In the Belly of the Beast

My sister (5 and a half years younger than I) and I realized many years ago that we were very different. Not only in looks(she’s the thin one), personality (I’m the take no prisoners one) and talents, but in how we experienced life while growing up.

Since I have reached a dry spell in my column (after 5 or so years) I thought you might find some enjoyment in reading our collaboration which we may, someday, put together as a book. Enjoy!

 IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

 It’s a miracle I’m still here. I’m a cautious type, very cautious. And I’m saying that like it’s a good thing, because, frankly, it’s saved my bacon a time or two. 

I’m not sure if I was born cautious, or if I merely used caution as my default position because of my birth order. I was supposed to be first born, not any other order. First. 

But no. No. Pat was born first, and we were as alike as Ghandi (myself, of course) and Ghengis (Pat, naturally). The fact that we each take these namesakes as compliments shows how dissimilar we were from the get-go. Our similarities were limited to two, we both spoke English, and had the same parents, but that's pretty much all we shared. Pat, older by five and a half years, ruled the world as far as I could see, and I? Well, what would be the point of two Ghengii in the same empire anyway? My first order of the day would be what would I wear? Not Pat. And that's just the beginning of, "You're sisters? You're kidding." For example, there was the day of The Ride or, as I call it, In the Belly of the Beast.

 It couldn’t have been a Fair, because fairs have jams and preserves, and animals and pie-eating contests, and families, and booths with streamers and men with boat hats – or have I just been watching too many American television shows? 

 It was probably a carnival, and for a ten year old, it was wildly exciting. It would have been great had it not been for the fact that I had to be there with my mother and my younger sister. Ugh! Not that Ugh was her name, though for a number of years she could not have been blamed if she thought it was. It was just that “ugh” was the word that sprung most quickly to mind when the names Pat (mine) and Michelle (hers) were put into the same space. I could have gone alone. I was ten. I could do anything alone. What could go wrong?

 Later, by the high school years, I realized that my friends had the standard issue siblings. Peggy had a younger sister, two grades behind; Joan had a younger sister, two grades behind; Marilyn had a younger brother, two grades behind. Ditto Marlene. Ditto Georgina. Everybody except me. Michelle was not just the usual sibling nuisance. She was a laggard sibling nuisance, four grades behind me and a galaxy away.

 This meant, of course, that I had been well ensconced as the only child when my parents had the bad judgment and poor timing to produce a sibling. At first I thought she was cute, much like a puppy. I don’t remember how long that lasted. A week, maybe.

 It was not that I was a mean child, except perhaps, just a teeny, weenie bit where Michelle was concerned. But then, she deserved it. She had come along and spoiled a perfectly good set-up: me, only child, bright, center of attention, sole receiver of all gifts and presents from grandparents, aunts and uncles and a variety of flotsam and jetsam. There she was, a usurper to the throne, and I was supposed to be happy? 

 Life was not fair. I knew that because any time I protested that something was not fair, Dad replied, “So what did you expect? Life is not fair.” Now there was a pronouncement that you could scarcely argue with, especially if you were only 10. That a younger person would come along and ruin my life was not fair, but, in Catholic homes it was inevitable. I was being punished.

 So there, one sunny fall day, we were; Mother, Michelle and me. The reason Dad doesn’t spring into my memory picture is because he was not given to hysterical outbursts. He may have been there, pretending to ignore us. 

 At ten I loved carnival rides. As a matter of fact, I begged, pleaded, to be allowed to ride the Caterpillar. I now loathe rides but I cannot remember when the transformation from lover of rides to a despiser of rides occurred. Perhaps it was that fateful day. 

 I would have been darting frantically from ride to ride, spinning around even before I was aboard, nearly out of control with the sheer excitement of it all. A carnival! I’m sure there was a freak show, but there was no chance we’d even be allowed to use those words, let along go in to see it. Mother would have liked to, I’m sure, but what kind of lesson would she be giving to her children if we had gone in to gawk at the unfortunates? I had begged my way onto the Ferris wheel, and pleased myself onto a smallish roller coaster. But, how to make it on to the ride de resistance, the Caterpillar? 

