The Fool and the Donkey Track VI

TRACK VI - “Tickets or Wristbands” - Lewis, Lynsi - “The Album”

(TW - substance use, ableist slurs)

PJ passed the joint to Isadora. She pinched it and held it to her lips.

“Should we get tickets or wristbands?” she asked.

“That depends. How long we staying?” PJ scratched the rough, black hairs across his jaw. Isadora shrugged.

“How long do you wanna stay?”

“I could ask the same thing to you. Do you wanna stay long or…?”

Isadora didn’t answer. She took another hit, twisted in the passenger seat, and leaned forward to pass the joint to Lynsi.

“How about you, Lynsi?” PJ threw the question back. “How long do you wanna stay?”

“Coupla hours, maybe? I dunno.” Lynsi hit the joint and inhaled deeply. She pulled the joint away and coughed into her elbow. Smoke swirled around and further fogged up the closest window to her right.

“So, we get tickets. Not wristbands.” said PJ.

“What if I want to get wristbands?” Isadora mumbled.

“Do you wanna get wristbands?” PJ asked again and, again, Isadora shrugged. Lynsi tapped PJ’s shoulder and handed him the joint. PJ reached back and grabbed it.

“I dunno. They’re kind of expensive.” said Isadora.

“Then why bring it up?” PJ asked. Isadora lifted her hand and rocked it, facing away from him. PJ went on: “How about we start with tickets and, if we decide to stay longer, we get wristbands?”

PJ handed Isadora the joint. She curled her fingers around the crinkled paper and raised a sly eyebrow.

“Hey, Lynsi,” she said. “Do you know what a shotgun is?”

“A second amendment right.” Lynsi answered, still observing how the smoke stains absorbed any translucence left on the window.

“No—I mean, yes, but no,” Isadora giggled. “Lemme show you. C’mere.” Isadora put the joint between her lips and inhaled deeply. Isadora reached for Lynsi’s arm and pulled her in close.

“C-careful, I don’t wanna fall between the seats.” Lynsi steadied her free arm on the back of the passenger seat, watching the position of her paralyzed legs carefully.

Isadora tilted her head, put her lips upon Lynsi’s and parted them, exhaling smoke into Lynsi’s mouth.

Lynsi coughed. “Oh, that shotgun! Yeah, I know what that is.”

Isadora chuckled and pointed at Lynsi. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“No, I mean it. My friend Harry told me about it once. It was the way you said it. Nobody says ‘a’ shotgun. Just ‘shotgun’.”

Isadora leaned in and passed the joint.

“You know you got freckles on your nose? I wish I had freckles on my nose. They’re so friggin cute.”

“You keep calling me cute and I might have to marry you.” Lynsi inhaled the smoke. That familiar disassociation finally struck and she was an alien in her own skin all over again.

“Would I be the husband or wife?” Isadora’s dilated pupils glistened in the increasing twilight.

“Definitely husband. You have husband energy.” Lynsi passed the joint back to PJ.

“‘Hullo, honey, I’m hooome, where’s my fuckin’ dinner, bitch’?” Isadora puffed out her chest and spoke in a low baritone. “I always wanted to be a husband.”

“Joint’s out,” PJ squished the bud into the ashtray in the cup holder, his voice strained and a bit sharper than before. “So, tickets or wristbands?”

Isadora stared into him, but PJ returned that with furrowed eyebrows and a curled lip.

“Playing it by ear then. Got it. Let’s go.” PJ pushed the driver seat door opened and hopped out of the car.

“Hey, wait—why…” PJ slammed the door. Isadora opened the passenger door seat and leaned out. “What’s going on?! Why are you mad?!”

“I’m not mad!” PJ called back. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, you are—one second, Lynsi.” Isadora slipped out of the passenger seat and closed the door.

Lynsi sat in the silence as she watched Isadora walk over to PJ and cross her arms. PJ glowered down at her. Lynsi squinted. Either PJ was saying he wasn’t or was mad. Isadora wouldn’t let up though. PJ shook his head, but Isadora pointed at him with a deepening frown.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a fun event? What the hell had happened to going to the carnival and just enjoying each other’s company?

Were they gonna forget she couldn’t get out of the car without her wheelchair?! Was she going to be stuck in the car for the remainder of the night while the two outside bickered about whether or not they were or weren’t mad?!

What the fuck had even happened?! Lynsi looked behind her. Luckily, the trunk was right behind the backseat with no barrier. All she had to do was reach back, grab her wheelchair, and pull it over to herself.

Though it was a closed, somewhat narrow space, there was enough room in the backseat to open her wheelchair and get out. She wasn’t as stuck as she could’ve been.

Yeah. She got this. She wasn’t gonna be stuck back here while Isadora and PJ argued about whatever the fuck. Yeah, no. Fuck that noise.

She grabbed the head of the backseat and twisted herself halfway. She leaned up and over, reaching for her wheelchair. Grabbing it, Lynsi pulled it over the backseat and flopped it on the empty leather next to her.

Lynsi grabbed her legs and readjusted herself once again. She lifted her butt off the leather and scooted close to her wheelchair. Leaning down and forward, she reached for a lever by the bottom of the driver’s seat and pushed the seat forward. There!

