From the Depths – Novella Three - 4. Chapter 4: Fat Tuesday – Carnival

Chapter 4: Fat Tuesday – Carnival

The weather had warmed, and the sun peeked out in long shafts.

I stood by our classroom windows and watched the wood of the seesaws defrost. 'Maybe I'll go check out the creek after lunch,' I thought.

Today was the epitome of a short day. Every little mind in class bubbled in anticipation: a couple of our usual lessons in the morning, then lunch, then two hours of Carnival! The mood was giddy, and even Paxton's good will contributed to the party mood, for he must have been here at 5 in the morning to polish the floors to their jewel-like luster.

And yet, my personal mood seemed tempered, and I didn't quite know why. Maybe it was the thought that tomorrow was Ash Wednesday, and then there would be a month of 'Stations of the Cross,' and sorrow for the death of Christ.

The bell rang and I wandered over to my desk. As I fished out my reader, I leaned over. "Pssst. Let's check out the creek after lunch."

"Ok," Dustin said.

Today he wore another sweater, but this one was a lot different than yesterday's outgrown pullover. It was the solid gray kind you see sheep farmers wear on TV, and this one looked like it came right off of his father's shoulders, for it was way too big.

Miss Skalicky stood. She moved to the front of her desk and waited the few seconds it took for everyone to go silent and stare at her.

"Class, turn to page 98 in your readers. This is a very special story…"

I flipped my book half open, then thumbed forward. I glanced at the title.

"…And after we read it, we will need to discuss how it made you feel."

I glanced down again: A Taste of Blackberries, by Doris Buchanan Smith.

We took turns reading it, and I loved it. Two boys who were ten got into all sorts of mischief. There were adventures into rosebushes and blackberry brambles; and mentions of secret gardens and 'Japanese beetles,' whatever they were! And of how 'Jamie,' the crazy boy, dragged his pal into getting into trouble with him. Jamie seemed to have this need that people notice him, and didn't care if that was for bad stuff.

But the boy who was telling the story slowly got fed up with his best friend's antics, and needed some time away from him.

It was my turn to read. The boys were stirring up trouble, when a pack of bees started chasing them. The two boys got stung, and the narrator had had enough. He left his buddy to go home and have a popsicle.

Then I couldn't believe what I was reading. Jamie's mom came to his house…I looked up silently.

I asked Miss Skalicky, "He died?"

She looked sad. "Yes. Let me read you all the ending."

And she did. The boy was guilt-ridden. His friend had an allergy to beestings, and did not know it. No one knew. So while he had his selfish popsicle, his best friend was laying outside, and not able to breathe.

"Well…" Miss Skalicky concluded, "You see we sometimes have to face losing people we care about. But, if we think that they go to God, then we can't really be too sad, because we know we will see them again."

I raised my hand. "But, why did he have to die?"

"There is no 'why,' Simon. It just happens, and we as Catholics must believe there is always a reason that cannot conform to our weak power to understand it. But, we must have faith, that one is there."

I slumped in my chair. I glanced at Dustin. He did not look as miserable as I felt, but I thought he appeared like he wanted me not to be sad.

"Besides," Miss Skalicky had new authority in her voice. "It's just a story. Remember that."

Story yes, but I loved it nonetheless. I loved to have my mind filled with moving images, my heart softened to people and things they feel, alone and deep within themselves – and to make those experiences mine.

And, it made me think I would not want to lose my best friend, not to a bee sting, not to anything, maybe not even to God himself.

˚˚˚˚˚

The south-facing bank of the creek was warm enough to sit on. Lunch break was about half over, and I had been enjoying the 50-degree weather alone. I had used a stick and poked it around a bit, but nothing had moved along the water's margin.

"Hey!" Dustin came sauntering down, leading Nino by the shoulders. They sat next to me – Dustin kicking his legs out like he was trying to warm them in the sun. He had on his inside-out sheepskin coat; the kind where the fleece was on the inside, and big patched seams served as decoration on the outside. His coat was wide open, warming his belly to the feeble sun.

