Fortuna

I get off the bus and the sound of cheap entertainment fills the air. Oh yes, the carnival. Visions of my mother flash in my head. Her own personal cart, decorated with red velvet cloths and multi-colored candles, the smell of incense and dust, the feeling that something magical just might happen... No fortune teller I’ve seen could ever create the mood my mother did. She may be there. She’s the reason I’m here. On this corner. Getting off the bus. In a cheap basement apartment. At Finch Pointe. And alive, obviously. Curiosity put me in a zombie-like trance and I find myself running like a giddy little kid. I almost run over actual giddy little children making up most of the line in front of the ticket booth. I don’t think I’ll ever get in... I look past the gate and see J.J. Carlyle getting in between an argument the balloon guy and some girl were having. That’s just like him. They’ll be in his apartment in no time... The group of kids ran in and now I’m at the booth. The clown running the booth seemed drunk so I used my Italian charm to get through without paying. The place is swamped with dangers; kids running around caressing giant plush animals that block their view, fire breathers and sword swallowers blinding showing off their skills to anyone they can grab, clowns wheeling around on the unicycles doing tricks which includes jumping over each other when they fall. I return to earth and remember why I came here in the first place. There’s no fortune telling cart in site. A feeling of relief rushes all over my body and is quickly drained out by the feeling that a child gets when they’re away from home to long. This, this trashy cheap carnival, could have been my home. It’s what my mother wanted. It’s what she does. She said it’s her little home away from her real home of Napoli. It’s the life she lived as a child before having to move to the states. This, this trashy cheap carnival, is why I ran.