She grabbed the backseat door handle and pushed the door open. She pulled the wheelchair out of its fold and slid it to the edge of the backseat, careful to not hit her arms against the wheels or sharper edges of the foot rests.

She readjusted the angle of the wheelchair and plopped it on the concrete in front of her. The seat had never looked so liberating than now. Lynsi faced away from it and pushed herself out of the backseat. With a prayer and one full heave, she plopped into the wheelchair. It slid back at her full weight, her legs banging into the footrests.

At least she was out of the Jeep.

She pushed the door shut and traced her nimble fingers across the wheels, exhaling. She had her mobility back, thank god.

Isadora appeared from around the corner.

“Lynsi?! Wh…?”

“I wanted to get out of the Jeep. So, we doing tickets or wristbands?” Lynsi pushed the wheels forward, smiling at the shrills and squeals of pedestrians on the Ring of Fire ahead of her.

“Uh…—tickets! We’re doing tickets. How the fuck—that was—…damn, Lynsi.”

Lynsi shrugged. It wouldn’t have been the first time she performed such a maneuver—nor would it be the last.

* * *

Lynsi and Isadora each took swigs from a Svedka bottle. Isadora handed it back to PJ. It wasn’t too difficult avoiding the crowd of people moving from attractions to rides, for the crowd parted like the Red Sea for the blonde in the wheelchair. Some stared intently as they moved, others avoided eye contact. Still, they moved saying not a word.

If Isadora and PJ noticed it, they decided to say nothing either.

“You ever been to a carnival before?” Isadora asked. Lynsi shook her head.

“No one really thought I could go.”

“Damn. Well, okay. You wanna try the Ferris Wheel at some point? I’m sure we can find a way to get you on it.” Isadora asked. Lynsi paled at the question.

“Oh god, Isadora, I dunno.”

“Why not…?” Isadora whined.

“I hate heights. What’s fun about being trapped hundreds of feet in the air at the mercy of a machine?”

“But the view would be amazing!”

Lynsi shuddered. “I’m suppose to put my faith in a machine…just to see a pretty view?!”

“No! You put your faith in the guy in charge of the machine.”

“That’s worse!”

Isadora put her hands on her hips, a slow smile curling at the edges of her lips. Lynsi stared back, her own lips pressed together in a flat line.

Well, if she was going to let Isadora pressure her into going on a Ferris wheel, Lynsi might as well be drunk doing so. She asked PJ for the Svedka bottle and took another few swigs. The stinging flavor left a burning trail that crawled up her nose. Mm. There was something so peculiarly delightful about that sensation. Like eating wasabi or drinking sparkling water.

Some passerby stopped and stared at her. With a chuckle, the guy said: “Damn. Little badass giving RILF energy. I like it.”

Lynsi turned. “What?”

But the guy kept walking before she could ask whatever that stood for. Fuck it. She was too crossfaded to give a shit. Still, what the fuck was she doing that made her a ‘badass’? Drinking? Smoking? That didn’t make anyone a badass.

Guess it’s different when you have a mobility aid, Lynsi thought wryly. She took another swig and finally handed back the bottle to PJ.

Isadora giggled suddenly. “Ohhh…RILF. Now, I get it. Damn. To be fair, you don’t look retarded.”

Lynsi bristled at that too, but kept her tone calm nonetheless.

“And what’s that suppose to look like?”

“Well, you know, like you have Down’s or something.”

“You know what’s ironic about that?” Lynsi’s voice faltered slightly, but she continued to keep it leveled and calm. “Not everyone with Down’s is retarded. And there are plenty of perfectly able bodied people who are retarded. Like that guy. Can’t spell, can’t read, can’t even bother to think critically. It’s another misconception most people have, actually. Like most things, it’s spectrum. Sides, I thought science already established that appearance doesn’t equate intelligence. Or are we returning to that pseudo science bullshit?”

“Meh,” PJ interjected. “It’s not worth getting mad about. Fuck that guy.”

PJ was right. There were worse things Lynsi had been called in the past anyway. Sierra would’ve hunted that dickhead down and beaten the shit out of him if she were still alive though. She would’ve given him a piece of her mind.

“Don’t fucking talk to my little sister like that, you piece of shit! Fuck you!” She would’ve said. Damn.

The booze was not helping. Lynsi’s fingers twitched and reached for the cigarettes in her pocket.

“Yeah, this is kind of bumming me out…” said Isadora.

And just like that, Lynsi’s voice closed in the center of her throat. Isadora was right. Nobody wanted to hear Lynsi’s long winded points or little facts she’d learned about disability. It was one of those subjects that left a person shuffling awkwardly and desperate to escape from.

Just get over it, her Mom’s voice echoed in her head. People don’t like talking about these kinds of subjects and you’re certainly not going to be making friends that way.

I’m not making friends either way, Mom!

“Is there a place I can smoke?” Lynsi asked, trying to quiet her mother’s voice ringing through her skull.

Isadora exhaled, her eyes lighting up at the change of subject and she scanned the area. She pointed forward.

“Over there. Let’s go.”