The Neediness and the Twenty-Fourth

It's the twenty-fourth of July, and y'all know what that means!

If y'all don't know what that means, then you must not live in Utah. Here in the Beehive State, the twenty-fourth of July is affectionately known as Pioneer Day. We dress up in red, white, and blue, have parties and parades and fireworks, and talk about how great America is and how much our forefathers' actions have blessed us. It's basically the fourth of July, just three weeks later, and with more handcarts.

Hometown's carnival for the twenty-fourth is always worth dropping by. There are rides, food, games, and a concrete stage with a makeshift tarped-over auditorium where Baby Sister performed with her clogging group. She said she didn't know the numbers very well this year, but no one in the audience could tell because she's Baby Sister.

When I arrived at the carnival, I was immediately dazzled by the sounds (music and conversations and laughter), the smells (fried bread and barbeque pork sandwiches), and the sights (sparkly face paint! neon posterboard signs! glittering costumes!) And the people! Seemed like half the city was there, tons of people I knew and tons I didn't. There was a guy dressed up as a mountain man, and a guy dressed up as a suspendered pioneer, and a guy in full Native American regalia, just standing around eating nachos, headdress and all. It doesn't get much more legit than that.

"Wow," I thought, "I love this holiday!"

That was when The Neediness struck.

Immediately I felt that I should not, nay, could not be alone. Because if I was alone, then I would never stop being alone. No one would ever love me. Never. Ever.

Such is The Neediness.

Swiftly I latched myself onto the nearest family member, which so happened to be Baby Brother.

MOM: All right, kids, here are your tickets. Now, does everybody want to go on the tilt-a-whirl?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Actually, I'd rather go on the whirl-a-tilt. #hilarious #funny #joke

MOM: Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...never mind. #shame #nobodylaughed #neediness

#THEneediness

And oh, that Neediness grew. It grew so much I was unable to extricate myself from the gaggle of cousins and siblings, even though I really would have preferred to go on a whirl-a-tilt rather than the tilt-a-whirl. I normally love it, but the portable, rent-a-cheap-carnival version is nothing but a blot on the illustrious name of tilt-a-whirl.

Alas, The Neediness made it impossible for me to refuse to go on the tilt-a-whirl. All my companions went, and so by necessity did I.

Suffice it to say, I felt nauseated by the time the ride ended. It wasn't stomach nausea, though. It was brain nausea. It felt exactly like my mind was about to throw up. My head was scrambled--but my gut was hungry.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: So... can we get fried bread now?

No. No, we could not. That is what I gathered from the social cue of everyone ignoring me. We could, however, go to the fishing pond, if the way Baby Brother and Ginger Cousin trooped over there was any indication.

The fishing pond was a bit lacking in pondness. It was just a small booth where children forked over their carnival tickets and got a fishing pole to pull up a prize from inside the booth. Baby Brother and Ginger Cousin were determined to fish up some prizes, and The Neediness dictated that I go with them.

There were three levels of prizes. The kids wanted the most expensive. The worker asked Ginger Cousin and Baby Brother their ages, took their tickets, and dropped their poles into the booth. And lo and behold! Exciting, age-appropriate prizes appeared on the end of the fishing poles. Ginger Cousin had a whistle shaped like a bird of paradise and a vial necklace filled with multi-colored sand. Baby Brother had a soccer ball whistle and some kind of manly craft kit.

At the last moment I decided to go fishing as well. I was here, wasn't I? Why shouldn't I get a sweet prize, too? A prize could be just the thing to soothe my needy soul. Only I didn't want to spend the tickets for an expensive one, so I gave a single ticket for the cheapest.

WORKER: How old are you?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Twenty-____.

WORKER: ...twenty-____?

From the way he was acting, you'd think I was the oldest person using the fishing pond or something. And if you thought that, you'd be correct.

When I reeled in my line, attached to the end was a pink plastic pen decorated with hearts. Except half the hearts had fallen off. And it didn't seem to be able to actually produce ink.

Oh, sure I thought as I compared my prize with the kids'. Just because I'm cheap and old. The pen perfectly embodied the loneliness of my soul. I wept inside. And became even more needy.

For the rest of my time at the carnival, I passed from companionship to companionship. The younger kids. My parents. My friend and troupe member Snow Angel. I even ran into Older Sister, who has returned from her mission to the land of America South and who had come to the carnival after work with our friend Rosebud. Anyone who crossed my path, I took turns sticking to like sticking plaster.

(Sticking plaster is something I read about in British books that is never satisfactorily explained. So I don't actually know what it is. Apparently I should never spend time with any British literature whatsoever, as it seems to be a source of much confusion in my life.)

For most of the carnival, I managed to be successful in not ever being alone. Then, when I'd finally convinced Baby Sister to go with me for fried bread, the unthinkable happened.

Baby Sister left.

The consequent events are a little fuzzy. Hyperventilation was involved. Possibly seizures. How I survived on my own is unclear.

What I can remember, however, is that I ate my fried bread like a crazed, ravening thing. Consumption was the only way to make certain it, at least, would never leave me.