Freak Show

Freak Show

I was a city boy out of my element; that was quite clear to me. I had been allowed to spend most of the summer with my aunt and uncle and their children in a little town in West Virginia. I was seven years old and average sized for my age, but my cousins were huge in comparison. They had a lot of chores to do in the morning, before they could play or have any fun. I tried to help, but I was more of a burden I think. Carrying coal, cutting wood, painting fences, and such work almost made my knees buckle under. My cousins were good natured about it though and let me tag along.

Not all was work, however. After chores and after a big breakfast of biscuits and gravy and ham and eggs, we would take off to the sand lot down the road and play soft ball, pitch horseshoes, tell tall tales, ride bikes and otherwise just goof off. My aunt's biscuits were big and soft and smelled so good. Steam arose from them, and butter melted on them like honey floating on cream. The only biscuits I had ever eaten before came from a can and were hard enough to knock a hot off a head at ten feet. Her gravy was made with real cream in it. The ham was wonderful, big thick slabs of hot ham, not the thin, slick, shiny luncheon meat kind. Is your stomach rumbling? Mine is, remembering their delicacy and goodness.

One day, a carnival came to the nearest town. I had never seen one, and everyone in the family assured me I was in for a treat. We children all had about five dollars each and were allowed to go into town about noon. We had to be home by 7 p.m. and that seemed like a long time but it flew by. The rides were 25 cents each. The cotton candy and candy apples were about the same price so we had to be careful and wise as to how we spent our money. By all means, I was told to save 50 cents for the "freak show. " We wanted to see the "hootchie cootchie" ladies but were warned we would be beaten with a damp switch if we entered that show. We considered trying to slip in unnoticed, but my uncle's best friend was the local sheriff, and we decided maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

We waited until about 6 p.m., just getting to dusk outside, to enter the freak show. I didn't know what a freak show was really although I had some idea of what a freak was. Maybe we could see a two headed baby in a jar, one cousin said. "Ewwww" everyone yelled. When we got to the entrance of the show, the guy running the concession questioned my age but finally relented and let me in when everyone else said they wouldn't go in unless I did.

Inside, it was dim with just the occasional light bulb hanging from the low ceiling. There was saw dust on the floor. There was about three feet from side to side of each section, each containing a so-called freak. I saw the bearded lady. I wasn't too shocked. I figured she could shave if she wanted to badly enough. There was some deformed things in jars, but I just didn't look. I don't have the strongest stomach in the world.

As we jostled our way through the line, I was pushed close to the fat man's exhibit. A huge man was sitting on a chair reading a book. He supposedly weighed 400 lb. and, frankly, he looked it, but he had on clean clothing, and his hair was combed neatly. I spoke to him. Apparently, it wasn't the thing to do. He looked shocked at first and the people around me backed off like I had stroked a snake. He spoke back. We talked awhile. He seemed very intelligent. He was soft spoken. He didn't make eye contact often, but he wasn't rude and talked as long as I wanted to. He had large, clear, blue eyes with thick eye lashes, almost like a girl's eyelashes.

After a few minutes, I told him goodbye and left the tent. I didn't see my cousins nearby, but I remembered the way home. I didn't want to see more freaks or more carnival. The cotton candy left a sour taste in my mouth. I could not get the fat man out of my mind. It was my first brush with the extreme cruelty of one human to another, and I would never forget it. I never have.

I often think of the fat man. Did he die young? Did he ever lose weight? Did he remember me, the stupid little city boy who talked instead of gawked? I don't know why, but still, when I think of him sitting there, his dignity intact, if ours wasn't, I feel a deep sadness. It makes me wonder who the real freaks are in the world.