The Big Show (or: The Ritual of S--)

CW: Sexual references

"Hello," said the man without a face. "Funny us meeting this way, I must admit."

In all of Margaret's life-- she was 20 now, though all the bars across the north side of Jersey were convinced that she was at least 21, by some clever maneuvering on her part that won't be mentioned specifically-- she had never seen a man with no face before. It was quite a sight. He seemed nice enough, though.

"Hello again," she said. "Here you go." She handed him her ticket, and he proceeded to stamp it with a stapler-thing that made it all official. He was not smiling, because he did not have a face, but there was the feeling that he was rather cheery anyway. He handed her the piece of paper, which now had two small holes punched into the top of it, and little black inking that said 'Approved!'

"Well, goodbye then." Margaret waved at the man, and he waved back.

"Enjoy the show, my dear!"

She went into the theater, through the huge doors, and walked down a long carpeted aisle. It was dark in the theater, except for the curtains all around the walls, which were crimson in the lights which sprung up beneath them on the floor.

It was crowded, and many of the seats were taken. People all seemed to know each other, or at least to know somebody, and they talked, whether it was between the aisle or in the audience.

Margaret finally found a seat at the very end of a middle row. She sat and put down her purse. There was one seat to the left of her, which was empty. Two men were talking about something rather hilariously in the aisle near her.

"I never thought we'd make it! I mean most of us don't even watch the television, right? Too much else to do."

"Oh yes. But this is different though. This is the 'really big shoe!' It's like Beatlemania but for us. 'Bodiless-mania'"

"You're going to have to write a book about this, you know."

"Ha! Once I can find an idea for the first maybe I'll consider it as a last wish. Come on, let's sit over here."

Margaret looked around the room, and could not see any of the features of the people around her. They were encased in shadows, and nobody was clear enough. They would have had to step into some light to be seen.

She watched as the two men who had been talking sat down somewhere-- it probably was them, anyway, it looked like their shape and they were laughing still-- and she wondered what that one man was going to write about in his first book, if he ever wrote it. Then she pulled out a cigarette.

While she fumbled around for her lighter, she felt someone sitting down in the empty chair. "Hello," she said towards her left side, without looking.

"Hi," said a man's voice. By the sound of it, he was young. His voice still cracked a little when he spoke. "Exciting, isn't it?"

"Mmmhmm." Margaret gave up looking for her light, and turned towards the man, who she could see pretty clearly.

"Hi." Margaret's eyes went up and down his face. She had a fleeting thought, something like, "I like this boy..." and then she asked for a light.

"Sorry, I don't have one... Did you check your pocket?"

"Yes. That's what I've just been doing."

"Damn. Want to ask somebody else?"

"No," Margaret looked around the room again. It was getting darker, and more people were in their seats. There were only a few stragglers still standing up between the aisles.

"I don't know that I can trust anybody here"

The boy was puzzled, by the looks of it, though it was really very dark now and harder to see.

"Why not?" the boy asked her.

Margaret picked at the end of her ciagarette. The show was starting soon.

"How old are you?" she asked him.

"21." he said. "Drinking age."

"Little ol wine drinker you."

"I don't drink though."

"Hmm." Margaret wondered what this kid looked like in open light. He was older than her, but she still felt like she knew more about the world. It was just a feeling. Woman's intuition, she'd call it.

"So what do you do for fun?"

"Well I go to shows sometimes, like these."

"Really?"

The boy said "Well not really. But I go to this show every year."

"Right. Same."

"Funny us not seeing each other before."

"Yes, I guess so. I'm not seeing you now, though."

"That's true."

Horns began to play in the pit below the stage. The show was going to start any minute.

"I always love this part."

"What, the horns?"

"Yeah," said the boy. "Yeah I like the horns."

"I always thought I'd be a horn player when I'd grow up. That or sucking dick. They require the same skills, I've been told."

The boy did not laugh.

"Guess that's in bad taste though."

"No, it's fine." said the boy.

An annoucement came on over a speaker somewhere. A man who sounded like he could have starred in a movie called 'My Wife's Parents!' in the 1960s as the schemey uncle said "Hello everybody! Welcome to the Show that made Lady Liberty wanna poke her eyes out! It's big, it's tremendous, and it's only tonight! We're happy to put on this joyous show and we're even happier that you're all here to enjoy it with us. So sit back, relax, and let us take you away to a world of wonder living within the world we all live in!!!"

"Ha. I like that guy. You know his name?"

"I think it's Harvey Springwall." The boy answered.

"He's great. Great name too."

Everyone in the theater was seated, and the show was about to begin. The drummers were starting to cue up down in the pit, and any second they would begin the opening drumroll.