 It was a sure bet that my mother wasn’t going to take me on it. Then, a stroke of genius. I convinced Mom that it was really an exceptionally safe ride. How safe? Safe enough for even Michelle to go on. My precious little sister. How dangerous could it be if I were willing to risk my own dear sibling? I’ve always figured that what people don’t know can’t hurt them. Of course that doesn’t mean you burden them by filling in missing details.

 “Could I go, could I go, could I go, please, please, please?” I would even take Michelle. It was safe. It was fine. Michelle would even like it. Seeing the gentle monster pull slowly into the loading zone, Mother relented. 

 Older sisters are a worrisome thing. I mean, it’s not that you worry so much about them, there are just so many opportunities to worry because of them.

This is one of my earliest memories, and important lesson in how life works. I was four and a half. My thought processes had just progressed beyond the What’s that? Of everything to the Why of things. Why me? mostly.

It was sunny, hot and dusty with that dust that’s as fine as the best white flour. There we were, my Mom who was supposed to protect me, my ten year old sister Pat who was beginning to head my list of suspicious people, and me standing in front of an enormous beast. The beast appeared to be of the mechanical persuasion but none the less hungry for that.  It roared, belched, hissed, groaned. It was clearly in seedy disrepair though at the time I would have described it as being “dirty”. I didn’t like the look of the ticket taker who saw clearly enough from his one good eye to snatch each kid’s ticket stub. Not at all clean. No manners. Just a large smudge, a large cranky smudge. 

Now I can see that I was probably not Pat’s first choice to take on the ride. Being anywhere with me was only one step above having the measles on your birthday. Actually I would gladly have relinquished my position as ballast for the ride because rides scared me. Big, noisy, bumpy, scary, and besides how much can you see with your eyes screwed shut anyway?

It was Pat’s own fault really because she was using me as the bargaining chip in her lobby to get on the thing, past my mother’s reservations. This joint custody of me was Mom’s effort to be fair. She misinterpreted my dry mouth and wide stare of terror as wild delight and anticipation. That’s the nearest I can figure as to why she would allow me out of her sight and into the maw of that beast. Now do I mean the ride, the ticket taker, or Pat?

Anyway, this sort of thing happened all the time to children in fairy tales. Fathers sold their daughters to the king just to pocket a fistful of gold. They, in the stories, lied about their child’s domestic talents, forcing the resourceful young maiden to do some very creative problem solving involving her giving away her child in turn. I guess I had been expecting life to get real, just like in the stories. Well, it appeared the time had come. It was going to happen. The agreement was then, that Pat could take the ride proving she also took the kid. Being the heroine of my own story of course, I assumed there was going to be some magic between me and danger. Right?

I had already learned by the age of four that protest was useless. I didn’t know anything. Probably never would. This fact was pointed out to me with some regularity.

I did have common sense. Pat called it stubbornness. I trailed behind Pat with some reluctance. I did have common sense, but I didn’t have the vocabulary to say this is highly unadvisable, imprudent, foolhardy, and I just plain don’t want to go. I trudged up the ramp like Anne Boleyn up the steps to the meet the French swordsman and took my seat next to Pat on one of the two-seater benches of The Caterpillar.

We climbed on board a contraption that these many years later resembled nothing so much as a bunch of bus seats in groups of six, hooked together like subway cars. No seat belts. (Ralph Nader had not been invented yet.) And the poor child that fell out of a ride was simply judged as not having the Darwinian fitness to survive in this bold new age. 

So, on we climbed, me leading the way and Michelle right behind. I’m sure she wanted to go. I don’t think I would have used her as some unsuspecting pawn simply to get a thrill ride. On the other hand, maybe I did.

 Now the one thing that made the Caterpillar great was that about half-way through the ride a canvas cover made its way from one side to the other, completely hiding the spectators from view of the passengers and, of course, the passengers from the spectators. Who knew what happened when the cover came over? I didn’t, but hoped to find out. 

 Down we sat, Michelle and me, both holding on to the bar in front of us. Mother waved to us. The train started to move. I glanced around. Oh! Friends in the next car down! Out I hopped.

 “Stay there!” I yelled at Michelle as I went to join my friends for the ride. Now it really would be fun. 

 The train picked up speed. I could see Michelle up ahead of me, holding on to the bar. I was rolling and pitching with my friends. The train was moving faster. Now, for the moment of truth. The top began to move as the giant green canopy swung up and over. Oh! This was marvelous! Michelle was still in her seat. No worries!