I asked the younger Day, "Nino, you ready for Carnival?"

He shrugged: "No math class. That's good."

"Amen!" I said. "Dustin, how does it look in the gym?" Nino's shoe was untied, so I picked up his leg by the ankle and proceeded to tighten it.

"The guys are playing their own games, telling Miss Skalicky they need to make 'finial adjustments.' The girls are fixing each other's costumes and makeup, and decorating their booths and tables."

"And our prizes?"

"Everybody loves them. Especially your pet rocks."

Dustin was a bad fibber, but I appreciated his efforts.

"Your hats are gonna disappear quick!"

Paxton appeared with hands thrust deep into a blue windbreaker. He nodded to us with a friendly chin in the air and a plastered smile. "What's up, boys?" He drew out the 'boys' like a snake.

"You look tired," Dustin told him.

"Yeah, and 'beat,'" I added.

Paxton plopped on the ground. "I am, but – " He paused to heighten suspense " – I've got a BIG night ahead of me. You boys gonna wish me luck?"

The three of us 'boys' passed a questioning glance.

"Luck with what?" I asked.

"Tonight I'm driving to South County to see a movie with my girl. Then, I'm going to propose to Krissy. I'm gonna do it tonight."

His grin grew ear-splitting.

"Yeah," he continued. "Mom agreed to give up her engagement ring, because I can't afford one of my own."

"Son of a gun," Dustin chirped. "You, a married man. Who would have thought?!"

"Well, when you know, you know."

"Congratulations!" I shouted.

"Yeah!" Nino added.

Then that sly look I loved crept over Dustin. He said in crocodile-tear sincerity, "Yes, congrats on getting yourself a ball and chain. I hope you like the one-size-fits-all tailoring, and that you are done with freedom."

We all laughed, including Paxton.

˚˚˚˚˚

All of us kids of the 6^th grade had to work in hour-long shifts. That way, half of the class got the first 60 minutes to enjoy the Carnival festivities; the second half got the second hour.

The gym was abuzz. Pet rocks and mini top hats were lined up on the tables before the games of chance as tempting lures for our student tickets, which cost a quarter each.

The students of Saint Lazarus were a study in contrasts. The younger ones ran around in a frantic fit of nervous screeches, giggles, and the constant but friendly grabbing and pushing of their friends to see the new wonders. The 'upper classmen' wandered in cool pairs and trios with a critical silence, no doubt comparing this year's Fat Tuesday with the 7 or 8 stored like icons in their memories. Both groups, after checking out all the options, settled into lines to wait their turns.

I nodded at Dustin at the ring toss as I went my way. Suddenly my head was filled with a near-sinful desire to possess one of those silly little hats. Why? One, because it had been handled and expertly decorated by my best friend; and two, because I felt sure having it meant I would never, ever, forget this day for the rest of my life.

I had volunteered to be ticket taker for 'Madam Jodisia,' so I hurried to the fortune telling booth.

"Oh my God, you look great!" And Gina did a twirl for me in her costume. Now she had makeup on, and an oddly flushed set of circle rashes rode her cheeks.

Girls of the other classes began to line up. They pressed their tickets towards me, and I held them back, saying, "One by one." Then, I let the first 'victim' be escorted by Madam Ginasia behind the curtain.

That hour was a tough one. In the lull times, my eyes would reckon by sight how many kids lined up at the games of skill versus the total number of hats gone through the skillful fingers of my buddy.

When my crowd got too rowdy, and a passing glance from Miss Skalicky turned withering, I would tell my excited charges, "Quiet, please – Madam Jodisia must concentrate."

That would work, and they'd go as quiet as church mice for all of 2 minutes!

'There better be some hats to win,' is all I could think.

Now the girls in line were wearing crêpe paper corsages and I knew time was ticking.

