California State Fair

The sun settles behind the Ferris wheel, surrendering the sky to a thousand blinking lights.

Carnival barkers shout over one another.

Children scream from rides.

The smell of fried food drifts through the fairgrounds alongside the calliopes.

Teenagers waste money chasing stuffed prizes.

A little girl cries over a melted ice cream.

Life.

“Three throws! Five dollars! Win yourself a prize”

A scruffy boy stops beneath a game booth and squints up at the grand prize hanging overhead.

A stuffed black cat equipped with muscles, a championship belt, pink ears… Breasts?

“What kind of goofy shit is that?”

The attendant recoils,

“Quite the mouth you’ve got there, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry dad…”

The kids’ eyes drift across the midway.

Children run past wearing cat masks.

An airbrush artist paints the same black cat onto the back of a teenagers denim jacket, carefully adding the words MISS FURRY beneath it.

The kid wrinkles his nose.

“...quite the racket you’ve got here.”

“it ain’t a racket…” The attendant scoffs “XWF’s in town. Big pay-per-view this weekend in Frisco. Folks are eatin’ it up”

“Hm. Lame.”

“You gonna play, or you just here to complain?”

“Fine.”

The kid digs into his pocket.

“You break a twenty?”

A crisp bill lands on the counter.

The attendant grins as he opens the cash drawer.

“Sure can.

One..

Five…

Ten…

Fifteen.”

His attention never leaves the register.

But kid’s attention never leaves the counter.

By the time the attendant closes the drawer, the twenty has disappeared. A single dollar-bill sits exactly where it had been.

The attendant never notices.

The kid slips the change into his pocket before the three baseballs ever reach the counter.

He only needed one.

CRACK!

The first throw obliterates the stacked cans.

The attendant stares in disbelief

“...well, I’ll be damned.”

The kid shrugs.

“Gimmie the stupid cat wrestler I guess.”

The attendant reluctantly reaches overhead and wrestles the oversized stuffed cat from its hook.

The kid reaches up to grab it… but another hand grabs it first.

The hand is old. Scarred. Busted across the knuckles.

The kid immediately turns

“Hey jerk!”

The old man looks down at the stuffed cat, then back at the kid…

A smile creases the weathered face beneath an old ball cap

Sorry…

The kid notices the scars.

Then the busted nose.

Then the glossy eyes.

Frances Marigold.

He lets the stuffed cat go.

“You wanna buy it? 20 bucks its yours”

“HEY!” The attendant protests,

Frances shakes his head no,

Just figured it’d have more heft to it.

“Yep. Total rip-off.” The kid agrees “...I take it you’re not a wrestling fan either.”

Frances studies the cat for another second. He looks at the stitching.

Seems well made… he feels it with his hand again But funny how somethin' can look heavy from a distance.

“That ain’t what I asked, mister!”

Frances looks up from the stuffed cat and smiles faintly.

Didn’t say it was

The kid blinks.

“...Then why’re you answering questions I ain’t askin?”

Frances turns the stuffed cat over once more before handing it back,

Old habit, I reckon.

The kid hugs the oversized prize under his arm,

“So you don’t watch wrestling?”

Frances shrugs,

Sometimes

“That cat lady’s somebody important?”

Guess so.

“Whole fair’s covered in ‘er”

Frances nods toward the crowd.

The kid studies him

“...You always talk like somebody forgot half the conversation?”

Frances chuckles,

Only the parts I’m sure about.

The kid isn’t sure whether to laugh or to roll his eyes

Instead…

“Whats your name?”

Frances wipes one thumb across a scar on his knuckle,

Frances.

“Just Frances?”

Mostly

“Mostly?”

Sometimes people add the rest whether I ask ‘em to or not.

The kid squints.

“...You’re weird. And Frances is a girls name”

Been told.

The attendant leans over the counter

“You seriously don’t know who he is?’

The kid shrugs,

“Should I?”

The attendant stares, then points.

“That’s Frances Marigold.”

The kid blinks slowly,

“He’s the guy who’s wrestling Miss Furry this weekend”

“You’re a wrestler?”

Sometimes.

The kid looks from Frances to the stuffed Miss Furry tucked under his arm

“...ain’t that…”

He glances up at the booth

“...her?”

Looks like it.

“So…” he lifts the stuffed cat, “...you gonna’ whip her ass?”

Frances’ eyes linger on the toy.

The stitched smile.

The tiny championship belt.

He smiles to himself,

Don’t know yet.

The kid stares at him,

“What d’you mean you don’t know?”

Ain’t met her.

“You’re fighting somebody you’ve never met?”

Frances tips his cap just enough to look out across the fairgrounds.

Families.

Laughter.

Music.

Life.

Everybody's somebody 'fore they become an opponent

The kid snorts.

“That sounds like a good way to get punched”

Usually is.

“...then why do it?”

Frances watches a little girl run past wearing a pair of cheap plastic cat ears, laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own feet.

Her father catches her before she hits the ground.

Most folks spend too much time meetin’ the version of somebody everybody else built for em’

The kid frowns

“What?”

They hear stories.

Read headlines.

Figure they’ve already met em.

He looks down at the stuffed cat.

Maybe she’s exactly what everybody says she is.

Maybe she ain’t

The kid frowns,

"So... you really don't know nothin' about her?"

I know a little.

"What?"

Seems like she spent a long time tryin' to become who she wanted to be.

The kid shrugged.

"So?"

Frances watches another child run past

Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

Just ain't enough to tell me who she'll be when the bell rings.

"So... how're you supposed to know?"

Frances starts walking.

Stand across from 'em.

Look 'em in the eye.

Another step.

See what survives the introductions...

It's all fair game after that.

The kid watches him disappear into the current of the fairgrounds before looking back down at the oversized stuffed cat.

"...Huh."

For the first time...

It felt a little heavier.