(Do Not) Run Away With the Carnival

I'd been enthralled with the carnival for as long as I could recall. Neon lights against a dimming night sky backdrop and the mixing scents of candy apple covering liquor-stained teenage tongues drew me in without having to offer much of anything else. As I aged, there was something mystical in the idea of showing up in a new town every weekend, establishing a lifestyle and a persona that was guaranteed impermanence.

When the carnival arrived in Ottawa at the tail end of summer 2017, I was working two jobs I'd grown to detest and awaiting the beginning of a new semester. It hadn't been an easy summer; I felt heavy under the weight of my lack of a sense of belonging in this city I'd invested in for a second time. The reprieve of otherworldly enjoyment had become necessary, so my roommate at the time and I made the decision to dedicate our entire Saturday off to the fairgrounds.

Not even five hours passed before we'd been invited to spend the evening hours, after everything was shut down, with some of the games' staff. The two boys who found themselves on either side of the ball toss - known to the staff as "tubs" - had taken a particular interest in my roommate and I. While one of them was outgoing and fun, the other was more reserved, mysterious and shy. Despite their obvious agreement that the latter would have his chance to pursue me, my own interest was deployed elsewhere. At the balloon darts, just a few steps away, was a man in his late thirties who boasted a deep voice, a ball cap and sunglasses that kept him shaded, and a sense of self surety that would have fooled anyone.

I suppose for a moment, we can colour me the fool.

We left the fairground in the smallest hours of morning with a promise to return the following night. It was nearly a thirty dollar Uber ride to our apartment in the heart of the city, but we were living on the high of adventure and experience, so we convinced ourselves the cost was negligible.

The quiet boy thought I was back for him. James, the confident man at the balloon darts, seemed to immediately understand the reality. (My ability to express my interest in someone has rarely ever been hindered by any reservation of my own.) James maintained his persona throughout our first night together. I was attracted to everything he used to make money: a confidence that bordered on cocky, underlying demand in his tone, and a unique capacity to understand those around him. He came across as a man with life experience, adventures to recount, and a knowledge of his own worth.

We continued to spend our spare time at the carnival over the course of their ten day stay. When James suddenly came out with, "You should come to Kinmount with us," it took less time than it probably should have for me to agree. I wasn't even entirely sure that I meant it, but the idea was appealingly wistful. I didn't even know where Kinmount was, school was set to start in a week, and I'd very recently lost my entire purse... with every piece of personal identification I could think of.

Sunday rolled around and I found myself packing my bag, giving my roommate instructions on how to care for my pet rats while I would be gone. I was nervous. The idea itself was absolutely insane. I waited until I was on the fairground, working alongside James to tear down his booth, before I sent messages to both of my jobs explaining that I was quitting on the spot. I can't help but still find some amusement in the email I wrote:

Evidently, I wasn't gearing for employee of the month.

My mom's boyfriend was not impressed with this excursion I was taking. My mom, on the other hand, was supportive, as always.

The first jump: Ottawa to Kinmount

It's incredibly difficult to explain what sort of environment the carnival is when you're working it. The allure of lights and midway food fades rapidly. You live and work with the same people, your options for leisure and recreation are severely limited, the days are ridiculously long, and you only get back exactly one quarter of the effort you put in. Most of the people I found myself spending time with walked very different paths from my own; they were straight out of shelters, off the streets, or even prison. They wanted money but they didn't want to put in the effort. They were not patient, and most of them had never been shown enough kindness to know how to treat others with kindness. It was a week of high tempers, dramatic outbursts and emotionally charged disappointments.

Notably, we did go bridge jumping, which was a thrilling and terrifying experience. I didn't learn how to use chopsticks properly. I definitely ate too many deep fried Oreos. The job was easy and fun, and I was fairly good at convincing people it was worthwhile to play again and upgrade their one-cent monkey to a sixty-cent dragon.

I spent a lot of time observing, treating every encounter like an experiment. I learned a lot about my skill in dealing with trying personalities.

James' facade faded almost as quickly as my attraction to him. He was attentive and generous, and we always found some intriguing topic to settle on. But it became evident that the man in my bunk was not the same man in the booth. He was not an extrovert, he didn't enjoy spending time in large groups, and he was far from being too sure of himself.

I've never been attracted to insecurity.

The issue ran deeper than his inconsistency, though. I'd walked into my involvement with James positive that we had an unspoken, mutual understanding it was best to leave emotions at the door. He had, after all, discovered me at the carnival. I wrongly assumed that, because of his age, he would be wise enough to understand the simplicity of our connection. The more evident his emotional attachment became, the more irritated I felt. The itch for my adventure to come to a close edged toward desperation.

The original plan had been that I would be dropped off in Peterborough on our way out of Kinmount. When the man in charge made a last minute announcement that we wouldn't even be venturing through Peterborough, my heart dropped before I embraced the fact that I would be traveling to another unknown land: West Niagara.

The second jump: Kinmount to West Niagara.

Note: Peterborough just slightly off to the East.

Considering we were a fleet of campers and tractor-trailers loaded with carnival rides and other large equipment, the drive was made up of many detours that resulted in a jump - which is what the industry calls a move between two locations - much longer than three hours. I saw plenty of Ontario's countryside, was particularly enthralled by Hamilton's industrial shorelines, and eventually found myself in a sand-covered lot with nothing but hay bales and blowing dust in sight.

Two options were laid out for me by my boss: I could hitch a ride with him and his girlfriend to Brantford that night, where he would leave me at the bus station, or I could wait until Wednesday and he would drive me right into Toronto. James suggested it would be best that I wait until Wednesday, but I opted for the immediate escape, even if I wasn't entirely sure where Brantford was, either.

West Niagra to Brantford, above.

James was left under the impression we would cross paths again. Somehow, I was fairly confident that wouldn't be the case. Brantford brought me a sense of relief even when it happened to be that the bus station was closed for the holiday. I spent the night on my boss' couch with his dreadfully annoying chihuahua. My hosts mined bitcoin and watched obscure political videos while I did some online shopping from my phone. It was awkward, but I've never been so grateful for a shower that wasn't in a trailer. I was dropped off at the bus station the next morning with no more than seventeen minutes before boarding a bus to Toronto.

Brantford to Toronto...

It was already the day school would be starting for me back in Ottawa. When I arrived in Toronto, however, the layover before a bus that would bring me straight into the right city was too long to bear... so I opted for an opportunity to decompress, instead choosing a bus ride to my hometown of North Bay.

Toronto to North Bay.

My mom retrieved me and the human-sized duffle I'd been lugging around for over a week from the bus station. My roommate back in Ottawa was concerned about when I would be returning to my responsibilities, but I didn't have that answer just yet. I took a few days to reflect, to appreciate how much I'd seen and learnt in my short time working for the carnival, and to breathe. I didn't regret going, but I know it's not something I would want to do again, or for longer. I haven't spoken to James since. Importantly, he was one of a small collection of men who taught me that even when people think they know what they want, or think they know what they're capable of, they may not. And they shouldn't be held responsible for lacking control over their own emotional failings. In retrospect I realise I wouldn't have ran away with the carnival had he not been available as a sort of security blanket. I acknowledge that I used his imbalanced affection to nurture not my own affection, but my level of comfort in a situation that would have otherwise been terrifying. I can only hope he gained something significant from the experience as well.

Although I wouldn't advise running away with the carnival, I would certainly suggest you take whatever crazy chances are put in front of you.