The Funhouse

already.
        She touched her breasts, and her nipples sprang up at once, stiff, proud, as large as the tips of her little fingers. Yes, this was a bad thing, a sinful thing, just as Mama said, yet it felt so good, so sweet.
        If she could be sure that God would listen to her, she would get down on her knees and ask Him for a sign, an irrefutably holy sign that would tell her, once and for all, whether she was a good person or a bad person. But she didn't think God would listen to her after what she'd done to the baby.
        Mama said she was bad, that Something lurked inside of her, that she had let go of the reins that had been holding that Something back. Mama said she had the potential to be evil. And a mother should know that kind of thing about a daughter.
        Shouldn't she?
         Shouldn't she?
        
        * * *
        
        Before he went to bed, Joey counted the money in his bank again. During the past month he had added two dollars and ninety-five cents to the contents of the jar, and now he had exactly thirty-two dollars.
        He wondered if he would have to bribe someone at the carnival to let him run away with them when they left town. He figured he would need twenty dollars as a minimum bankroll, which would keep him in grub until he started earning money as a carny, sweeping up after the elephants and doing whatever else a ten-year-old boy could find to do on a midway. So that left only twelve bucks that he could spare for a bribe.
        Would that be enough?
        He decided to ask his father for two dollars to go to the Sunday matinee at the Rialto theater. But he wouldn't actually spend the money on the movies. He would go over to Tommy Culp's house and play tomorrow afternoon, pretend that he'd seen the movies when his father asked about them, and add the two bucks to his escape fund.
        He returned the bank to the desk.
        When he said his prayers before going to bed, he asked God to please keep Mama from getting pissed and coming into his room again.
        
        * * *
        
        The next day, Sunday, Amy called Liz.
        “Hello,” Liz said.
        “This is Sister Purity,” Amy said.
        “Oh, hello, Sister.”
        “I've decided to leave the nunnery.”
        “Hallelujah!”
        “It's cold and drafty here in the nunnery.”
        “Not to mention boring,” Liz said.
        “What have you got for me that I won't find boring”
        “How about Buzz Klemmet?”
        “I don't know him,” Amy said.
        “He's eighteen, soon nineteen I think. He was in the class ahead of ours-”
        “Ah, an older man!”
        “- but he dropped out of school in eleventh grade. He works at the Arco station on the corner of Main and Broadway.”
        “You sure know how to pick them,” Amy said sarcastically.
        “He may not sound like much,” Liz said, abut wait till you see him.
        He's a hunk.”
        “A hunk of what?”
        “Pretty muscle.”
        “Can he speak?”
        “Just well enough.”
        “Can he tie his own shoelaces?”
        “I'm not sure,” Liz said. “But he usually wears loafers, so you won't have to worry about that.”
        “I hope you know what you're doing.”
        “Trust me,” Liz said. “You'll love him. What night should I set it up for?”
        “Doesn't matter,” Amy said. “I work days.”
        “Tomorrow night?”
        “Fine.”
        “We'll double,” Liz said. “Me and Richie, you and Buzz.”
        “Where do you want to go?”
        “How about my place? We'll play some records, watch a movie on my folks' videocassette machine, roll a few joints. I got some bitchin' grass that'll mellow us out real fast.”
        “What about your parents?” Amy asked.
        “They're leaving on a two-week vacation today. New Orleans. I'll have the house all to myself.”
        “They trust you alone there for two weeks?”
        “They trust me not to burn the place to the ground,” Liz said. “And that's really all they care about. Listen, kid, I'm glad you finally came to your senses. I was afraid the summer was going to be a bummer. We'll sure raise hell now that you're back in the swing of things.”
        “I'm not sure I want to get back in the swing of things, at least not all the way, if you know what I mean. I want to have some fun. I want to date. But I don't think I'm going to screw around anymore.