Darla Dreaming at the Carnival with Elvis

By Carole F Stice

Seventeen year-old DARLA KAYE DIAMOND, the child of carnival stunt motorcycle riders, dreams of a better life than the one into which she was born, but even with her gifts and talents will she be able to leave carnival life or will she discover that her choices merely allow her exchange one kind of carnival for another as people and circumstances conspire against her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carole F Stice
• Release date: Aug 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733174510

Carole F Stice

Only children have their own peculiar sets of benefits and problems. Growing up an only, adopted child, back in the mid-twentieth century when there were fewer adoptions and less information about how adoptions are best handled, presented an additional layer of challenges. Compared with today, in the 1940s, few working-class families adopted the babies of strangers. In addition, adopting agencies and physicians lacked the psychological and language tools needed to help guide adoptees and adopters when they encountered difficulties or resistance especially from other family members. As Carole’s memoir unfolds, she wonders who she really is, hungers for a sense of belonging, seeks her biological roots across decades, and explores the meaning and importance of family in her life. Her story speaks to every person who has ever felt, even for a moment, like an outcast among the people they love the most.Carole Faye Kirchner Stice is a retired university teacher and author. Her work has appeared in numerous academic journals and instructional materials. Her fiction has appeared in Highlights for Children, Lady Bug and such literary journals as Kestrel. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee.

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I.

Darla Dreaming at the Carnival…

1

The Vortex of Death

Darla Kaye Diamond mounted the platform surrounding the Vortex of Death, her little brother Dwayne beside her. Their parents’ motorcycle act was in full swing. Heavy metal music jarred the rafters as spotlights swept the sides and floor of the enormous barrel that was the Vortex. With each revolution, the audience cheered and clapped. Dwayne bobbed up and down to the beat.

For the first time in months, seventeen-year-old Darla and her ten-year-old brother watched their parents perform. Every time their daddy’s torqued-out bike roared past, Darla felt walloped by a wall of noise. She smiled and waved even though she hated how her parents made their living. She waved up at her mama, too, as she flew overhead. Of course, Mama wasn’t really flying.

Dressed in silver spangles and iridescent-green tights, Mama twisted and turned in the air, dangling by one thin steel cable hooked to the back of her rhinestone-studded harness. The whole contraption was attached to the motorcycle by cables and rods, so the faster Daddy rode, the higher Mama soared above the crowd. Darla may have hated what her parents did for a living, but she had to admit, they were darn good at it.

The so-called Vortex of Death was a huge wooden-planked bowl with a flat sand bottom, big enough to hold a dozen cars easy. In addition to supporting Mama and her acrobatics, the twenty-foot pole in the middle held up a green-and-white-striped canvas canopy so, rain or shine, paying customers could cram onto the platform to watch Darla’s parents perform their death-defying feats. The Vortex was big enough, and the platform wide enough, that a hundred people at a time could fit onto it. This evening there were no more than thirty paying customers watching the act. Hopefully, business would pick up. After all, it was only the first Thursday in November, the start of the winter season at Carnival World.

Darla clapped and shouted too as her daddy drove by again. No matter what he did for a living, she loved him. Tall and slim, he was dressed all in black just like Johnny Cash, except for the silver and green rhinestone trim on his helmet, shirt, and belt buckle that matched Mama’s outfit.

As her daddy rode near the rim, coming so close to the edge one woman reached out to try and touch him, the crowd gasped. Daddy made the motorcycle wobble and the audience gasped again, but not Darla. She didn’t even blink. She knew he did that kind of thing on purpose to give the paying customers a little added thrill.

Just as Mama dismounted to take a bow, Darla got a whiff of hot motorcycle exhaust. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and fanned the fumes away with her hand.

You must be so proud, a girl said. The voice was close by and snarky.

Darla recognized it from school. What are you three doing here?

The first girl, Gina Sprague, cocked her head. How does it feel to have parents who ride around in a big bucket for a living? She snorted. They don’t make much money, do they?

