Many years before Rita was born, I was travelling with a carnival. I was very young and had been on my own for a long time. Life on the road was a blur. Faces and cities and become no more than a kaleidoscope of colour.

When I first arrived here I was a little more mobile and my speech could be understood. I regret to say that I did not accept my fate with any sort of grace. I was cantankerous to say the least. I still have a bad reputation as a result of my foul mood at the time. As a result bullying and cajoling were the only ways of getting any co-operation out of me. This made me more bull headed and resentful. I knew what I was like but could not bring about a change in my attitude. I am ashamed to say that eventually volunteers would not come near me. I had only the over worked staff to attend me. My tantrums became more frequent as my body became weaker. I had no want or reason to live. 

It was a standard practice that new volunteers would be given the chore of attending to my needs. Needless to say that after a day or two they would threaten to quit. This changed the day Rita was assigned to attend me.  As usual everyone was betting on how long it would take me to break the new girl. They were amazed at the fact that she was able to handle the chore with little problem. The fact that I became less cranky astounded them. I noticed whenever people talked about her there was a tone of respect usually reserved for someone much older. Always there was the wonder of how she was able to control me.  Even though I had never met her, I recognised Rita immediately that first day. The years have passed but the memory is still strong. 

Many years before Rita was born I was travelling with a carnival. I was very young and had been on my own for a long time. Life on the road was a blur. Faces and cities had become no more than a kaleidoscope of colour. For most of us this was a blessing because we all had something to forget or hide from. Towards the end of fair season the weather becomes cold and wet. The day I met Van-Marie was no exception.         

It was a miserable day with a mix of rain and snow. Most of the joints had left the canvas tied down, as there was no hope of any action. I was sitting under the half-raised canvas of the ball and bucket joint feeling lousy. I was wondering where I could hole up for the winter. The winter before I had spent much of my nights huddled under bridges. My days were spent trying to get food or money from strangers. I was not looking forward to another winter like that. I had not saved any money over the season. This was par for the course. During the summer it is hard to worry about winter. So I sat and felt sorry for myself. 

My reverie was broken when I felt the presence of some one else. I had been so self absorbed that I did not hear anyone approaching. So I was quite surprised to see a figure sitting at the other end of the counter. I made some noise of greeting but there was no response forthcoming. I slid down the counter until I was close enough to make no mistake about being heard. Still the huddled bundle gave no indication of acknowledgement. As I looked more closely I could see that this was a rather small person bundled in a soaking wet coat that was much too big. A sense of utter despair came over me. I could feel that this person was far more dispirited than I would ever be. After trying again unsuccessfully to get a response, I decided that I would just wait until this person was ready to talk. It was not unusual in carny life to meet people with problems that sometimes overwhelm them. Sometimes it is best just to sit without forcing conversation. I could not however figure out who it was. With the coat collar pulled up it was hard to guess gender. So we sat with our problems each different but each the same. 

I do not know how long it was before I sensed that my companion was weeping. I slid closer and put my hand on the frail shoulder. Slowly from amongst the wrappings of coat a young girl revealed her face. For a second or two my thoughts were carnal like a predator that had cornered a weak animal. My feelings quickly became paternal as I saw the anguish in her face. 

Her story was not unusual. She had left an abusive home and joined the carnival. It was not long before some predator with short eyes took control of her. Short eyes meant that they liked sex with young people. She was easy prey and it was not long before her situation was more abusive than it was at her home. Now she was pregnant and her tormentor wanted her to go to Frenchy the cook. It was said that Frenchy sometimes took care of a pregnacy with coat hangers. 

Her name was Van Marie. As she told her story I noticed bruises on her neck. They were angry welts that looked as though someone had choked her. She of course denied it and made a lame excuse. The excuse came automatically as if from years of repetition. I knew it would a waste of time trying to get her to admit to the reality of her situation. I knew her shame. I understood how worthless she thought she was. I knew what it was like to blame your self for the horrendous act of others.  I put my arm around her and held her close to me. She put her head on my chest and looked up at me, not with trust, but with resignation. 

