by Wakefield Mahon
Same old story: she was a townie, he was a carny; everyone knew they were star-crossed from the word go.
That first night of the carnival, a beautiful girl met a muscular young man and their passion was more palpable than the heat of the moist August night.
It was Tony’s job to check the hinges on the rollercoaster. When the ride came to a halt and threw them loose, he cursed himself for letting a girl get into his head and make him so sloppy.
They hung suspended 300 feet in the air, miraculously he had caught her by the wrist. Seconds crawled by. A pool of sweat in his hands threatening to separate them. “Just hold on a minute longer,” he said. “Help is on the way.”
Mary’s eyes filled with fearful tears. “They’re too far away. I can’t do it anymore. I have to let go or we’ll both end up on the pavement.”
“You know what you’re right.” He let her fingers slip away. “There are a dozen girls in a dozen towns waiting for me. There’s no point in both of us dying.”
The rescue truck arrived just as Tony hit the ground.