted the all-too-familiar scent of the carnival toward me. It was a combination of sawdust, freshly deep-fried corndogs and funnel cakes, Italian sausage, sweat-coated bodies, of course, manure… though not the greatest of combinations, somewhat pleasant and comfortingly familiar.
Lights blazed and flashed, drawing your attention from one attraction to another. Voices boomed in the night, drawing the crowds in like helpless moths to the flame. Plush animals and plastic blow-ups, in a thousand varieties, shapes and sizes littered net walls, begging to be the trophy on some girl or kid’s arm. Goldfish swam hapless circles in their small plastic-bagged universes as if they somehow knew that once they were taken home they would be flushed down the toilet whether they were belly up or not. It’s dirty… dingy… but you’re alive in the carnival. You’re scared here but thrilled at the anticipation. This is the place you come to escape your day to day zombie march through life.
And here I was, ready to be awakened. What do I do first? And there it was… lit up like Pigeon forge at Christmas… that is to say, it sparkled like Dolly Parton’s silicone breasts coated in sequins and rhinestones in the midst of a dozen spotlights (or am I the only one who thinks of Pigeon Forge that way?). The ride flashed its glorious red lights down upon me as it slowly spun in the air, the riders squealing in delight! I had to be on it next! I grabbed the bravest (and nearest) friend and got in line.
Our little plain paper tickets were taken and torn in two before they were dropped in a chipped and rusted red painted metal box. The man in the booth at the base of the ride, the carnie, in his ripped jeans and Metallica T-shirt ushered us through and we were led by another to our semi-circular booth. I was too excited to pay too close of attention to my surroundings as my eyes glazed over with both terror and delight!
Tonight I would reach limitless heights and speeds, all for the sake of the thrill of making it back down to solid earth alive! What could be more exciting?
I came back down to earth as two more girls were put in the half-circle booth with my friend and I. I should tell you now I am not a small woman. On the verge of being six feet tall I obviously do not weight 110 lbs, but after having had a child (and gorging on foods for nine months because I was “feeding two”) I was heavier and plumper than a woman my height should be… My two new booth buddies were quite rotund themselves. Honestly, they could have made two of me, each! And that’s a whole LOT of me…
That was when I decided to notice the obscene amounts of duct tape around me… perfect timing really, because I was still in thrill mode. Now, I’m not talking about duct tape on the cracking vinyl seats (though there was plenty there, too) I am talking about duct tape holding bars and rods together the way steel bolts really should have been. The man locked the lap bar into place.
“Where are my shoulder restraints? Handle bars?” I wanted to ask. He walked on to the next booth and I was left alone with my half thoughts, petite friend and the newly acquired curvaceous ride buddies across from me… If I had been in a more logical frame of mind at that moment I might have felt on the verge of sheer panic.
It wasn’t long after the lap bar was locked into place that the ride started moving. Heavy metal music was blaring at decibels that would have put a jet engine to red-faced shame. Now, picture this, there are 10 or so of these semi-circular booths in the shape of a ring stationed on a large disc somewhat off the ground. The entire disc begins to slowly spin. Not too bad, right? Oh, hmmm… now the booth starts to spin in unison.
Still… this isn’t too bad… yet…
The entire platform begins lifting into the air (I did mention I would be reaching great heights correct?) all the while the entire disc, or maybe the booths (or perhaps both?) begin spinning faster and faster (I also mentioned great speeds!). Still panic hasn’t reached that lovely little piece of brain where my survival instincts are stored. No, at this moment I was still thrilled, chilled and excited!
Then I felt the vibrations and heard the creaking of metal dragging against metal, like the sound of a car crash in slow motion, drawn out to cause that twinge of unease. You know which one I’m talking about, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your toes curl… like nails down a chalk board!
I am left to assume the blaring heavy metal music is to disguise the sound of the ancient metal beast as it groans in torturous pain… not for the rider’s sake, oh no… we heard it nice and clear as a bell in our half-moon cages of impending doom! No the music is to disguise the sounds of death that rolled off of the crumbling mountain of ancient ore, for the future victims it had lured into a nice long line!
