--- title: Midway visibility: public --- I stayed up a bit later on this one than I wanted too, but I really got into a flow that I didn't want to interrupt. The more I write these characters, the more I like them. It feels like a good sign to me, that I can't advance the plot without naturally writing character development, and vice versa. Anyways. You know the drill by now. Close your eyes. It's the Fourth of July, 1982, at the New York State Fair. The heart of the fairgrounds is a busy place, even when it's not bannered red-white-and-blue. Teenagers kiss in the shade behind the portable haunted house, and the line to ride the bumper cars feels eternal. And on the border of the Expo Center, a little girl is closing her eyes, just like you... ------ The smell hit my nose before I even opened my eyes. Animals, _farm_ animals: cow farts and goat piss and pig muck and horse shit. But also hay, and dust, diesel exhaust, and lilting above it all, cutting through it, the deep-fried irresistible smell of funnel cake. The chaos was wild, alive, constantly teetering between enticement and disgust. I didn't waste my first moments of sight on Alan. Alan could manage himself. Holding a hand was a skill I'd mastered at age 4, and if my math was right, in here? This particular memory? I was all of 11 years old. I'd dipped into this memory very briefly that morning, just barely enough to grab a snack and go. I was a little too used to my powers, maybe, only appreciating them when I had a guest to interrupt my routine - to put the magic back into the magic. Looking around me now, I felt the wonder all over again, stepping into this big, impossibly big world, with my whole future ahead of me. It was a lost world, and I'd stolen it back, an immaculate archive woven into my soul. The Ferris wheel loomed over us, and that terrifying tilting thing I'd never had the guts to ride, and to my left, holding my hand, so did Alan. It was strange to see him so tall. Holding my right hand, was my father. Alan turned to see us and froze in shock, jumped, and I gripped his hand insistently. "I told you, you have to hold on, idiot." I glared up at him, making a point of it. "Just... what? Okay first of all _you are so tiny and a child._ That is not a move you pull right after sex, I shouldn't even fucking have to _say_ that. Nobody should have to say that!" He was backed off as far as he could go, our arms taut. "And like, second, _is this your fucking dad?_" He looked up, bug-eyed. "Sir I swear this is not what it looks-" I yanked his arm close enough to stomp on his foot. "Can it, dumbass. We're in a memory. I'm still me, and he can't really react to you. Be cool." He was hyperventilating, which I took as a sign of direct disobedience. "Oh yeah? Be cool, huh? I've never been in a memory before. I don't know what's going on! And he's _looking at me!_" My hapless visitor pointed repeatedly, although once would have gotten the point across. "Why's he looking at me?" I sighed. "People in memories are like... actors. Placeholders that just kind of wait for cues and lines, so they can do _their_ cues and lines. Watch." I looked up at my memory-dad, and he looked at me, with that soft dopey face of his, the kind of deep-set eyes that are brought to you by the letter Beer. I looked into his eyes and told him, matter of factly, "Ooga booga woogidee woo." Waved my hand in front of his face, and he didn't even flinch. I took it further. "Mommy sucks off your brother every Thursday night." Memory-Dad's smile never changed, as peaceful and adoring as ever. Man had the patience of a saint, or maybe more aptly, a golem. "I'll be damned," Alan muttered in wonder behind me. I turned, and he'd settled down almost immediately. I think if he'd had a notepad handy, he'd be filling it full of scribbles on the spot. "Can you control him?" I smirked. "Nah. He'll just wait forever until I say my line. This place is halfway between a recording and a simulation. He's not reacting, because none of this is what I said next in '82." "Obviously not. Although to be fair, you do have a bit of Bad Seed energy. It's not unthinkable." I chuckled. "There's only one thing that's unthinkable, Alan. Can you guess it?" He grimaced. "Can I guess the unthinkable thing? I doubt it." I leaned toward him, with a gap-toothed grin. "THE PSYTANIC!" He groaned, and I stuck my tongue out at him. "Wow. I didn't figure you for awful puns, Lizzy. That's a clunker." "Oh, you love it," I said, rolling my shoulders in sweet victory. "You wish!" But he was smiling. I got him. "Truly, you are full of terrifying and terrible talents." He bowed theatrically. "Yeah." My smile sagged a little. "I didn't come up with _that_ one though. It was... one of my dad's favorites." I looked up at his automaton. "You would have liked him, I think. The real version I mean." "Maybe," he shrugged. "Kind of a bold claim, for someone who doesn't know me much yet." "No, but I knew _him._ He loved everybody, everybody loved him. Well, I guess there were some exceptions. He sure managed to marry one." His image continued to wait, patient and peaceful. It was starting to hurt, to look at his eyes. "I think there _had_ to be a time when mom and dad loved each other. Like, logically, right? Just... sucks that I missed it." "Yeah." Alan stared at his shoes as the Midway crowd hummed around us. A