Free! I ran over and met up with Dustin, who was also finished with work. Stevie had relieved Dustin at the ring toss, and now we could have some fun.

"How much money do you have?" I asked.

"Couple dollars."

"Gimme me one." I pulled out my matching bill. "You wait in line there," I gestured to the bottle throw, "and I'll get our tickets."

I took the money and ran to the steps where Mrs. Day was minding the till.

"Good luck, Simon," she said counting off 8 lucky chances, the diamond ring noticeably gone from her finger.

"Thank you!" I sang as I ran from her. But – then, I want back.

"Pax said you gave him your engagement ring. I think you should know – well, none of my business really – but you must be one of the nicest moms ever. You have made your boy really happy."

She just pursed her lips and nodded, real slow. It seemed like she wanted a hug or something, but I told her, "I gotta go." For the idea of getting one of Dustin's hats was more precious to me than all the diamonds ever mined.

By the time I got back to him, Dustin was second in line.

"Hey! No butting!" some 4^th grader mewed from behind me.

"He was doing savzies." I beamed back to him, "That's what friends are for!"

I went up to the table and handed over 3 tickets to Dylan. Klay plopped three beanbags in front of me. I picked up my first one, aimed, cocked back my arm, and let loose. I was high and smacked the gray-painted canvas backdrop with a dull thud.

Second bag – aim; lower before I release, and smack. I just clipped the top of the uppermost bottle. It wobbled and threatened to fall, but did not.

"Darn," I told Dustin.

He was all-serious, his blue peepers focused on the center of the stack. "You can do it. Aim a bit lower, and throw a bit harder."

My last beanbag was in my hand. I let its weight sink into my consciousness; I tossed it up to smack in my palm a couple of times…

"Throw it!" Klay barked.

I did, and a moment later, the top bottle flew off the pyramid. It sailed backwards cleanly, clacked like a rolling pin on the gym's hardwood floor, but it was too clean a hit. The rest of the stack stood sturdy and mocking me.

Klay laughed, Dylan snickered, and I felt frustrated – frustrated and sad.

But my Nordic-type friend shouldered past me like a Viking on a mission. I saw him dig deep into his jeans' pocket and pull out a ticket. He smacked it on the table with a force I knew was meant to instantly shut up Klay-the-hyena. Dustin turned sad eyes on me, saying, "I know you can do it, so – do it."

Klay put a new beanbag in my hand.

Again I considered its heft. I stopped, and placed it in Dustin's hand. "You do it, for me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Dustin half smiled, kicked up the sleeves of his weighty gray cardigan past the elbows, and begged for some room.

I stepped aside a bit, and he took aim.

"We are the champions," he murmured, and kissed the lumpy projectile.

Pow! The pyramid crumpled like a host of bowling pins in a dozen strikes. They pinged and bounced on the floor, and I swear, the entire school now assembled in the gym went silent in admiration of the feat.

My eyes were big as saucers, but into them, Dustin quietly asked, "Which one do you want?"

I pointed out one with yellow checks, and Dylan placed it Dustin's open palm.

"Here ya go." Dustin worked the elastic under my chin, and I felt a small plop on the top right of my hair part.

I don’t know when I had ever felt exactly that way before – maybe never – but, that feeling made me aware of the scent of sunshine in this winter-bound room, and made my fingers latch onto the loose gray tweed of Dustin's sweater. Yes, with two pinched fingers, I drew him down to me.

"Thank you," I said, and placed a sturdy kiss on his cheek.

I could hear Dustin swallow, hard. He straightened up and said in slow motion, "Simon!" He glanced back; Dylan and Klay had seen. "Why'd you do that..?"

I told him the truth. "I'm just so happy."

Dustin's fair complexion was beet-red, but as his fingers drifted up to the spot where I had kissed him, he drew out a long breath. Under it I could barely make out the words, "Well – me too."