"You know what I REALLY like?" said the boy.

"No." said Margaret.

"Well, I'll tell you. I really like it when they say that thing about 'We were all chosen for this. We are brothers and sisters, and so we travel together, and we die. And then... we arise with the wind!'

"Ha. Yeah, like with the catterpillars and shit? They all die and then there's some spider that weaves a coccoon around them. And then they become like these crippled butterflies with only one wing."

"Yes. But they put their wings together, and they make a collage of all their different colors and patterns. It's great."

"I always liked the smoke machine. Kind of a corny bit though."

"I guess so."

Then the show began. The curtain was opening when it occured to Margaret to look into her purse. There, she found her lighter.

"Here we go." Margaret lit her cigarette, and had a good look at the boy from the orange light it shone. He looked back at her breifly, and he smiled. He was a looker. A cute kind of looker, with big eyes and pale skin.

She would bed him, if she could.

When the show was over, the people walked out of the big doors in front. They left the theater with horns playing them out. There were still many people hanging around inside, talking to the musicians, the director, waiting for the actors to come out and for their spouses or whatever. Margaret and the boy both tallied a bit, sort of lookibg around and pretended they had something to do before they left. They looked at each other in the clear light of the theater, and they both liked what they saw.

"You've got wonderfully green eyes, you know." said the boy.

"Oh, thank you. And you've got... well you certainly have the most encyclopedic knowledge of how to fit talking about Nicolas Cage's acting chops into intermission of anybody I've ever met."

"He's the best! Ha..." Then the boy cleared his throat, and said, "Would you mind terribly if I walked you to your car."

Margaret picked up her purse and hung it back around her arm. "Not at all."

The two walked together outside, where Margaret waved again at the man with no face, who was closing up shop at the ticket booth. He waved back.

Margaret's car was further down the street, at a small lot near a small shopping outlet. Margaret asked the boy, on the way to the car, "So, what IS your thing? I can't say I've noticed it."

"My--oh." They were walking in the chill winter night. It looked like it might even snow. It was a very nice night.

"Well it would have been pretty embarrasing if you HAD noticed. For you too, I mean."

"Ha. How do you mean?"

"I mean you'd have to have been staring down at my crotch... it's my penis. Or lackthereof." The boy laughed at this feebily, as if it was a funny joke which hurt him deeply. Margaret laughed, too.

"Oh, my sir! We must remove that cock INSTANTLY! It keeps SQUABBLING at us! Don't worry, sir. We'll put it in a pot and you can have chicken parmesan made with it later."

The boy laughed for real this time. They were almost at the car.

"You're always gonna be this way, huh?"

"WHAT way, sir?"

"I don't know- DIRTY jokes. I mean you're gonna play horns or suck cock..."

"Oh fuck you must think I'm insensitive or something."

"No, I LIKE you."

The two stopped. They had arrived at the car.

"Listen, Margaret. I don't have a-- well I can't do THAT stuff with you. But I can do the OTHER stuff. We could even get around it, or something. Like do OTHER things."

"Buy a dildo and strap it to your waist, you mean?"

"Well uh I guess. But like we could just do LOVE stuff, too. I don't know I might sound like a crazy person right now..."

"You are." said Margaret. "So were all those people there tonight, though. All the crazies, lined up in long rows, watching the crazies perform on stage. I mean, we're the craziest people ever. We make the Statue of Liberty want to take her eyes out with a poker. We're offensive and rude. And we're all missing something..."

"You really took that play a lot more serious than I thought you would, Margaret."

"It's just something I've thought about before. We're the Missing People. The people who fell through the cracks and lost something. You lost your sex. We all lost something. There was this guy at the toll booth, I'd seen him from behind earlier at a grocery store and he gave me an extra quarter 'cause I was short. I never saw his face but I said thank you. Then I saw him later at the booth, and I realized he had no face."

"We're all messed up, yeah." said the boy, agreeably.

"But you know what the problem is with me?"

The boy looked at her, wonderingly. She said nothing. He said nothing. He looked and looked and looked. Then she got into her car, started up the engine, drew something on a sheet of paper out of a notebook, and slid it out the open window on to the ground.

She said "I'll see you next year. Maybe I'll be ready by then. 'Till then, I'll be putting in a good first word for you at the bars!"

Margaret drove away, and the paper behind her fluttered up in exhaust wind. The boy watched her car go away. Once it was out of sight, he knelt down and picked up the sheet of paper. It had been blackened a bit at the edges from the exhaust, and was a little wet from being on the ground, but it was easy to see what had been drawn on it: A heart, with an X drawn through it.

The boy sighed, folded the paper and put it in his pocket, and then he walked down the road, wondering if he ought to give that gender swap thing a go after all.