They got your money, Darla sneered back. The other two girls snickered.

Gina’s eyes narrowed. Now that you and your little brother are back in the carnival, Gina said, giving her long dark hair a flip, why don’t you stay here with the rest of the carney trash, where you belong?

One of the other girls backed up a step. Gina! she said.

Gina turned on her friend. What? Nobody wants them going to our school. You know that. She turned back to Darla. You should stay out here—with your kind of people, I mean.

Can’t do that, Darla drawled. I have to give one of the graduation speeches for the class of 1988. You won’t want to miss it. I’m going to name you three as people I’ll be glad to never see again.

You wouldn’t dare, Gina said.

You want to bet? Ten bucks each.

The school wouldn’t stand for it.

Double or nothing? Darla snorted and swiveled back around to watch her daddy ride the final lap with his hands in the air, guiding the bike with his knees. Dwayne was jumping up and down, clapping and squealing.

They did it. They’re great. They did it. They’re great, he chanted.

Retard, Gina muttered.

Darla stepped between the girls and Dwayne. What did you say?

Come on, Gina, Kristi said, tugging at her friend’s arm.

I dare you to say it again, Darla hissed.

Let’s go, the other girl said. The three girls headed down the steps, Gina in the lead. When Darla could no longer hear their nervous laughter, she unclenched her fists. She didn’t follow them. If she got into a fight it would only upset Dwayne. He was hanging over the railing waving down at Daddy. Hopefully he hadn’t heard what Gina called him.

Damn they’re good, the man standing next to Darla said. I thought Mr. Diamond was going over the edge for sure that last go-round.

I don’t know how either of them keep from getting killed, his friend said.

They sure do a wild act, the first man said.

I’ll tell them you enjoyed it, Darla said, smiling sweetly. The Flying Diamonds are our parents. They love pleasing their audience.

Well, you tell your folks they sure do that. Nice meeting you, young lady, the second man said. We really got our money’s worth. Must take a lot of practice and nerve to do some of that stuff.

Darla thanked the men as she took Dwayne’s hand and moved on. She could only nod and smile for so long. Had either of those men ever heard of centrifugal and centripetal forces? She sighed. Lots of people thought her parents risked their lives for five bucks a pop at the carnival. But Darla knew better. Not that she didn’t worry about them some, she did. But when she was little, her daddy took her on the round-up and showed her how those forces held her in place against the metal cage. You can’t hardly move your little finger can you? he said. And he was right. She couldn’t.

As long as you keep going around in a circle, and then level off and slow down gradually, you’re as safe as if you was home in bed. That’s what he’d said. Riding motorcycles is just like that because we know how fast to go to stay safe. So when he claimed their act wasn’t really dangerous, Darla had tried to believe him. Now that she was older, she realized what they did was risky, but probably not death-defying—unless something broke at the worst possible time. Once she learned about the physics of circular forces, she felt even better.

There you are. I been watching for you two. How you doing? Mr. Hubert Tharp, her daddy’s general handyman and driver, was walking toward them with a silly grin on his face. It’s good to have you back for a while, he said, hugging Darla sideways and patting Dwayne on the shoulder. I’ve missed you kids.

We missed you, too, Darla said, which was true. She didn’t hate everything about carnival life. She even loved a few of the people, and Mr. Hubert Tharp was one of them. Some of the older carney’s called him Hub, but not Darla. To her he was Mr. Hubert.

When they were little, she and Dwayne had traveled with her parents and Mr. Hubert every summer as Schmidt Brothers’ Carnival World traveled around the southeast. But when Darla started middle school, she and Dwayne went to live with their grandmother in the nearby town of Azure Lake, Florida. Once that happened, they only spent weekends at the carnival. When Darla turned sixteen, she got a job in town and they didn’t even spend weekends anymore. Other carney kids she’d known either never went to school or never stayed in the same one for more than a few weeks, like the children of migrant farm workers. It was a crazy, dead-end life, but it certainly wasn’t all bad.

