Lost Time Incident

March 23, 2003

Not in the Mood

Aaron dropped two quarters into the machine and tinny piano music started up while the thick red curtains jerked apart behind the smudged glass. Behind the curtains sat the skull on a red pedestal, a sign underneath reading "PSYCHIC SKULL: knows all, sees all, even without any eyes or a brain."

The piano roll came to an end and the music stopped. A red light bulb on the front of the machine lit up above a sign saying "WHAT IS YOUR QUESTION?"

Aaron cleared his throat.

"I guess what I want to know most of all is... whose skull are you?"

The jawbone on the skull creaked up and down a few times and the unshielded yellow light on top of the display case flickered a few times, then a card dropped out of the front of the machine into a small tray. Aaron picked up the card.

"Your lucky numbers are 17, 18, 22, 31, 40. Avoid romantic entanglements this week. A sturdy moral system is proof against adversity."

"That doesn't answer my question," said Aaron. He looked up as the curtains slid shut and the lights of the machine went off. "Wait, is it an acronym? A-R-E-T-W-A-S-M-S-I-P-A-A? Aretwas something? Could that be Indian? Aw, this machine sucks."

The sideshow owner, a sucker for a disappointed customer, sidled over in his red-trimmed military-style outfit. "Hey, kid. You wanna know whose skull that is?"

"Yeah," said Aaron.

"I can tell you. But it'll cost you more than fifty cents."

"How much?" asked Aaron.

"How does... seventy-five cents sound?"

"Done," said Aaron, placing three silver pieces in the carnie's hand.

"This skull belonged to-- eh." The carnie's shoulders fell. "You know, I was gonna make up some bullshit about how it belonged to a trapese artist named Marco and he stole my girl and there was some murder and some tears, a lost love, some sideshow regret, some colorful stuff. But what's the point? You're just gonna leave the carnival, go home to your boring job, live your grey oatmeal life... I could give you a nice story that would add some color to your life, make you feel like you got your money's worth, but the truth is, kid, life's just not that interesting."

Aaron licked his lips.

"Just leave, kid," continued the man while pretending to flick lint off of the gold braids on his shoulder. "You can come back next year, ride the rides, eat the cotton candy, bring your girl if you've got one. Show her the skull and don't tell her it's really made of paper mache. Nothing but flour, water, newspaper. The cards are printed in Pennsylvania."

Aaron nodded at these sage words. From outside the tent came the smell of hot dogs. The ferris wheel had paused, Aaron could hear, because some of the riders were yelling with glee.

"That's worth seventy-five cents," said Aaron. "What town you going to next?"

"Waukesha."

"Well. Have fun, I guess." Aaron stuck his hands in his pocket and walked out blinking into the sun-spattered carnival.

The carnie spat on the glass of the skull's display case then wiped at it with the shiny sleeve of his jacket. "Lucky numbers, lucky numbers," he muttered. It was cool in the tent and he would stay there until night fall, waiting for the real crowds to arrive.

If he was lucky, he could try to depress a few more of them before they moved on. The skull behind the display case's curtains clicked its jaw a few times in the dark.

Posted by Michael at March 23, 2003 11:50 PM