handful of people screamed distantly as their roller coaster cars ticked over from lift to descent. The popcorn and cotton candy and overtaxed toilets waged war over the air, and the flies buzzed for all of it. Only we stood still. ".... yeah." I squeezed my dad's hand. He looked at me attentively. I said, softly, "Hey. Can we get slushies?" I felt very, very small. He nodded, and brightened up with excitement. "Sure, pumpkin, I got a few bucks budgeted for snacks, and I think a slushie would count." He leaned down, until he booped my nose with his. "Do you want.... asphalt flavor?" I giggled. "No!" "Do you want... barf flavored?" I shook my head vigorously. "Nooo! Dad!" "Do you want... roadkill chipmunk with a cigarette ash swirl, all topped with-" "Dad!" I suddenly interrupted. This part... would hurt. "I'm not a little kid anymore. I just wanna see what flavors they have, okay? Don't be..." I didn't want to say this line. I was glad I didn't need to get the tone right, and so I said it soft, a soreness in my throat. "Don't be stupid." His face fell. "Oh." He stepped back a pace, staring ahead. He nodded quietly. "That's how you... okay." He stood up, peered around over the crowd lifelessly. "It's over there. It's... it's over there." I followed him, and Alan followed me, and at the cart, I picked lime. We all sat down at a bench together. We were a quiet pack. Alan obviously couldn't order anything, and I didn't feel much like rewarding myself, so I handed mine to him. Dad got peach. We all sat there and watched the people mill and march around us. Alan put the cup down after a few long sips. "Hey. Look, I'm... sorry about what I said earlier. The bad seed thing. I hope that's not close to home or anything." I shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. I mean, I said the thing about Uncle Irwin, and that was real. Mom really was a skank. It's old news, it's fine." I couldn't mask my voice well. I don't think Alan believed me. He leaned back on the bench. "If it's fine, it's fine." He tapped the straw to his lips, thinking. "I just don't want to say anything hurtful." I rubbed my temple with my free hand. "God! Can't you see that's a hundred times worse? Don't pity me. I've got a better afterlife than your actual life, if your life was twenty times better. I outgrew all these shitbirds around me." I waved my hand around at my past. "So stop treating me like glassware. These fucks couldn't break me, and neither can you." He leaned back. "Okay, okay! Jesus." He scratched his head, and winked at me. "_Irwin,_ though. Your mom hoed out for a guy named _Irwin._" I laughed, and tossed my hair back. "Well I hoed out for an _Alan,_ and really, who sleeps with an _Alaaaan?_" I needled him. "The only thing worse would be _being_ an Alan!" "Heyyyy, what's wrong with being an Alan?" he feigned a great offense. "I've been an Alan all my life, I'll have you know." "It's a dweeb name! Alan. Look at us, the cuck, the dweeb and the ho." "A fearsome triumvarate." "They'll never know what fucked 'em." "Hear, hear!" He toasted the air in front of me, since I didn't have a drink. Or, well, he had my drink. After a triumphant slurp, he put the half-full cup back down. "On that note, strategy. I haven't forgotten the conversation we're actually here to have." "Right. You first, wiz kid. What are you up to, in that basement of yours?" My lips curled up, I was genuinely curious. "A broad variety of things - the broadest possible, really." He cleared his throat. "That's kind of the point. I'm... curious." "Curious?" "Yeah, curious. Every type of magic has a feel to it, and details to know, and catches to navigate. Conventional wisdom is, okay, there's too much magic in the world to know it all. Well... fuck that. I don't just want to _know_ everything in the flat and hypothetical sense that I read some words on a page. You don't really know it until you do it, and I want to know... _everything._" I tapped my fingers on the wooden table. "Really?" I was fascinated. "'Everything' is... broad, even to read. But you want to do. You realize that your little project is going to include some real fucked up shit, right?" Alan smiled thinly. "You have no idea." I found myself very impressed with Mr. Shaw. He turned to look straight at me. "I think I've incriminated myself enough for one long-past Independence Day, don't you? Now spill, Miss Elizabeth. What's up your sleeve, that you need a half-amateur sorcerer to make it happen?" The wood was smooth under my slow-moving fingers, polished by heavy use and greyed by sun-bleaching. "I keep my interests close to my chest. But... well... there's a certain spell I'd like to acquire. It has some interesting potential if you put enough juice into it." He sucked down another sip. "What kind of spell?" I smiled sweetly at him. "Love." "That's suspiciously mundane. What are you expecting to happen by amping it up to 11?" "I'm expecting it to _work,_ Alan. No maybes. Oh, and I'll need to track someone down, but I think I can mostly handle it on my own, unless you have some very interesting contacts." "Funny you should mention that..." I narrowed my eyes. "Why?" "Because, if you can help me with the teeny, tiny resurrection I've been working on..." He winked, and finished off the slushie. * [02 - Lime Slushie](/writing/em/02) * [04 - Yes, Anything](/writing/em/04)