Mr. Hubert crouched down by Dwayne. They played rock-paper-scissors for a pack of gum. Dwayne won.

You still bunk in the back of the big truck? Darla asked.

Sure do, he said. Got me a new mattress and a reclining chair. Real comfortable.

The big truck hauled the Vortex, which could be disassembled and loaded in a day or two. It was always parked near the family’s travel trailer.

Mr. Hubert had worked for Darla’s daddy since her daddy first joined the carnival, right after Mr. Hubert got out of prison for passing bad paper. Daddy said carneys are real forgiving, and besides, who didn’t have a little something in his past he might not want everybody to know about?

From the beginning, Mr. Hubert had been Darla’s extra father. He was a good man. After Dwayne was born, and Darla had most of the care of him, especially when her parents were working or when they stayed out late, it helped knowing Mr. Hubert was asleep in the back of the big truck just a few yards away—if he was sober.

When I grow up, Dwayne said. I’m going to ride a motorcycle.

What? Darla didn’t like that.

Dwayne was turning around in a circle to make himself dizzy. Don’t worry, Darla. I’ll only ride my motorcycle to school or the park and the Dairy Dip. Not inside the Vortex of Death. I promise. He stopped rotating when he began to stagger.

Mr. Hubert laughed and tugged Dwayne’s baseball cap down over his eyes. You won’t be needin’ no motorcycle for a long time.

Darla leaned over the railing around the platform and peered down into the Vortex. Hey Daddy, she called down. He smiled up and waved. Daddy and Mama were down there locking their bikes in the storage room, which meant they were nearly ready to go.

Darla, honey, Mama yelled up, go to Joe Clyde’s joint and pick up supper. Hot dogs and fries for everybody. And don’t forget the ketchup. The Cook Shack’s still setting up.

Damn, Darla thought. Now I’m going to have to buy supper and Mama won’t even offer to pay me back. Typical. Maybe if she and Dwayne walked slow enough, Mama and Daddy would catch up and Darla could get her father to pay for supper. She hooked her hair over her ears, shoved her sweatshirt sleeves up, and reached for Dwayne’s hand.

We gotta go, she told Mr. Hubert. We’ll see you later. She led her brother carefully down the steps.

You get supper, Dwayne said. It’s almost time for my favorite movie. It comes on at nine and you promised.

He was right. She had promised. Now why had she done that?

She glanced back. The top of the Vortex loomed dark and hulking against the starry sky, an ever-present reminder of the power carnival life exerted over her and her family. Daddy, Mr. Hubert, and Big Bill Lomax, the Carnival World foreman, built the giant wood and steel Vortex, plus all the rigging that went with the act. Freddie Schmidt, Carnival World’s owner, had paid for it. Daddy and Mr. Hubert designed it and called it a Motordrome. It was Schmidt’s idea to call it The Vortex of Death. That name was the main reason Darla had started worrying about her parents in the first damn place.

Darla and Dwayne made their way through the maze of make-shift trailers, old trucks, odd motor homes, and even a couple of tents, to reach the family travel trailer that would be their home until their grandmother agreed to take them back, probably not until after the first of the year, at least. Now that the carnival wasn’t traveling, most all the rigs were crowded together in the back part of the county fairgrounds. A chain-link fence separated Schmidt Brothers’ Carnival World from the outside world, and two huge hootchie-kootchie tents separated the parking area from the rest of the carnival.

Dwayne picked up a stick and dragged it along the metal fence.

Darla wished her parents would hurry. She was hungry.

When she spotted their RV parked near the back gate ten parking spaces at least from their nearest neighbor, she stopped. Her daddy always did that, parked as far away from everyone else as he could. Said he needed elbow room. The trailer and truck looked even worse than she remembered. She wished they could afford to have them repainted so they’d be shiny like when she was little. She had loved the RV then.

Darla? Dwayne said, gouging a hole in the sand with his stick. Why did that pretty girl call me a retard?

