by B. C. Tweedt
Eyeing her golden wedding band, he gently pushed the stack of papers from the edge of the table so they would not fall when she woke up. As he did so, curiosity got the best of him. There were so many papers he had to skim them in hopes of finding anything he could understand.
There were copies of emails with phrases like, “Unfortunately, our resources allotted to the region are operating above capacity,” or, “the information you requested is classified.” There were also pictures of men and women he’d never seen before. Some were of soldiers with large weapons, others of politicians shaking hands with men wearing turbans, and others were even random buildings with no markings. How does she decipher all of this information?
Frustrated already, he pushed at them one last time, exposing a complicated map with too many lines and numbers to make any sense out of it. But it intrigued him. His eyes landed on some numerical figures and suddenly he realized it was latitude and longitude coordinates he had learned about in elementary school. But these were an awful amount more complicated than what he remembered. His eyes fell on numbers that had been circled with red marker.
25° 1’42.91”N, -77° 1’18.03”W.
It was somewhere north and west, but after that he was lost. Where would that be?
Knock, knock.
The knocks startled him, but they had been too quiet to wake his mother.
Pushing the map back underneath the rest of the mess, he leaned over her, kissed her on the head and smiled at her sleeping figure.
“Thanks for trying,” he whispered.
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“Ewww!” Sydney grimaced as she set plates on the plastic lawn table, trying to avoid the sight of Greyson and Kip running toward her. Greyson’s bare, white chest and Kip’s hairy, black one glistened in the morning sun, soaked with sweat like dew.
Coming to a huffing stop, Greyson and Kip bent over at the edge of their staked-out plot of land beside the dirt path, dripping sweat from their hair and chins. Today’s morning run had been the best Greyson had had in weeks. There was so much to see. The campgrounds, located on the vast rolling hills to the west of the fairgrounds, were a bustling RV jungle – a mix between third-world shantytowns and a grass parking lot, with rows and rows of thousands of RVs snaking their way down dirt paths in every direction.
Organized chaos, each family was assigned a staked-out plot where they could design a miniature campground of their own. Fire-pits, grills, tables, tents, kids’ toys and hammocks crammed beneath awnings were common, but some creative families even landscaped their areas with decks, hanging flower pots, and lawn ornaments. Some riskier families who had chosen property on the dangerously steep hills had to prop their RV’s wheels up with concrete blocks and wood in order to keep them level.
Because of the high demand for camping space, some had reserved the same plots for generations, and this would be their home for the eleven days of the fair. Thousands of people mingled in the jam-packed 160 acres, walking to and from the fair or going to one of the few bathhouses mixed in with the RVs. On their run, Kip and Greyson had seen a few other joggers, but most families like their own were busy making or eating breakfast in the limited area between campers.
“You guys are gross. Why aren’t you wearing shirts?”
Kip stopped his watch and whispered to Greyson, ignoring Sydney. He patted him on the back, which gave a wet slapping sound, bothering Sydney even more.
Greyson stood up, smiling wide, full of energy as adrenaline pumped through his body. Known as “runner’s high”, the morning run routine was just what Greyson had needed over the last few weeks to rid his mind of the dreams.
“Huh?” Greyson asked as he finally noticed her looking at him.
“You’re gross. Why don’t you wear shirts?”
“Cuz,” he said, breathing hard. “Why get a shirt all nasty if you don’t have to? Plus, it’s less laundry for the chicks.”
Kip threw him a towel and wiped at his chest with his own. Greyson laughed to himself and used the towel to hide his face from the glare he knew was trying to bury him in the ground.
“I don’t think they’re gross,” came his mother’s voice from inside their camper. “They’re quite handsome.”
They laughed, and Greyson and Sydney both caught the glimmer in Kip’s eye.
“…but I resent that laundry comment, Greys!”
Greyson smiled. His dad used to pick on his mom that way for fun.
“Well, I don’t think all women are good at laundry,” Kip said, winking at Greyson. “My wife thought a full laundry basket meant it was time to go shopping for more clothes.”
