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stick.
    I looked
at the carousel and saw half the horses blackened by ash. The other half were
shades of gray and white. It seemed like all of them were supposed to be white.
    “That’s
terrible. What happened?”
    He
shrugged. “Nobody knows how it started. But it happened at night when almost no
one was around. I think it took one or two people’s lives. Not enough to be a
huge tragedy but I’m sure it affected the family members of those that died—if
they had any. I think the owners got a bunch of insurance money and started
another park somewhere else. It must’ve been a big a deal when it happened but
people kind of forgot about this place over time.”
    The story
sounded horrible and hit a little too close to my own personal tragedy. I
wanted to change the topic. “Did you go to a lot of places like this when you
were young?” I asked.
    “That’s
the thing. I didn’t go to any amusement parks when I was a kid. I wanted to but
my parents never took me. All the other kids in grade school would talk about
how awesome Disneyland was. Or Six Flags, or Sea World.”
    “What kind
of parents don’t take their kid to an amusement park?” I said jokingly. “That’s
like the stuff childhoods are made of.”
    “Deadbeat
ones.” He paused, his mouth a thin line. “They were druggies. Real assholes.
Cared more about their drugs than taking care of me. That’s why I got away from
California and came here.”
    “Oh. I’m
sorry to hear that.” I suddenly felt bad for asking him about his parents.
    We were
both silent for a moment. I contemplated what Hunter had told me about his
parents. Was fighting a way for him to cope with his troubled past like I used
drawing to cope with mine? I didn’t know, but it sounded like he and I might
not have been as different as I initially thought.
    Hunter
ended up throwing his branch into a pile of debris near one of the game booths.
It fit right in with the other junk.
    “How about
your parents?” he asked.
    I was
surprised he didn’t know about me after learning my name. I would’ve thought he
heard about me from rumors around campus. Or seen my picture in the paper. It
was certainly big news across Illinois.
    I could
feel the numbness settling in once again. “They’re not together.”
    “Divorced?”
    Without
skipping a beat, I answered. “And dead.”
    “Oh. I’m
sorry.”
    “Yeah.”
    I could
feel the past creeping up on me again like it always did. Images would flash.
Scenarios would be relived. The stone would appear again, bigger than the last
time, intimidating me like it always did. It would dare me to roll it up the
hill. I’d consider it for a while, maybe even try to push it a few times, but
every time, I’d end up quitting.
    “Hey,
check out that booth!” Hunter pointed in the distance, breaking me from the
spell. He tugged my hand and we rushed over. “Look there’s an old milk bottle
still standing up. Did you ever play these kinds of games before?”
    I thought
about the time I went to the carnival with Mom and Dad. I must’ve been eight at
the time. Dad handed the operator a few bucks and I was given a ball to throw
at a stack of milk bottles. It was silly for an eight-year-old to think she had
the strength to knock those bottles down. But for some reason I thought I could
do it. I thought I could win. I wound my arm back and threw the ball with as
much strength as I could muster. It ended up hitting the poor operator right in
the nose—a fountain of blood sprayed my overalls. That was the last time I
played.
    “Yeah,” I
said wryly.
    “Let’s
play.” He touched my hand holding the small branch, sending a tingling through
my arm.
    “You can
play. I’ll watch.”
    He smiled.
“Nah. I threw my stick away. This one’s yours.”
    “Um . . .
I don’t really feel like playing.”
    He
laughed. “C’mon, let’s knock the hell outta that bottle. You could win a
prize.”
    A small
smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “And what