I must admit that I again felt carnal urgings and was tempted to take advantage of her. I thank God that I did not succumb. It would have been a guilt that I could not handle. I still get sick when I think of how close I came to making the wrong choice. Instead I took her to Minny HaHa. 

Millicent Hawthorne was Minny’s given name. Her native origin was not the only reason for her nickname; the fact that she laughed almost constantly had more to do with it. Minny was a large woman and her laugh could be heard for blocks. The fact that she owned a house trailer gave her a lot of prestige, as most of us would have to sneak on to the carnival train to travel from town to town. Minny had a big heart and would listen no matter what the circumstance. 

I carried Maria to Minny’s trailer and pounded on the door. When she opened the door Minny was primed to laugh and I half wondered if maybe she was to soft to help with the situation. I soon learned why Minny was so well respected and it was not because of her trailer. Without a word she took Maria from me and carried her to the bed. She cooed and tucked until Maria stopped crying. I was awe stricken at how gentle this large woman was. 

That changed in an instant as I found myself propelled through the door. I was shoved up against the trailer and held there. Without a word she leaned her massive weight against me and started hitting me. My macho attitude was shattered. I have to admit that I was scared. I finally convinced her that I did nothing to Maria. I told her it was Phil at the cigarette shoot that had caused the injuries. If I felt fear before it was nothing compared to what I felt when I told her. Her anger became something cold and hard. She told me to get Rocky the electrician and Black John from the bumper cars. She also told me to forget that I was involved.  I was more than happy to do anything that distanced me from her. 

There were many stories and much speculation as to what happened. The only thing I know for fact is that I never seen Phil again. I was extremely happy to learn that Cigarette Phil got what was coming to him. Phil was a constant threat to any young person. He knew that they were vulnerable and lonely when they joined the show. I had not escaped his attention when I first went on the road. To this day the memory is painful. 

That winter was a long and hard one for me. I started early the next spring, painting and repairing the bingo tent. I learned that Van Maria had a little girl and was living with a hard drinking older man. I did not see her again for about ten years. 

I was hustling slice and dice machines in a mall kiosk and the sales were good. Usually I would stay one day at a spot and quickly move on before the buyers realised how poorly the machines worked. But this spot was hot, so I decided to come back a second day. I wish I had not changed my routine. I should have moved on. Everything was humming along perfectly, the machine actually seemed to work and the crowd was receptive. As usual I had the children off to one side with the promise of some free slum. Slum meant cheap plastic toys etc. that cost next to nothing. One little girl did not respond to the offer. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings. When I had another look at her I was shocked. She was the splitting image of Maria. Instantly I could feel the cold and wet of that day ten years earlier. Memories flooded back and I could not fight them off. I cut my spiel short and gave the kids the junk. I gave the little girl a cheap watch with the pretence of her being the best behaved. When she reached up to take the gift I noticed bruises on the inside of her arms. She took the gift and ran to an old man and woman to show them. As they looked to me for acknowledgement of the gratuity I had my second shock. The gaunt slovenly woman was Maria. It was like she had aged forty years. It was obvious that both Maria and the man with her were heavy drinkers. What bothered me more was the way the little girl clung to the man. The way he looked at her was not like a father or grandfather. I knew from experience that the man had short eyes. Only a victim could understand what I felt at that moment. Bile burned its way to my throat. I was sweaty and weak. I was angry, yet impotent. May the lord forgive me for doing nothing, I just stood there and watched them leave. As they turned to go Van Maria mouthed her thanks. That was the last time we met. 

I heard years later that Maria died from a combination of alcohol and abuse. Her daughter, that precious little girl, did not have a chance. Her life was a carbon copy of the mother. Her beatings and verbal abuses took away her self esteem and health. I was glad to hear that when the daughter had a child, another girl, someone did more than stand and watch. The baby was removed to a foster home. 

I knew Rita was that baby. While she was seeing to my needs she would chatter on about herself. Apparently she had no idea that she was adopted. One day she showed me a gift that a great aunt had given her when she was born. She said that somehow it made her feel warm and safe. She showed me the watch I had given her mother so long ago. I felt that I least once in my life I had made the right choice. My life had been spent achieving nothing of significance until that very moment. My joy was overcome by depression when I noticed the bruises on her arms. 

Renegade Carr