At The Fairgrounds
HE DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO LOOK UP AS SOON AS SOMEONE SAT DOWN BESIDE him uninvited; he already knew who it was, and instead scowled down into his coffee, his hands wrapped around the steaming mug.
"You know, coffee has no nutritional value whatsoever," the person said.
He'd been right. "Neither does staying up half the night at a computer," Anders replied.
Puck smiled. He nodded his head at the mug. "Don't you think it's kind of hot for that?"
Anders looked at him, his eyes icy. "Don't you think it's kind of rude to just sit there?"
Another smile; Puck's smiles were really starting to irritate him. "Now I know what you are. You're a repeater. One of those people who just keep recycling what others say." He sat back in his chair, examining the ceiling. They were again in the Gen-X, only it was still early so it was virtually empty. "So, Anders, had any good dreams lately?"
Anders started, choking on his coffee. He spat, wiped his mouth, and looked at Puck.
Puck waved his hand. "It's kind of obvious by now. Sid tells me you came in telling her the same thing I did, and a bunch of others too. Fog, lights, little guys with big eyes?"
Anders could only stare at him.
"And you had another one last night, I presume."
"How did you--"
"Don't worry. I'm not snooping." Puck crossed his arms on the table and placed his head on them; suddenly, Anders noticed he looked very tired. "I had the same one."
"You did not. You couldn't have."
"Couldn't I? Then explain this. I'm walking along at the fairgrounds, and the first thing I see is that big ride that looks like a flying saucer. What is it, the Gravity-something--"
"Gravitron," Anders found himself filling in.
"Yeah, that's it. And this Gravitron sort of flies up in the air. And these little guys you and I know so well all come up and take me towards it. I look at one of them--he's got these big black eyes. And them I'm in the Gravitron."
"Hold on," Anders interrupted. "My dream ended when I looked at him--it."
"Really? Mine didn't. But I suppose you don't really care to hear the rest, since it couldn't have happened." Anders was too stunned to feel furious as Puck reached out and took a drink from his cup. "And besides, nobody really believes that stuff, do they?"
"What stuff?"
"UFOs. Aliens. That stuff."
Anders gaped at him, and then burst into helpless laughter. Puck looked at him and gave a half-smile. Anders only continued howling.
"Don't--don't tell me that!" he gasped.
"Okay. I won't."
Anders tried to stop laughing; in truth he didn't feel like anything was all that funny--he felt more nervous than anything. "Come on, Puck. Don't tell me you believe that."
"Okay. I won't."
Anders looked at him again. Puck only looked back, his eyes half-closed, as if he'd been through this before.
"Okay," Anders echoed, "what've you been up to on your old computer down there--accessing secret government files? Files on E. T.s! The government is working with them. They're going to enslave Earth! Am I right?"
"Nope. I've done no such thing. Nor do I believe any such thing."
Anders threw up his hands. "Then what the hell are you talking about?"
Puck sat forward, leaning on his elbows. "Tell me your dreams," he said.
Anders was stunned into silence. For a brief moment a picture of Gavin MacLeod flashed in his head. "Tell me the weather, the sights, the latest news."
Tell me your dreams.
He could see Gavin with his large black glasses, staring blindly, and had the distinct feeling he'd seen him somewhere before.
"Anders. Are you still on Earth, Anders?"
He abruptly snapped out of it and looked at Puck, who was still sitting next to him, waving his hand in front of his face. "I--yeah," he stammered.
"Well, that's good to hear. For a moment I thought you were floating in the stratosphere. And may I correctly guess you just had a flashback?"
"No, not a flashback. It was--more like--" But he couldn't think of any other way to describe it. "Well...yeah, a flashback. Are you satisfied?"
"I am if you are."
"Good. I can sleep better knowing that."
"Let's hope you can." Puck got up and left the table; Anders was left thinking just how ironic his own words were.
I can sleep better knowing that.
He just wished he could. With that thought he groaned and rubbed his forehead tiredly.
He showed up the next day at the Jamboree, his head throbbing; he decided to try and ignore it as he squeezed his way among the numerous people crowding the main thoroughfare. [Note--again, I meant midway.] He caught one glimpse of Puck there; he was seated at a picnic table, staring at--what else?--the Gravitron, which was in full motion. Anders couldn't help but stare at it a moment too, before moving on. He didn't feel like talking to Puck. Not now.
