Into so much angst some humor must fall, so hence this story - it should be a relatively short one - hope you enjoy it!:)


Brian discovers a whole new world away from Liberty Avenue, but some things still remain the same...


Brian's POV – 9:15 a.m.

I glanced up through my Gucci shades at the giant, white-hot orb already shining down relentlessly upon us and winced; even attired in form-fitting, khaki shorts and a sleeveless, dark-brown wifebeater and sandals, the dazzling sunlight above, along with the blacktop under my feet, was serving to roast my entire body almost from the inside out. I held my quickly-warming plastic bottle of water up against my forehead, seeking some minor relief from the stifling heat, but it was little use. The weatherman had said the high for today would hit somewhere in the low 90's, but as I stood there with my son's hand in mine on the hard pavement and looked out onto the teeming mass of fair goers, I knew it was going to likely be at least 5 or 10 degrees hotter than that before the day was over.

"Daddy?"

I looked down at my son squinting up at me and chided myself for letting him forget his sunglasses at home; I would have to make a pit stop somewhere – if they even had one here – to pick up him some type of protective eyewear, even it if wasn't the best. It would be better than him going blind at an early age; I could only imagine, though, just what sort of eyewear constituted "fashionable" at this sort of place...

Returning my attention to my son, I asked, "Yeah, Buddy?"

"What are we going to do first?" He was bouncing lightly back and forth on his feet and his eyes were lit up in that way that told me he was barely restraining his excitement over being at his first state fair. I huffed silently to myself – MY first time, tooHow did I let myself get talked into this? I wondered for the umpteenth time. As I looked into the ecstatic face of my son, though – his eyes dancing with eagerness and amazement over all the sights, sounds and smells invading our senses at once – I knew the answer why.

I was about to ask him what he wanted to do first when a large, heavyset man with balding hair and a shirt that said Fat People are Hard to Kidnap bumped into me and I almost fell.

"Fu… Jerk!" I hissed as the man quickly scurried away with his equally height-challenged breeder and their brood lumbering along beside them, soon getting swallowed up in the swarming crowd.

I glared after him for a few seconds before I took a deep breath to calm myself and looked down into my son's innocent face. I felt my blood pressure returning a little more to normal as my face relaxed and I gently smiled at him in reassurance. "What do YOU want to do first, Sonny Boy?" I asked him as I bent down to be more face to face with him. My heart melted as I observed the thoughtful look on his face as he tried to formulate his thoughts properly. Gus was becoming more proficient at expressing himself lately – having just celebrated his sixth birthday recently – but at times he still struggled to make the words come out right.

I saw a light bulb go off in his head as his face lit up with his answer and he beamed back at me excitedly, his eyes sparkling. "I want to go see the animals first, Daddy!"

I groaned inwardly as I forced myself not to react visibly; that was the last place I wanted to go – inside a smelly, stinky, stifling metal building loaded with barnyard animals that were enclosed in 6 X 6 pens surrounded by equally smelly, stinky straw and smelly, stinky people. I had never really had any up close and personal encounters with domestic beasts – other than an occasional juicy prime rib at the four-star steakhouse downtown – and the only horny animals I ever had had any interest in were the tricks I occasionally indulged in from time to time at Babylon, the baths, or Woody's. To be within spitting distance of one of those monstrosities, though? Just the thought made me glad that I hadn't ingested any of the typically disgusting crap you normally found at a state fair midway, because if I had I would be promptly puking it back up right now.

I let out a breath to collect my thoughts and bide me some time. "Are you sure, Gus? It's bound to be awfully hot in those buildings. We could do something outside instead where it would be cooler. Maybe play some games or ride some rides?" I asked hopefully.

To my consternation, however, and despite plastering my most award-winning advertising smile on him, he shook his head. "No, Daddy… I want to see the horses and pigs and goats. Please?" He batted his long eyelashes and bit his lip in that adoring look that always made me cave in and I knew immediately that I was a goner.

"Okay, Sonny Boy," I said, sighing. "Let's go check out the animals then." My son let out a triumphant whoop as I rose to my feet and began to search the sign posts nearby directing fairgoers to the different sections of the grounds. Noting a sign that said animal exhibits, I began to gently tug my son toward the indicated area. "This way," I told him as we began to slowly weave our way through the ever-increasing crowd.