He had a wife?
The joke had been lost on him. The fact that Kip had been married had struck him dumb. How long has he waited to tell me that? Greyson all of a sudden wanted to ask him all about her – and what happened to her – but Sydney’s parents walked out into the common area, interrupting his thought.
“Good morn – oh! Put a shirt on boys!”
Sydney’s mom tried to hide her eyes and joined Sydney setting the table instead. Her father rolled his eyes. “She does that to me, too.”
Greyson laughed nervously and wrapped himself in his towel. “Sorry. I’ll get my shower stuff. When’s breakfast?”
“As long as it takes me to get to the fair, buy up some cinnamon rolls and come back,” Sydney’s father said, already walking toward the fairgrounds.
Cinnamon rolls? Greyson’s stomach growled, drawing Sydney’s eyes. Guiltily, she glanced away and back one more time.
“Hustle up,” Sydney’s mom urged. “Sydney’s got a 4H presentation at nine.”
Greyson rushed to his toiletries bag in their new home, the camper that had been occupied by Sydney’s grandparents before they had left yesterday morning, lending it to whoever wanted it. Of course, Sydney had thought of someone she wanted to invite right away.
Walking on his way to the bathhouse with Kip, suddenly Greyson realized that he had not been this happy in weeks. He had good friends, a mentor, a mother who loved him, a body to run with, and something amazing to look forward to – cinnamon rolls.
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The cinnamon rolls had indeed been fantastic, but they were just a taste of how great the fair would be.
Soon after breakfast, Liam and the twins had joined them, leaving their parents at their campsites. Sydney’s parents, the Hansens, had happily agreed to escort them to the fair and return them at lunch.
Then, with full bellies and joyful spirits, the motley group of kids and parents and bodyguard had walked the half-mile to a bathhouse where a tractor pulling a trailer full of seats churned toward them to pick up more passengers going into the fair. Its wheels dwarfed their small bodies and the thumping of the motor pounded into their chests an impression of its power. The monstrous thing could pull tons of metal through muddy fields, but today it would only take a single trailer back and forth on its route in and out of the fairgrounds.
“A t-t-tractor taxi!” Liam exclaimed as it jerked to a stop; and the name stuck.
The tractor taxi pulled them leisurely another half-mile to the entrance gate of the fair where they exited, bought tickets, and tried to contain their excitement enough to not sprint to the nearest ride or food hut.
“Hey, hey, hold on boys!” Mr. Hansen shouted, pulling Jarryd in, as he was the slowest in getting away. “We stay together unless we know exactly where you’re going. You can get lost in here.”
Greyson smiled and, gazing down the long street toward the bulk of the fair, he understood. A whole square-mile of sprawling buildings resembling a college campus was mashed in with numerous vendor huts selling corn dogs, nachos, deep fried candy bars, funnel cake, and lemonade; rammed in between all of the buildings and huts were amusement rides, outdoor stages, animal stables, and tractor-taxis. Jammed into whatever room there was left were thousands of people walking, eating, laughing, and crowding through the streets, sidewalks, and makeshift paths criss
crossing the few open grassy areas.
“Ahem!” Nick cleared his throat and held up a State Fair Guide so he could read it to the group. “The internationally acclaimed Iowa State Fair is the single largest event in the state of Iowa and one of the oldest and largest agricultural and industrial expositions in the country. Annually attracting more than a million people from all over the world, the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines is the true heartbeat of the Midwest, unequaled and unduplicated.”
“Wow, that’s great, but…” Jarryd interrupted, eyeing a bold sign advertising deep-fried candy bars.
“I’m not done.”
“Oh, well by all means, do continue to bore us.”
“The Iowa State Fair, the inspiration for the original novel State Fair, three motion pictures, and a Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Broadway musical, is without a doubt the country’s most famous state fair. National media frequently rank the Fair as one of the top events in the country. In 2004, USA Weekend named the event the #2 choice for summer fun in America, topping New York City’s Times Square, Cedar Point Amusement Park Resort in Ohio and Disneyland in California. The Fair is also included in the New York Times best-selling travel book 1000 Places to See Before You Die.”