From afar he could hear the ringing and jubilant screams of slot machines and those winning at them, followed by a loud jingling which he took to be coins. He'd never seen a slot machine before, having only heard about them. As he passed the Little Nevada station he peered in at them to see what they looked like; they were funny jukebox-like things with a big handle for pulling, and pictures of fruit and money which rolled into view; strange things. He continued, looking in at the different booths for anything interesting; he caught sight of an automatic palm-reading machine and laughed silently; Sid was at it, getting her palm "read," and having Gavin do the same thing. He walked over to join them, this time not the least surprised when Gavin looked up at him.
"Hey, Anders, try this thing!" Sid exclaimed, jumping up and down and virtually pulling his hand off to get him to it. "It's really neat! I just had my fortune told, and Gavin's too. It's right on the mark! This thing's amazing!"
"Sid, have you ever noticed just how vague these things are?" Anders asked as she put in a quarter and pressed his hand to the machine. "They could apply to anybody."
"Yeah, but not this one! It was exactly right!" She started jumping up and down again as Anders's fortune sheet was printed out. She ripped it off and held it up to the light to read it.
"Okay, this is what it says--'You're hard-working, intelligent, and a great person to be around.'"
Anders rolled his eyes and smiled; Gavin smiled as well as if sensing this. "Well--at least that much it got right."
"Oo, here's something different. 'However, you have a skeptical nature and should try to open your mind to extreme possibilities.' Hey, Anders, is that you?"
Anders's smile had disappeared, and he reached out and took the sheet from Sid's hand to see if that was what it really said. He was shocked to see it was.
"There's more on the back," Sid said. "That's where it tells your future. Here, let me read it!" She grabbed it back and cleared her throat while Anders stared on numbly. "'The future looks difficult for you now; you are struggling with forces beyond your control which may greatly alter your present world view.' Wow, that's deep! I didn't get anything like that. Did you, Gavin?"
Gavin raised his eyebrows and held up his own card. "Excuse me, Sid, but it's not in Braille."
"Oh! I'm sorry! I forgot!" She giggled at Anders and handed him back his sheet. "Well, it was nice reading your fortune, but now I have to read Gavin's. You should try those slot machines. Have fun!" She turned her back on him then, wandering off into the tent with Gavin, reading his fortune for him.
Anders stared after them, then looked back down at the sheet with its diagram of a hand on it and shuddered, crumpling it up and tossing it into a nearby garbage can. What a weird day this was turning out to be. He had just made up his mind to go check out the slot machines after all when he saw him.
He stopped, peering into the crowd. There was a new person there, a teenager from the looks of it, wandering around as if lost. Anders had never seen him before. He was most certainly too young to be a student. The way he was looking around, you would think he were lost in a deep dark forest surrounded by wild animals. Anders surreptitiously slipped into the crowd, determined to follow him and see just what he was doing there, and then noticed he wasn't the only one to do so; for, back near the Gravitron, he saw that Puck had noticed the newcomer as well, and was also staring at him.
Anders saw Puck's mouth move but couldn't hear what he was saying; it looked, however, very much like an exclamation. The newcomer hadn't heard him either, but looked in his direction anyway and, seeing him, paled and turned to run. Puck jumped down from his post atop the table and started after him. Surprised, Anders moved out into a thinner spot in the crowd to watch the proceedings.
Now it was obvious that Puck was chasing him. The word he'd yelled was "Hey!" and it appeared as if the newcomer wanted nothing to do with him, for reasons different than Anders's. [Note--yes, that should be "different from."] Others in the throng stopped what they were doing to watch the chase as well, as the newcomer dashed past and Puck ducked around people, yelling.
"Hey! You! Stop!" he shouted. The newcomer paid him no heed and kept on running. He was very swift, faster than Puck, but apparently not as used to running, for he was starting to slow and his chest was heaving. Puck was catching up quickly.
At the Little Nevada station Damon and Al turned to see what the commotion was about. A teenager came zooming through the crowd, followed closely by Puck, who suddenly reached out his arms and, with a sudden jump, tackled him and brought him panting to the ground. They both grunted as they hit, dust billowing up around them, the wind knocked out of them. The newcomer struggled and squirmed, trying to break free, but Puck pinned his arms.
