The Projector

When the Medicine Show rolled into town, she had to see for herself.

Because there was nothing else to lose, she thought.

The rumors flew, of course. But what did they know? They always depended on what others told them. They ran in the same crowd, dressed to the same fads, went to the same dances, knew all the latest moves...

She liked books. Because they took her other places and times. Let her dress is exotic clothes. Explore feelings that no kin or friends could ever begin to understand.

We already had a movie house, and the school put on summer plays. And there were football games. So why did they come - it sure wasn't to make money hand-over-fist...

But the lines of people formed and stayed all day, waiting for their chance to get their showing. Waiting in the heat of summer.

And the people came out mostly the same, but different somehow. They all said they saw something different inside. Some were upset, some were delighted, lovers were more in love - or detested each other.

It looked like something she wasn't going to find in books.

So she got a ticket and waited her turn in line...

Excerpt:

It just showed up one day.

An old Medicine Show wagon on wooden spoke wheels. Positioned in a parking spot across from the closed-down movie house. It's tongue stuck out over into the next one, but no one ever parked there, so it wasn't a problem. Not since they tore down the old hotel that used to stand on that side. And besides, the missing horses would have to be hitched there to move it.

Rumors said it had to come in on a flatbed wagon. No one drove horses in town unless it was a parade. And then they loaded those horses into horse-trailers and they rode in the back on the trip back home. So none of the rumors answered how the wagon arrived.

The wagon itself was a funny scene. Not humorous, but odd. A small coinbox took only quarters and extended a single ticket, good for two. The paint was old and faded, swirls and fanci-fications made it look like the Wizard of Oz fortune-telling setup. When the guy was parked by the bridge and cooking some sausage over a fire - you know the scene.

Not that I was any Dorothy. Sure, I have black hair, but I like wearing it down, not in pigtails. And you would never catch me in a founcy gingham dress with a pinafore.

As the one girl in the family, I helped out with the cleaning. The main incentive was to keep it clean during he week so that when the weekend cleaning came, I'd have more time to myself. Reading over the roar of the lawnmower and the arguments over the baseball game in the backyard after that.

If things got too noisy, I'd hike up to the library in the downtown "district" and read there, as well as find some new books to check out.

One of those days, I was reading along as I walked. And there it was. A line of people waiting politely. This is rural Midwest polite, not Chicago or New York polite. Just waiting, patient.

A couple of questions and answering fingers pointed me to the ticket machine.

It was odd, worn like the rest of the wagon. More modern than the wagon, of course. But something out of the later part of that century. Looked like the old Woolworth stores. But this one was a quarter, not anything for "5 and 10 cents". Just a quarter. And the ticket that came out said "Admit Two". That's all. Another quarter got you another ticket.

I found myself at the end of the line now, waiting my turn...

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