I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.

I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.

Wherever You Are

April Plans Bring May Anxiety

Jimmy Darling Walker was a traveler, a wanderer.

Had been anyway.

A long, long time ago.

In his lobster-clawed, free-wheelin', freak-show youth.

A week, a month.

Here, there.

Once, an entire winter in Wisconsin.

Hadn't that just been kick in the frozen balls.

Mostly.

Then with the complete combustion of 1952, the entire world as he had known it had ended.

And then, little by little, with help of his darlings, the slow and sometimes excruciatingly frustrating, painful formation of a new one.

Which was wonderful now.

Here.

In Brandon, Florida.

All over everywhere.

Dead stop.

Thirty-five square miles.

Period.

Save for a five hundred mile plus road trip to retrieve his wayward little girl.

And that was it.

And that was okay.

The world out there came to him now from his twenty-five inch television screen, his weekly newspaper, the occasional cinema showing, and near daily word of mouth of those much more far reaching than him.

But now . . .

"Colorado, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Quite a trip. Thousand miles?"

. . . after all this time . . .

"Almost two, I think."

"Well, I'll be."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You know, the wife and I drove out to Las Vegas one summer . . ."

. . . he was gearing up a whole new experience.

Sister, dear, what do you think people in Colorado wear this time of year?

Clothes, I hazard.

But what kind of clothes? I don't want to embarrass Annabel by being stared at wearing something old and outdated.

I think it's more likely they'll be staring at our two heads, Bette.

Well, yes. But I can't do anything about that, Dot.

Would you like to make a new dress for the graduation?

Yes, please.

Alright then.

But what kind of dress?

Mmm . . .

"Good afternoon, Kathy. How are you? . . . Good, good. Well, I'm calling because Bette and I need your help."

It's so colorful, I don't know.

Well, there are other alternatives. I said if Diane Keeton could wear pants-

No.

And if Cher could wear-

No.

Then we could surely wear a little color.

A little color. This is a lot of color.

It would be lovely dress when it was finished.

All that color.

If they finished it.

Maybe we should cut our hair.

No.

We could dye it.

No.

Party pooper.

And it was a good distraction, however temporary, from their upcoming foray into The World.

Dot.

Yes, Bette?

I'm afraid.

Me too.

I'm afraid this zipper's going to be too itchy.

The ball she had rolled so expertly so many times before . . .

"Oh my god."

. . . went straight into the gutter.

"What?"

And Annabel didn't even notice it.

"Where are we going to put them?!"

Mild Patrick Pause.

"Oh."

Shit.

"A motel, I guess?"

I don't have money for a motel-

". . . though! And I can't, like, ask them to pay for themselves! That would be so rude!"

Patrick seemed unalarmed.

Shrugging even.

"I have the money for a motel."

Annabel furrowed her brow.

"You do?"

Patrick nodded.

"Yeah. I've been saving."

Well, I would save too but I only get fifteen hours a week at the radiostation and that's practically peanuts and bowling is one thing but a motel-

"What have you been saving for?"

Patrick shrugged again.

He's going to dislocate something.

"A rainy day."

But it's Colorado.

"Oh. Well, thanks. I'll pay you back."

I don't know how, I mean I have no mon-

"You will not."

Excuse me, what do you mean by th-

A gentle hand grazing her cheek.

"I won't let you."

Complete and total emotional collapse into his arms.

Right there.

Right in the middle of the bowling alley.

Oh Patrick-

In lane six.

And it wasn't just the dress.

Not by a long shot.

It was also . . .

Oh, Sister. A cross-country trip, can you even imagine?

. . . the trip itself.

The planning of the route.

Where are the roadmaps for the trip?

Right here in the Colorado basket.

The planning of the stops.

Do you think there will be anything interesting to see along the way?

We are not stopping but for bathroom breaks, Sister.

But what about the Grand Ole Opry? Don't you want to see Minnie Pearl?

I don't think she's really real.

And the planning of the food as well.

I hope the cooler works. Mayonaise and meat? The cheese?

Why wouldn't it? It's a cooler.

And all the little odds and ends accompanied with . . .

Oh, we need to have Jimmy take the car in for a check-up.

Why? Nobody ever drives it.

. . . a major life event.

Do you think we'll need toilet paper?

I'm sure bathrooms in Colorado have toilet paper.

But what about along the way? What if we're out in the middle of nowhere and have to, you know, go?

Oh.

"Hey, uh, girls? Where's all the toliet paper?"

"They can't handle this!"

The day of her parents' departure.

An hour and a half out (her parents' time), Annabel Margaret Walker woke in a sudden shock in Patrick's bed, suffering what could only have been termed as a complete mental breakdown.

A panic.

A freak out.

Her boyfriend Patrick, He of the Even Temperment and Pausing Pauser Extraordinaire, bleary, but clearing, expressing only the mildest of concerns.

"What? What's wrong?"

Annabel despondent, blue and brown eyes staring with stark reality and abject horror twelve miles beyond the aged ceiling above her.

"My parents! They can't handle the Atlanta freeway or Nashville gridlock! What was I thinking?! They'll never be able to navigate their way back out of whatever St. Louis motel they manage to choose! They can't make this drive! My dad doesn't even have hands, Patrick! My mothers haven't been out of Brandon since they moved there in 1953! They're gonna get robbed or in a wreck and die and it's gonna be all my fault!"

True to form, Patrick stayed calm.

Listening. Waiting.

Thinking.

And when Annabel, exasperated and overwhelmed, stopped, panting, he stepped up to the plate.

"They seem pretty capable to me."

"They haven't been out of Brandon in thirty years!"

After a Patented Pause, more logic and reassurance.

"Yeah. But they're coming to see you. They'll be fine."

This didn't seem to help as much as he might have liked, Annabel ploughing on.

"I can't even call them and tell them to stop and turn around and go home!" she bemoaned.

Patrick tried again.

"Annabel-"

But she erupted all over herself again.

"Oh my god, Patrick, what have I done?!"

And Scruffy Sam the Sublime licked her toes.

Little play on the old rhyme, 'April Showers Bring May Flowers'.

Just in case I threw you for a loop. ;)

And, you know, excitement all around then, huh?

What do you think, gentle readers?

Thanks to brigid1318, and midnightrebellion86 for previously reviewing!

Everyone have a lovely day whether you're traveling like the Darling-Walkers or hiding out in your house like me. :)