"Let me go!" he cried.
"You stole my horse!" Puck shouted back. By now dozens of bystanders had gathered around them. "You stole my horse and I lied for you! God knows why, but I lied for you! Just who are you? Why were those military guys after you? Why did you steal my horse?"
Damon and Al pushed their way through the crowd to see what was going on; Puck's prisoner broke free and scampered to his feet. Puck stood as well, panting and dusty, glaring at him accusingly. The newcomer started turning in circles, slowly, looking at all the strange faces with terror; Anders, from his own post, was beginning to wonder if this circle-turning were another odd American ritual. The teenager looked like some kind of little animal, surrounded, with no one to turn to. Somehow Anders knew this, and felt sorry for him.
He was alone in the middle of the mob, turning to look at every face, each one unfamiliar to him; fear had filled his mind to bursting; among these people there was no one to turn to. They all stared back, scores of unfamiliar eyes in an unfamiliar place, looking at him in an unfamiliar way. He turned a bit more, and then his eyes fell on Damon and Al and stopped.
Damon stared back a moment before he realized it was Al the newcomer was staring at; he peered at Al out of the corner of his eye and saw him looking back, then diverted back to the newcomer. [Note--crud! What horrendous POV switches! Sorry...*cringe.*]
After a moment the newcomer appeared to calm down a little bit; his shoulders untensed and he looked less likely to run. He did still, however, dart glances at the others warily. Al spoke up.
"All right, show's over," he called out. "Everybody can get back to what they were doing."
A mumble arose among the people, who started drifting away from the scene. Puck coughed and spat over his shoulder, casting one last warning look at the newcomer before dusting himself off and turning to leave. Anders watched after them for a few moments more, before himself losing interest and going off for the Little Nevada tent.
Damon stood off to the side as the newcomer came up to Al and took his hand. It was barely a shake, for they only stood there a moment, staring each other in the eyes. He cleared his throat politely, and they both looked at him. He smiled slightly, feeling as if he shouldn't be there.
Al turned back to the newcomer and gave him another look, then they both smiled and looked back at Damon. "I'm Alexander Goodwin, and this is Damon Barrymore," he introduced.
"Jacob Sanders," the teenager filled in, shaking Al's hand, and then Damon's. Damon smiled again. "Thanks. I was starting to think nobody here would help me."
"Don't worry. Not everybody's all that bad. They were just wondering what's going on." Al started back for the Little Nevada station, and the other two followed, as if he were some kind of spiritual leader about to give advice. "So you're new here, eh, Jacob?"
"Yeah. Really new. I haven't made much of a first impression, have I?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Al mused as they entered the ringing, clattering tent. "In fact I'd say you made very much of a first impression."
Jacob laughed; Al put a quarter in a slot machine and pulled down the handle. He looked quite used to it, and Damon thought he should; Al had lived in Nevada for a while, or so he'd told Damon. "I suppose, but not the kind I'd've liked to have made. Like I said, I'm new here. I've--kind of been in a little trouble. That's why that man was chasing me, I suppose. I took his horse."
"I kind of figured," Damon said, half to himself.
"Anyway, I think I'd like to apologize, only I don't believe he likes me so much."
"Don't worry," Al said again. "That's Matthew Benteen. You could get to like him. You know him, don't you, Damon?"
Damon nodded, though Al wasn't looking in his direction; Al didn't need to look, however. "He works with computers a lot. A hacker, I believe they call them? Anyway, maybe he could show you something interesting. If you can get on his good side." He smiled at Jacob, and the machine started ringing wildly, its lights flashing as the signs matched up and quarters came spilling out. Jacob whooped and put out his hand to catch them before they hit the floor, and Al smiled down at him. Damon frowned to himself; it looked as if they knew each other. As if they had for a long time.
"Let's go get some cotton candy with that," Al suggested. "I haven't had any of that in a long time. And now they've got it in three colors? I have to check that out."
"I'm with you, Al," Jacob said, delightedly scooping up the coins and stuffing as many as he could into his pockets. They started off for the concession stand, chattering all the way. Damon followed at a distance, pensive.
Excuse me, his mind said to itself, but he never introduced himself as Al Goodwin, did he?
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