Are You Carny?

Emay and I started a small beach fire and settled into our camp chairs, craning our necks to enjoy the rare view of coastal starlight. Several hundred yards up the beach, a bonfire blazed. Thick, black clouds periodically rose from the distant fire, the smell of burnt plastic wafting down the beach, occasionally reaching us. We muttered about rednecks and wrinkled our noses.

After awhile, I stood, stretched, and stepped out of the firelight to pull off my long-sleeved shirt, exposing my chest to the cool night air, before pulling on the leather vest and adjusting my leather chaps.

"Okay, Emay, here I go. You know how to work the camera?"

"Yep. I do. You signal me when you want me to hit record."



Usually I savor the post-fireplay rush produced by flame against flesh, heat dancing on lips, adrenaline pumping. But this time I was startled when a dog's glowing collar and rattling tags announced the otherwise-stealthy appearance of Drunken Local One. He swayed as he entered the circle of light, clutching a tallboy.

"Hello?" Emay called out nervously.

"Hey there, ladies," he said, slightly slurry. Then addressing me, "You're crazy!"

I sighed. Though attracting attention was inevitable with fireplay, I really wasn't in the mood to entertain a drunken stranger. "Yeah. That's what they tell me." I walked away, rustled around in my firebox, wishing he would go away so I could take off the leather vest and pull on the soft wool shirt without showing my breasts to some random drunk guy. After a few minutes of rambling on about my obvious insanity, he finally took the hint from our silence and non-engagement.

"Alright. Didn't mean to disturb you. Just drawn to the fire."

"Have a good night," I chirped, happy as he finally sauntered off.

Emay was anxious. "Wasn't that weird? Just to sneak up on us like that? I think that's weird, Moss."

"Yeah, it was," I acknowledged. In an effort to calm her nervousness, I added, "But maybe he thought we could see him walking up. Maybe he didn't know it was creepy. Maybe he was too drunk to think about it."

After sitting for a few minutes, watching the video on the tiny camera screen, and waiting for Drunken Local to move further down the beach, I spun poi, dancing barefoot in the sand. I dipped and re-dipped. Recorded, reviewed, erased, and re-recorded, missing the best performances and then futilely trying to recreate the best moments . . .



As I finished what I thought would be my last round for awhile, Drunken Locals Two, Three, Four, and Five approached. Drunken Locals' two dogs walked right into the fuel station, knocking lids off cans, spilling fuel. Again Emay called out to them before anyone acknowledged their presence. "Hello?" Her voice had the distinct twinge of irritation. Don't people know it's rude to approach a fire without signaling arrival?

"I was just finishing," I said to them, dropping my smoking poi on the firebox.

"Aww, but we wanted to come see up close! We been watching you for awhile down the beach."

"Okay, okay, I'll light up one more time," I conceded, figuring that making it performance-esque would perhaps keep them from feeling invited to stay and hang out at our campfire with us. I stooped to shoo away the dogs, upright the fuel cans, dip my wicks, and confer with Emay, who seemed agitated.

"This is freaking me out," she whispered. "There are four drunk guys here and two of us. I don't feel safe."

"It'll be okay," I whispered back. "Energetic boundaries. We're safe. They won't hurt us - I can just feel it. We're okay."

Standing, I addressed the Drunk Locals. "Here's the deal. I have open fuel over here, so keep your dogs away from me and the fuel, okay? Also, don't walk over here with lit cigarettes. Open fuel. Get it? And don't walk up behind me when I'm lit up. I can't hear you or see you when the toys are on fire. Okay?"

The Drunken Chorus:

Dogs! C'mere!
Wow, lots of rules.
Oh, yeah, yeah, we get it.
I don't smoke cigarettes.
Dogs! Come back here!

During the performance and afterward, the Drunken Chorus continued:

Wow!
That's amazing...
What kind of gas do you burn?
Probably propane. Must be propane.
How do you not burn yourself?
Man, you got balls, girl.

And then one question came from Drunken Local Three, who asked me in a serious tone:

Are you carny?

I laughed. "Am I what? Carny? No. I wouldn't say I'm carny." Images of thick-knuckled men with cigarettes dangling between their lips while they operated a merry-go-round flashed before my eyes. Emay later told me that she thought he'd asked if I was horny, fueling her nervousness at the scenario.

"Where'd you learn how to do that if you ain't carny?" he challenged me. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Well, I lived with fire spinners for awhile, and I learned from them."

He thought about that for a moment.

"Oh. So you ARE carny."