2

Darla’s Nightmare

Friday night everyone stayed up late. Dwayne and Darla had gotten in from school, changed clothes, and made their way through the crowd to shill for a couple of the hawkers. At Pizza Man Fuquay’s ring-toss joint, Darla managed to bring in several rubes, who all lost money. Good enough for them, she thought. Anybody dumb enough to throw their money away on carnival games was a complete fool.

After working as much as she thought she could get away with, she headed for the Cook Shack, Dwayne in tow. They ate their late supper while the bustle of the carnival throbbed around them.

With his mouth stuffed full of French fries, Dwayne asked what time it was.

Darla checked her watch. Nearly eleven. Why?

I was just thinking. Would you sing me to sleep tonight like you used to do when I was little?

She laughed. I sang you to sleep two weeks ago at Grandma Diamond’s house. Remember? Besides, I’m tired.

Please, Dwayne whined. Pretty please.

• • •

Darla sat on the futon’s arm strumming her daddy’s old guitar as she sang. Dwayne was already tucked in for the night. She sang softly, a song she’d written for him years ago.

Little boy green,

thin as a bean,

come play with your train,

go splash in the rain,

you laugh when you’re happy,

you never complain,

so sleep now and dream,

little boy green.

Dwayne’s favorite article of clothing then was a pair of green overalls. It was a struggle to get them off him long enough to wash them.

When she finished the song, he was on the edge of sleep. Again, he mumbled. Please.

She sighed and sang it again. Then she launched softly into Love Me Tender.

When the song ended, Mama poked her head in the trailer door. Bring your guitar and come outside.

Mama, I’m tired, Darla whispered. I’ve been at school and then taking care of Dwayne and I worked tonight.

Oh come on. You worked three or four hours. Big deal. Your daddy wants to hear you sing.

Grudgingly, Darla put her jacket on, picked up the old guitar, and went quietly outside, trying not to clank to loudly down the metal steps. When she looked around, she stopped short. Five other carneys had gathered listening to her sing; Whitey Kowalski and Curley Garron, two of the roustabouts, and three of the hootchie-kootchie dancers were there.

Mama, you know I don’t sing in front of anybody, Darla hissed, keeping her eyes averted from the gathered crowd.

You already did. We been out here listening for ten minutes.

See, Mama said, addressing the group, I told you all how good she is, but she says she’s got stage fright.

You really are good, Whitey said amid agreement from the others.

Darla Kaye’s gonna be rich and famous some day, Mama said. Just y’all wait and see.

Singing at the carnival ain’t likely to make her either rich or famous, Daddy said. He draped one arm around Darla’s shoulders. But you are good. I’ll say that much. Even though you’re mine, and I know you don’t like singing for anybody but Dwayne.

Mama plopped down on the top step blocking Darla’s way back inside. She’ll outgrow that stage-fright nonsense, she said and snapped her fingers. You’ll see.

Darla shrugged out from under her daddy’s arm. Same old argument, she thought. Sorry folks, I guess I’m all sung out. Some other time. She shivered, though the night was not cold.

Don’t be like that, Darla Kaye, Mama said as Darla stepped over her. Come back out here and give us another song, just one more. Hell, we’re all tired. We all been working hard. Listening to you sing is the only good thing we’ve had all day. Come on.

Inside the door, Darla hesitated, feeling guilty. Her daddy wanted to hear her sing and he almost never asked her for anything. But she never sang in front of anybody. Not unless she wanted to barf on somebody, preferably her mama. She bent down and snatched up her mama’s shorts, hot pink tank top and gold flip-flops that were piled on the floor and flung them onto the bed at the rear of the trailer. There’d be more room in here, she grumbled, if you’d pick up after yourself once in while, Mama.

You don’t tell me what to do, Mama snapped. I tell you, and I’m telling you to sing us another song.

Aw leave her alone, Charlene, Daddy said. If she don’t want to sing, she don’t have to.

If I left it up to you, she never would sing. You’d be satisfied if she stayed here for the rest of her life. But that ain’t gonna happen, Mama said. I aim to see that it don’t.

