He went back to a now-deserted carnival where, long ago, he spent his teenage years working and thinking he was the luckiest kid alive. He remembered the day before opening for the summer months; he'd be tasked with greasing the rides and making sure every ride was safe, as there were times when a bolt or nut would vibrate loose, which could spell disaster if not tended to quickly.
The carnies became like family to him, sharing meals in the dining tent together, telling him stories of their travels that took them North in the summer months and south for the winters. The carnival owner was a large man; everyone called him Boss, with a big heart and a profound love for the carney lifestyle. He took him under his wing, and in the few years he worked for him, he taught him all he needed to know.
Looking at the remnants of the once-lively carnival, he remembered the pull-behind trailers that were home to the performers and midway workers, now just shells filled with memories and the voices of those carnies long since passed. The once bustling midway where he learned the ways of the games, some, if not all, rigged to lose. The sights of the rifles were off just enough to cause a missed shot; the milk bottles had a magnet attached to the bottom, guaranteeing they couldn't fall with the others. Most folks just passed it off as bad luck and swore they'd win next time. He remembered a time when one teenage boy, trying to win a huge purple stuffed panda bear for his girlfriend, spent his whole allowance throwing rings at soda bottles he had to get over the neck completely. Ring after ring, he was off by less than a micro-inch, not knowing the bottles weren't exactly level but couldn't tell with the naked eye.
Not all games were rigged; some made a point of letting folks win a cheap toy or a couple of free tickets to the ice cream wagon. The sounds of victory filled the midway, enticing others to take a chance. His last season came to a close four years after his first day. He left for college up state. He wrote letters to his friends, and they wrote back, telling him where they were and where they'd be heading as they followed the weather. After a while, the letters stopped coming and going, and his years as a carney became a chest full of memories.
Decades later, he came across an article about abandoned carnivals and theme parks, and one picture stopped him in his tracks as he looked at the carnival he once called his second home. He jumped on a plane and flew to Kansas, and with the help of a taxi driver who knew every square inch of the county, he drove him to a deserted field littered with the remains of a once-thriving carnival. He couldn't stop the tears as the midway lights and the faded paint on the thrill rides stood as reminders of their days of glory and the joy they brought to kids of all ages. He continued his walk, bending down to retrieve what was left of a purple stuffed panda bear tortured by time and the elements, now just a few threads of purple material and one eye hanging by a string.
He was about to leave when he saw what had once been his trailer, now a rusted-out shell, all but invisible, buried in weeds and forgotten. He got on his knees and looked inside, bringing back so many memories of days long past but never forgotten. He spotted an old piece of paper yellowed with time and saw it was a flyer for the carnival, the very kind he pasted all over town on phone poles and storefronts. Finding it was his holy grail, and he took it home and framed it where it now joins other memorabilia: a milk bottle that couldn't fall, a rifle with a bad sight, and a complete set of colored rings and a soda bottle.
He may have been a seasonal carny, but those were the happiest times of his life, and they will stay with him until the lights and sounds of the carnival fade away and the carousel music stops.
Looking at the remnants of the once-lively carnival, he remembered the pull-behind trailers that were home to the performers and midway workers, now just shells filled with memories and the voices of those carnies long since passed. The once bustling midway where he learned the ways of the games, some, if not all, rigged to lose. The sights of the rifles were off just enough to cause a missed shot; the milk bottles had a magnet attached to the bottom, guaranteeing they couldn't fall with the others. Most folks just passed it off as bad luck and swore they'd win next time. He remembered a time when one teenage boy, trying to win a huge purple stuffed panda bear for his girlfriend, spent his whole allowance throwing rings at soda bottles he had to get over the neck completely. Ring after ring, he was off by less than a micro-inch, not knowing the bottles weren't exactly level but couldn't tell with the naked eye.
Not all games were rigged; some made a point of letting folks win a cheap toy or a couple of free tickets to the ice cream wagon. The sounds of victory filled the midway, enticing others to take a chance. His last season came to a close four years after his first day. He left for college up state. He wrote letters to his friends, and they wrote back, telling him where they were and where they'd be heading as they followed the weather. After a while, the letters stopped coming and going, and his years as a carney became a chest full of memories.
Decades later, he came across an article about abandoned carnivals and theme parks, and one picture stopped him in his tracks as he looked at the carnival he once called his second home. He jumped on a plane and flew to Kansas, and with the help of a taxi driver who knew every square inch of the county, he drove him to a deserted field littered with the remains of a once-thriving carnival. He couldn't stop the tears as the midway lights and the faded paint on the thrill rides stood as reminders of their days of glory and the joy they brought to kids of all ages. He continued his walk, bending down to retrieve what was left of a purple stuffed panda bear tortured by time and the elements, now just a few threads of purple material and one eye hanging by a string.
He was about to leave when he saw what had once been his trailer, now a rusted-out shell, all but invisible, buried in weeds and forgotten. He got on his knees and looked inside, bringing back so many memories of days long past but never forgotten. He spotted an old piece of paper yellowed with time and saw it was a flyer for the carnival, the very kind he pasted all over town on phone poles and storefronts. Finding it was his holy grail, and he took it home and framed it where it now joins other memorabilia: a milk bottle that couldn't fall, a rifle with a bad sight, and a complete set of colored rings and a soda bottle.
He may have been a seasonal carny, but those were the happiest times of his life, and they will stay with him until the lights and sounds of the carnival fade away and the carousel music stops.
Mike 2026
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