So let us recap quickly… I'm in a spinning/rising “mature” piece of rusting junk, that has a case of the death rattles, held together by mere duct tape that has a case of the dry rots, with two chubs across from me and a single bar across my lap... are you with me? Good! Now, repeat after me: “Dame. Not. Happy.” Can you say that?
I can!
The ride is rapidly gaining momentum, and as it speeds up the entire raised platform does something… well… queer. It begins to tilt.. Yes, you heard me, TILT. As it spins and our booth takes another turn on the tilted disc my companions and myself are slammed into this duct tape riddled lap bar and it does something even more “queer” than what the platform did… it budged.
I repeat: IT BUDGED! The BAR BUDGED!! Itisnotsupposedtobudge!!!! (Yes! This is me panicking!)
The least I can tell you is I lost any and all cool I thought I had retained throughout the beginning of the ordeal.
Let me take you on a side road here, small intermission, if you will, to explain the type of person I present myself to the public. I’m a “tough” girl… You know the kind: I don’t giggle, I don’t get squeamish, I don’t scream about spiders and bees. I always know what I’m doing and I always know how to handle a situation without getting panicked. In a moment you will see this little façade ignite and burst into a shrapnel cloud of pathetic whimpers and shrill, child-like screams… I should also note here and now, before I tell the rest of the story, that I am not religious. Anyone who knows me well will tell you this to be the truth. I am occasionally slightly spiritual, more so when this took place than even now but I haven’t been religious or “god-fearing” since maybe 10... With that being said, let’s get back to the tale of a hot sticky summer night on a duct-tape covered carnival ride from Hell, in the middle of Nowheresville, Tennessee…
With every spin of the disc the degree by which it tilts increases, as well as the harder our little half-booth whips around. Let me quickly remind you of the girth of the young girls across from me, yet again. My friend weighed maybe 90 lbs if she had eaten prior our little adventure and myself weighed in at about 180lbs way back when. That’s 270 lbs. On the other side, the girls weighed probably 250 lbs a piece, as my experience would tell me now by their height and girth and bone structures. That’s 500lbs, possibly more. The weight ratio is so severely off that the little booth is taking us for some seriously jarring jolts. And… with every whirl the lap bar budges and trembles (possibly with fear! If inanimate objects indeed ever feel fear, this one did!).
At this point my white-knuckled-death-grip is not satisfying my brain’s reasoning capabilities, or what’s left of them, and decides the only thing that can possibly help me at this point is screaming wildly into the night sky in hopes of even the smallest amount of relief.
I oblige my brain with much gusto!
I scream like there is no tomorrow. This isn’t an “Ohhh! I’m scared! Heehee!” kind of scream, this is an “Oh dear Lord, I am going to fly off into the night in a half ton piece of scrap metal and die an obliterated death and no one will be able to tell which piece of me they’ve found!” sort of scream… Finally out of my mouth comes something I’ve never heard before, I repeat NEVER heard before...
“Oh! Dear God… Save me!”
The Carnie at the gate, remember the one in the holey jeans and Metallica T-shirt, the one with the obvious great sense of humor, the one standing at the controls to both the death metal, and the metal monster of death? Well he seemed to finally take notice of my pure terror filled screams that reigned supreme over all other screams ever heard in that carnival… Suddenly, the music quiets and a calm voice comes over the loudspeaker as if to console me on some level:
“Honey… GOD CAN’T SAVE YOU NOW!”
And with a howl of maniacal laughter (perhaps the maniacal part was my imagination but I seriously doubt it) the ride speeds up!
Oh. My. God…
I was told later from friends and strangers alike, who watched the entire ordeal from the beautifully safe position of the stable and solid ground, that the ride lasted three times longer than it normally did and was visibly faster, much more so than both prior to my ride and the later to come rides. I can tell you that I’ve never ridden another ride that resembled that one in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I’ve only been on one fast ride, a roller coaster, at Dollywood, made out of wood… The Thunderhead. Yeah, that was such a brilliant idea too!
There isn't much towards a moral here, except maybe: never trust a crazy carnie at the controls… especially if he thinks he has a good sense of humor!