“Well, nice! Now we can die happy!”
Greyson turned to glare at him. Jarryd caught the look and grimaced. “Oops. Too soon?”
Mr. Hansen peered at the guide over Nick’s shoulder. “It takes days to really see everything here. What do we want to do first?”
The group crowded around Nick’s guide, shouting and debating the smorgasbord of opportunities. There were events and activities going on all day long for all ages – contests, talent shows, concerts, stunt performances, exhibits, and more. While Greyson had come every year, he had never tired of it. There was so much to do and see that he had always wanted to stay for the full eleven days, but his family could usually only afford a day trip. Sydney’s parents – the Hansens – and the twins’ family – the Aldemans – were among the lucky ones who were actually able to secure places at the campgrounds and afford the fair food and admission for its entirety.
“I’m gonna win a frickin’ blue ribbon!” Jarryd stated boldly, pumping his chin. “Who’s gonna watch me?”
“I’m going to see the butter cow!” Nick exclaimed, stepping in front of Jarryd. “Who’s with me?”
“I’ll butter your cow…” Jarryd threatened under his breath.
“The c-c-carnival! We c-could win a s-stuffed a-animal!”
“I’ll stuff your animal…” Jarryd threatened Liam.
“I want to eat every food they have on a stick,” Mr. Hansen exclaimed.
Greyson elbowed Jarryd before he made an attempt at a joke.
Sydney groaned. “Dad, there’s sixty-six foods on a stick.”
“Well, I better get started! There’s bologna-on-a-stick, meatballs-on-a-stick, cheesecake-on-a-stick, deep-fried pickles, shrimp corndogs…”
“No, no, no,” Mrs. Hansen butted in. “We have to watch Sydney’s 4H presentation, honey, remember? We’re going to have to split up.”
The group looked at each other for a moment, the Hansens shrugging at each other.
“Alright, you kids meet up at the grassy area outside the Agricultural Building in two hours,” Mr. Hansen explained. “See it on the map? Then we’ll meet up with you all for lunch near the Riley Stage. We can catch the talent show together.”
“Deal!”
Jarryd sprinted off down the long street weaving in and out of the pedestrian traffic. Liam and Nick bolted off in the same direction, soon overtaking Jarryd on their way to see the butter cow.
Greyson and Sydney laughed at their enthusiasm and the Hansens shared a cautious look at their daughter. She had been chatting away with Greyson the entire road trip from the farm to the campgrounds the previous day. It was obvious they had some chemistry, but they were twelve years old. They weren’t supposed to have chemistry that young, they thought. But of all the boys she could have a crush on, there could be worse possibilities than a boy who had saved thousands of lives, including their only daughter’s. He just had to keep his shirt on.
“So. Wait ‘til you see Sydney’s presentation,” Mr. Hansen started, putting his arm around Greyson’s shoulder. “Everything is already there and set-up; we could take a peek at her competition before it starts. Maybe we could sabotage some of them.”
Am I supposed to laugh at that? What will he think of me if I do? If I don’t? He glanced at Sydney, uncomfortable with her father’s thick arm so close to his neck. It won’t have to travel far to strangle me…
Greyson laughed nervously. “We could, but I don’t think Sydney will need any help.”
Her parents laughed, and he could see Sydney smirk. Success number one. How many more to go?
Her father’s arm was still firmly pressing on his shoulders. Greyson swiveled to glance at Kip, who was lagging behind, intermittently looking from his Fair Guide to Greyson. When Greyson caught his eye, Kip winked at him.
If somehow he made some stupid remark that sent Mr. Hansen into a protective rage, Kip would have his back. But boy, it would be great to have a weapon of my own to watch my own back. Because, according to 1000 Places to See Before You Die, now that I’ve seen the fair, I’m more ready to die.
