Corkscrew

CW: Physical violence, gore or abuse, prostitution

I thought I’d find him near the Corkscrew. A pair of overalls and a t-shirt that showed some of my waist. A five o’clock shadow that was going on six. A thin gold chain around my neck. The guy who dropped me off shaved ten bucks off my fee to supply the ride. He was a regular, but he always broke my rule about cigarettes before a session. I let him off the hook, because he told me his wife was dying. I didn’t ask what she was dying of, but I hope it wasn’t lung cancer. He asked me as I was getting out of his car who I was looking for, and I told him “a guy from school.” I would never give him a name even though it’s a beautiful name. I’ll give you his first name since it’s just you and me. Luis. Isn’t that beautiful? He’s eighteen, because he’s been held back once, and I’m almost nineteen, because I had to do sixth grade twice, but I’m not stupid. Like, I probably make more than your dad makes. Your dad might even be one of my clients. That’s if you have a father. A lot of people don’t. I had one until I was eight, and then he got shot coming out of a sandwich shop. He always used to take me here. Like, every sunny day. We’d ride the Corkscrew and he’d tell me that the feeling you get right before it drops you down is the greatest feeling ever, because it’s when you feel most alive. That’s how I know Luis is going to be somewhere around there.

Don’t worry. I won’t look at the camera. I’m good at not looking at stuff everybody else would look at. You could tell me, “Okay, Josh, a bear is going to run right by you, but don’t look,” and I won’t look. If you pay me. Just kidding. But, for real, I’m good at doing what I’m told. I should have gone into the army, but I don’t think I could shoot a gun. I’ve never even held one. I hear they’re heavy. Do you want to film me doing normal stuff before we go find Luis? Do you want to see me, like, ordering some fried dough or something? I know about film and tv and how it all works. I had this cousin who worked as a sound guy on this action movie once, and he told me everything about it, and, like, how long it took to set everything up, and then you film for five seconds, and you have to stop, and do it all over again, or you do another five seconds, and I was like, “Damn, how do they make those movies that are, like, three hours long?” and he told me they just keep going until they get what they need, and sometimes they even get more than what they need. You’re so lucky I like Luis, because he’s going to look so good on camera. Some of these guys out here have crushes on the ugliest guys, like, you wouldn’t believe it. And you’d have to put them on camera, because you’re doing a reality show, and that’s real. If I loved an ugly guy, that would be the reality, and you’d have to show it, because I’m not going to let you produce me, you know? I can’t let that happen. I have integrity.

I couldn’t pretend to like someone else anyway. The first second I saw Luis in group, I was like, That’s my guy. We’re in this program three days a week for people who, like, need to finish school, but can’t go to normal school. You’ll see when you’re filming me in the Fall. You’re still going to film me then, right? Because you can’t just film Summer Me. Summer Me is way crazier than me when I have school stuff going on. Like, right now, I need to make money, because it’s basically me paying rent, because my mom can’t do security again until her doctor says it’s okay. That’s why I have to look the other way when a guy smokes cigarettes or calls me names or cringe behavior, you know? I’m saving up so I can pay a few months in advance, and then, when I’m back in group, it’s serious business only. Books and that. Luis? He’s crazy smart. And he works here part-time, but he told me even when he’s not working here, he comes and rides all the rides for free. That’s, like, a perk of being an employee at Wilson Park. Imagine if I worked here? I’d be on the Corkscrew five times a day except I’m not cleaning up puke and I don’t really do well having a boss, you know what I mean? Somebody who thinks you’re less than them just because they got to a place before you did and wasted a bunch of their time so somebody could give them a tag that says manager. You know how much I make now? No, you don’t, but trust me, I make enough. I don’t need to be selling fried dough or cotton candy here, but I don’t look down on Luis for doing it. Truthfully, I’d like to make enough so that we can both just chill when the group starts up again. I want him to graduate from it and go to college, and maybe I can go to. Would you keep filming me if I went to college? I bet that would be a great ending, right? Really inspiring.

That’s ultimately my main goal, you know? I want to inspire people. I want them to see that you can do what you need to do until you get where you need to go. I don’t know where I’m trying to go yet other than towards the Corkscrew. When I see Luis there, I’m going to get him to go on it with me, and right before we do the drop, when they do that big long climb up and you can see the whole park and town and half the state, I’m going to turn to him and tell him that I think my dad sent him to me. That an angel sent me another kind of angel. Isn’t that so pretty? I wish you could get that all on film, but they’re not going to let you on the ride with all your equipment, you know? It’s okay though, because I’ll tell him the same thing again when we’re back on the ground and you can film it then.

It’ll give me a chance to practice.