"I can't see, Daddy!" Gus protested to me. Throwing the almost empty bottle of water into a nearby waste can, I scooped my son up onto my shoulders as he giggled at my abrupt decision and held onto my hands to steady himself.

"I can see everything now!" he exclaimed as I smirked. The sights of Pennsylvania's State Fair might be terribly exciting to a six-year-old boy, but nothing I could see bordered on even being remotely newsworthy. And hot guys? Forget it - the only 'hot' guys I saw were the ones with profusely-sweating armpits. Disgusting. I sighed again, wondering how I had gotten myself into this predicament. The Munchers would have been so much better at performing this function, but they had chosen this week to leave town and attend some Bar Mitzvah for one of Mel's great-nephews and I had already agreed in a weak moment to watch Gus. Only when I had already agreed to do it a few weeks ago, I had no idea it was the same week as the state fair that Gus had apparently been chattering nonstop about since he first saw it advertised on television, and neither woman for some odd reason neglected to warn me ahead of time. "Damn Mel," I muttered, immediately blaming HER for my predicament because frankly, she normally WAS responsible.

"What did you say, Daddy?" Gus asked me curiously from his lofty perch above me; in the din of the crowd, normal, conversational-level speaking was almost impossible. In this case, that was probably a good thing. "I said caramel. I think we need to take your mommies back some caramels from the fair." I rolled my eyes, thinking what Mel really needed was some caramels all right – laced with arsenic, only I don't think they sold that variety here.

"Yeah!" Gus told me agreeably. "We'll have lots of time to find things to eat before we leave." His voice left no doubt that that was precisely one of the goals he had in mind, another reason why I knew this was not going to be a wonderful memory for me. The place was swarming with carb-laden and fat-clogging foods of all kinds. If I was honest with myself, though, any occasion where I could spend extended time alone with my son was a good memory, even it if WAS in a place where Fried Kool-Aid was the gourmet delicacy being advertised on a nearby sandwich board.

I frowned as I did a double take; Fried KOOL-AID? I detested the normally liquid, much-too-syrupy-sweet version – just the notion of it being turned into some sort of fried version made my stomach churn. How could you FRY Kool-Aid? And more importantly, why would you WANT to? Shaking my head a little to force the idea out of my head, I concentrated instead on dodging all the fairgoers as we slowly made our way toward the animal exhibits.

As we approached several metal outbuildings with various pictures of different 4-H animals displayed above each open-door entrance, I hated to ask but I did anyway. This is for your son, this is for your son, I kept repeating silently as I primed myself for courage. Finally, I took a deep breath as we came to a small patch of semi-privacy near some wooden benches surrounding a large maple tree and, craning my neck upward toward my son, I uttered the words I never thought I would ever say, "Which animals do you want to see first, Sonny Boy?"

I watched as Gus lifted his hand and pointed toward a building to our right located about 25 feet away. "That one, Daddy!" he said eagerly. "I want to see the sheep first!"

Why not? I asked myself – one dirty, stinky, filthy animal was just like every other one. "Okay," I responded half-heartedly; I had meant for it to come out a little more positive-sounding, but it was hard to get excited about seeing Little Bo Peep's flock. Gently, I grabbed my son under his armpits and carefully lifted him down from his perch to stand beside me. Taking his hand firmly but not too tightly, I began to reluctantly walk toward the sheep building, somehow thinking that I knew now how they felt when they were being led to the slaughterhouse, or at the very least toward a sheep shearing convention.

As we neared the open entrance way, I could see several fair goers already shuffling slowly by pens that were set up on either side of the center aisle; just as I thought, the floor was made of cement, but was already strewn with dirt from hundreds of footsteps, straw, and what looked suspiciously like sheep shit here and there that no one had bothered to sweep up. Unable to avoid wrinkling my nose at both the sights and smells assaulting my delicate sense of decorum, Gus began to pull urgently on my hand, directly toward the first pen on the right where the biggest damn sheep I had ever seen was standing next to the middle aisle, his beady little black eyes practically boring into mine as we neared him. The off-white, curly-haired animal had to have been imbibing in way too much sheep chow by the looks of him, if there was such a thing; either that or he was in desperate need of a good haircut.