Chapter 5
The weapon caught his eye from afar. It was perfect. A hammered metal “Y’ frame, a smoothed wrist brace, and…could it be? Yes. It looked collapsible.
After Sydney’s 4H presentation on Escaping Abduction, all presenters needed to wait around for the results. Out of fear of boring their guests, the Hansens had urged Kip and Greyson to explore for half an hour. That’s when Kip had suggested they check out the antique flea market. Greyson never suspected to find his new weapon in such an unlikely place.
Greyson zigzagged through the crowd of shoppers to the table full of assorted old-school weapons – rubber-band guns, bows and arrows, blowguns, a whip, and an impressive array of knives.
He grasped the weapon. “How much for this slingshot?” he shouted enthusiastically to the withered, old man wearing a fishing vest and cowboy hat.
The old man chuckled. “You have chosen…wisely.”
Greyson smiled, pulled back the ammunition packet and tested the aim at the rafters above. “Yeah? Does it shoot good?”
The grandpa chuckled again. “It sure does.”
Greyson lowered the slingshot and tried collapsing it. He hadn’t come to the antique flea market hoping to find anything in particular, but this – this was worth the whole trip. The wrist brace folded in and the handle folded up. It would fit in his pack easily. “So, how much?”
”Whoa there, lad. Hold yur horses.” The grandpa grew serious and leaned in. What you plan on using this for? Shootin’ sisters?”
Greyson shook his head. “Nah. Don’t got any.”
The man’s bushy eyebrows danced as he looked past Greyson. “That your dad watching you?”
Greyson looked back over his shoulder at Kip. He turned back to the old man. “Do I need to have a dad to buy this?”
Taking a deep breath and patting his stomach, the man reached for the slingshot. “Short answer is yes.” Greyson’s heart sunk as the man took it from him. “Sorry, boy. This weapon shoots a ball-bearing at over 300 miles per hour, depending on arm strength. I imagine by the size of your biceps you could crush in a man’s skull or replace his eyeball. I can’t in good conscience sell that type of weapon to a youngster without parental consent.”
For a moment he debated stealing the thing. How would the old man catch me? But the fleeting thought left as fast it came and he turned to leave.
Kip’s hand pressed on his shoulder from behind and kept him from leaving. “How much for the slingshot, sir?”
The old man smiled, and a few minutes later Greyson left the flea market with a weapon and a quiver of ball-bearings in his bulging fanny pack.
Greyson burst from the dark and cool Pioneer Hall
into what he felt was the sun itself. Brightness snapped his eyes shut and the moist heat washed over him, prickling his skin. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the sun on the walk, the two came across a red-bricked plaza where spurts of water arced in the air from one hole in the ground to another. A sudden memory washed over him, playing through his mind like a movie. Three years ago his family had come for a day and the fountain gave his dad an idea for a game. His mother had shook her head at them as they took off their shirts trying to catch as many watery “eels” in their “shark jaws” before the creatures slithered back in their holes. After a few minutes their mother complained that they were soaked, but his father had rebutted that they were well hydrated. And they’d given their mother a giant shark hug. They had been so happy.
While small kids played all around them, Greyson stopped and motioned for Kip to wait. He had to do it at least once. He knew it would never be the same, but something made him want to keep it as a sort of ritual or tradition. Something to hold on to. There had been few – if any – of those since the disappearance.
So, when one spurt came flying, Greyson opened wide and swallowed the first half of the eel; the second half overflowed, drenching his face and shirt. Kip laughed and Greyson laughed, too, spitting some of the water at him, but the happiness was shallow. Sure, no new memory could compare to how good things had been for him. No matter how good they were now.
But then again, he couldn’t let his old memories taint any new ones that may form. His dad would not want to be haunting and spoiling his life. He’d want him to get over it and make a new life – a happy one with thousands of new happy memories with great people.
Greyson flashed a smile at Kip and looked ahead as they made their way to a high hill overlooking the fairgrounds outside of the Agriculture Building, allowing them to take in the sight of the fair in all its glory.