 Had she, indeed, fallen out I’m sure I would have gone back, or tried to pick her up, or yell to someone, or something. As I said, I was not a mean child. But she was there, and then it was darkness. We were completely enveloped by the canopy. The speed was wonderful!

 Too soon it began to slow and the cover, with creaks and groans, lifted as life and daylight once again lighted the interior. Michelle was still in her seat – looking a little rigid and still, perhaps, but definitely in her seat.

 I got off, skipping over to the exit. 

 The Caterpillar was named such because of its green canvas cocoon awning that folded over the riders. It was someone’s misinformed notion that if you can see less, you’ll enjoy it more. That may be true of its general state of shabbiness, but not true to its function. The logical extension would be that, once inside the caterpillar one would be either some vital organ, or its dinner. Presumably the caterpillar would be reluctant to give up either without a fight. But, in spite of my misgivings, I was there for the duration. So, let the fun begin. And let’s get this over with.

I could smell the oily heat and the dust shake loose from the folds of the dark green canvas that had accumulated from the years and the miles in this caterpillar’s history. It started out O.K., slowly in fact. A little faster, and I’m was still O.K., I had the bar on the top of the seat ahead to hang on to. It was going pretty fast then, Wait a minute! What was she doing! A fool would know you’re not supposed to stand up! 

Oh, I got it then. She had friends back there. She was leaving me. I was alone? Holy Smoke! Think. Think. I wasn’t actually dead, yet. I wasn’t even bleeding, yet. They wouldn’t really put a little kid on a ride if she could get killed would they? Had there been blood and bodies on the ground before I got on this thing? 

The ride was, from then on, a metaphorical and visual blur. My only recollection is relief, right down to my toes relief when it was over. 

Mother had been proudly standing by, enjoying the Norman Rockwell moment of her two precious darlings going hand-in-hand to enjoy one of childhood’s delights. She enjoyed this oblivion only momentarily, until she too realizes, as the canopy was descending, that Pat was leaving her seat, leaving me. 

Pat was, in fact, keeping her side of the bargain, fulfilling the letter of the law, as such. Perhaps there could be some dispute about the spirit of the contract however. There hadn’t been time to read the fine print before the ride, but it didn’t actually state anywhere that she had to stay with me, just take me on the ride. This type of contract dispute can be tied up in litigation for years. It was one of those, how do you say, matters of interpretation. 

Mother was waiting for me. Now, here comes the hysteria part. As soon as she saw the cover begin to rise she had run over to the operator to beg him to stop the train. She has a little girl on board who would be terrified. She didn’t know it was going to be like that! Please, please stop.

 No stop. “It isn’t going to last long, lady, and anyway it’s perfectly safe.” My words exactly! Besides, he told her, “We haven’t lost anybody off it this year.” He even had the gall to sound affronted.

 I wasn’t to know this was going on while I was having my fun, but as soon as I got off the platform I knew something was wrong. I saw Mother, hopping and pointing and screaming and shaking, almost like a circus ride herself, powered by some invisible but powerful psychic motor.  

 We had to go back and pry Michelle out of her seat. Well, that ruined the rest of the day for Michelle, and of course by extension, for me too. Why hadn’t I said a green cover came over and swallowed everyone up? Why had I said it was safe? Why hadn’t I let her know that this was the ride from Hell? Why, indeed. 

 I think Mom was even more relieved than I was when the ride was over. At least that’s what I concluded from her expression which, by now, very much resembled what mine must have been before the ride began. Yes, she was much relieved as she was to tell and re-tell one and all later. It actually became Mother’s misadventure rather than mine. SHE had never been so frightened before in all her life, she was heard to say to any who would listen. But then she didn’t have that bar to hang on to. Like in the fairy tales, it’s always a magic save.

  Why, indeed. I thought the answers to Mother’s questions were pretty self-evident, but swore my innocence. I didn’t know that a great big cover came down, honest. And it wasn’t very fast, honest. And besides, she didn’t get thrown out of the car or anything had she? And the fact that she would never ride another carnival ride for as long as she remained under my parent’s roof just saved them considerable amounts of money I figured.

  And did I get thanked for that? No. But there was one bright side. I got my ride. And for at least two weeks after that Michelle didn’t whine to come along and do things with me and my friends.