"Look at him, Daddy!" Gus cried out in delight as he pulled me toward the giant mutant beast. I eyed the, what do they call the male? Ram – yeah, I eyed the ram warily as Gus boldly continued to tug me ever closer, apparently unafraid of what was staring back at him.

"That's close enough, Gus," I sternly told my son as I narrowed my eyes and stared back at Ram-bo. "He might bite," I warned him.

"No, he wouldn't," Gus cooed to the large, shaggy creature, who continued to stare at me as if I were his next meal; after all, I had seen that hungry look in horny males before. "You're a nice sheep, aren't you?" He purred. He tried to break loose from my hold on him but I held him fast in my grasp. "Dad-dy," Gus whined as he pulled on my hand in an effort to break free.

"Nice and easy, Sonny Boy," I urged him as I leaned down and wrapped my hands around my son's waist. Slowly the two of us inched toward the ram, which continued to just stand there motionless, all but for an occasional blink of his tiny, probing little eyes. "Shh," I whispered in my son's ear. "Don't want to spook him." Ever so slowly, the two of us crept closer, Gus's eyes getting big as saucers as we neared the sheep while I stared the ram down as if to say, You touch one hair on my son's head and you're going to be my next pair of gloves... Finally, we were within inches of the smelly animal; I inadvertently inhaled a breath and got a good whiff of the animal's scent as I scrunched up my face as if I had just eaten a fried pickle and sneezed.

"Can I pet him, Daddy?" Gus asked me with fascination, his face all aglow with wonder.

I couldn't help snorting as I held onto my son. This furry 'thing' that remotely resembled Medusa on a bad-hair day was the last thing I would want to 'pet.' But my son seemed to relish in the idea. "Okay," I finally agreed. "But just hold your hand up over his head to pet him – away from his teeth. And go slow – if he makes any sudden moves, we need to back away."

Gus bit his lip in concentration as he slowly reached his hand over the low-lying temporary fencing and timidly raised it above the sheep's head. I jumped back, along with my son, as the animal suddenly twitched his head just as Gus was about to pet him and turned away from us, emitting a soft bleating sound as he walked away toward the back of the pen to my great relief and my son's great disappointment.

"Humphf," Gus pouted. "I didn't get to pet him, Daddy."

Thank God. "I know, Buddy." I said soothingly but inside I was celebrating. My next words, though, were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Don't worry – there're other ones for you to pet." What was I saying? I thought, mentally slapping myself upside the head. Why am I ENCOURAGING him?

But I knew my abhorrence for being up close and personal with all these rat-infested farm animals was secondary to my son's happiness, and for some odd reason as evidenced by the devastated look on his face, he actually wanted to get to know them. I am so fucked. I stood up, loosening my hold on my son now that the danger had passed, but keeping one hand on his shoulder so we didn't get separated. "Let's go find a different one to pet, okay?" I whispered. Where's a fucking petting zoo when you NEED one?

Gus nodded eagerly, but just as we turned to go, he frowned and said, pointing straight ahead, "Look, Daddy. What is he doing now?" I turned and my face turned red; it was one thing to go into the backroom of Babylon to imbibe in a little recreational activity when my son was safely ensconced in his bedroom at the Munchers' house. It was quite another thing to see the same sort of activity right in front of you and have to try and explain it to your impressionable son. "Uh…" I started glibly as my mind raced for a plausible explanation. "He's… He's helping the other sheep to procreate."

Gus wrinkled up his face as he almost clinically stared over at the ram that was vigorously, well, ramming into the female sheep underneath him; I had to give him credit for his technique at least – he was smooth and kept up quite a regular rhythm as he proceeded to hump the living daylights out of the ewe. "Pro-cate?" he repeated as he looked up at me in puzzlement.

I began to pull Gus away from the spectacle before he could ask any more questions as I heard an older woman gasp nearby when she noticed what was up in Pen No. 27. "Charles!" I heard the gray-haired lady cry in disgust as she grabbed the sleeve of an overall-clad man standing next to her, presumably her husband. "Look at what that sheep is doing!"

"Aw, Martha… It's nothing I don't see out in the barn every day." As they walked away, I could have sworn I heard 'Charles' add, "unlike in our bedroom," but I was too busy shuffling my curious child away before he asked me any more questions and stifling the laugh that threatened to escape my lips at the absurdity of it all to make absolutely sure.


TBC Soon...!