From inside the RV, Darla heard both the bad grammar and the same old struggle between her parents that put her slap in the middle. As far as they were concerned, she only had two choices in life. She could pursue a career in country music. That was her mama’s dream. Or she could remain a carney, marry a carney, have carney kids. That was what her daddy wanted, and that was Darla’s nightmare. Truthfully, she didn’t want either one. She had a bigger dream, which so far she had managed to keep to herself. But that wasn’t going to last much longer, and when she told her parents what she actually wanted, the you-know-what was going to hit the fan—big time.

She crawled into bed beside her little brother. From the doorway, Daddy whispered, Darla, your mama and me are going down to the freak tent to play a little poker and drink a couple beers. We’ll be back later. Mr. Hubert’s here, though.

As soon as everyone was gone, Darla fell asleep and slept fitfully. Toward daybreak, she dreamed of Elvis, and this time he spoke to her. They were in a playground swinging side by side. Elvis was singing all of Dwayne’s favorites: Blue Suede Shoes, Hound Dog, and All Shook Up. On the last stanza of the last song, he swung up and over the bar all the way around in a complete circle. Suddenly, he wasn’t swinging, but was standing next to her. Just remember, he said, don’t go trading one kind of carnival for another. Then you’ll be sorry.

3

Grouch Pouch

Darla sat up and rubbed her eyes. Dwayne was already up and gone. She peeked out the window. Mama was outside at the picnic table that stood between the travel trailer and their old truck. She was removing her stage makeup, which she should have done last night. Grandma Diamond said it was bad luck not to wash the paint off your face every night. Darla read somewhere that keeping all your makeup on overnight damaged the skin and would make you look old sooner rather than later. She’d told her mama that, too—more than once.

Darla threw on last-night’s clothes, folded the sheets and blanket, and returned the futon she and Dwayne slept on to its sofa position. During the day, the futon was the only place to sit in their cramped excuse for a living room. Even though the rest of her clothes and Dwayne’s were stored in two boxes out of the way under the futon, along with the sheets, comforter, and pillows, not to mention her daddy’s guitar case, there was still very little room in the RV. Fortunately, they were inside mostly to sleep, so it didn’t much matter.

She pressed her face against the screen on the trailer door. Where’s Dwayne?

Good-morning to you, too, Mama said. He’s at the bath house with your daddy. She cranked up the volume on her portable radio to sonic boom and it blasted out Prince’s latest hit, Sign o’ the Times. Darla didn’t mind as long as it kept her mama occupied.

Mama’s hot rollers sat on the table plugged into an extension cord that ran to a receptacle on the outside of the trailer. Satisfied Mama was going to be engaged outside for a while, Darla eased the futon away from the wall and crawled behind it. She peeked out the trailer window again. Mama had one roller in and was starting on another. Good. After pulling a loose piece of paneling away from the wall, Darla dug Dwayne’s grouch bag out, along with his precious cigar box and her own grouch bag. The loose panel was near the floor where it was covered in dust motes. Since Mama never ever cleaned the place, no one was likely to find her stash. With her hand, Darla swept dust and cobwebs away and dumped the contents of her bag on the floor.

It was all there, money, a magenta lipstick, an extra comb, and a few unspent carnival tickets. She relaxed, and crammed $452.75 from her jeans pocket into her bag. This money had been hidden at her grandmother’s house, but Darla preferred to keep her cash with her. That’s what a grouch bag was for. Mama might suspect she had that much, but she’d think it was still in town. No self-respecting carney ever used an actual bank. Darla knew money was her ticket out of Carnival World—if and when she decided to go—so she was tempted to open her own bank account, but she hadn’t done it yet. The day after her sixteenth birthday, she’d gotten a part-time job bagging groceries. Except for what she gave her grandmother for food, and what she spent on Dwayne, she’d saved the rest. She hated having to quit such a good job when she and Dwayne were forced to move back to live with their parents. Hopefully, the store would re-hire her in the spring.

Darla unwrapped