Payday 💸 Self Para
Shifting his truck into gear, Soda pulled slowly from the parking lot of the diner, flipping the turn signal on his old, rusty, beat-up truck as he turned cautiously back onto the main road. His eyes remained focused on the rear of the trailer in front of him, only glancing occasionally into the rear view mirror, meeting the gaze of the next members of the caravan as they trekked along behind him. As the makeshift parade made its way through town, he was careful to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. Although Soda had never been very good in school, never earning high marks or praise from his teachers like his two brothers, his smarts were highlighted in other areas- the work he did with mechanics of any and all kinds being one. The training he’d received through the military meant he was aware of his surroundings at all times, so during his first drive through of each new town, Soda was sure to look for two things- a cheap grocery store, and a post office. Sometimes, he was lucky enough to find a mailbox stationed outside a grocery store, which always gave him a bit of excitement- any excuse to save gas or a trip.
After the caravan had made its way to their site- the place they’d be settling, for anywhere from a week to two weeks at a time, he set to work. Being in a new place was always exciting, though always a bit stressful. Especially on their first day there. Soda liked to make sure he was ahead of the game, being one of the first who set to work as soon as they arrived on location. Opening night would come early, and if he could avoid working into the hottest part of their first full day there, he would. And, his overachieving ways were certainly no secret- everyone knew exactly where to find the mechanic on arrival day- at the center of things, making sure his side of the carnival was up and running as smoothly as possible before any problem could become a real problem. And, general knowledge of where he’d be at any given time seemed to be good enough.
Yet another reason Soda didn’t mind the stress of arrival days was for the simple fact that arrival days were also paydays around the Carnival. Although his check never amounted to enough to make him even slightly well-off, it would’ve been more than enough for someone who didn’t have the expectation of rent and utilities hanging over them. He’d saved up enough to purchase his own trailer after only a couple of years with the Carnival- he’d found one for dirt cheap, and bought it for even less from a man who hadn’t known enough about the mechanics to get it running. After rebuilding the engine himself, replacing nearly the entire interior, and buffing out and repainting the exterior, he’d managed to create himself a more than acceptable living space. Really, the only financial commitments he had were to himself- to keep his truck gassed, his tools taken care of, and himself fed. Still, anyone paying half a bit’s worth of attention might have noticed that every arrival day, after the checks had been passed out and everyone had headed back to settle themselves in the staff quarters, Patrick Curtis seemed to disappear.
And, this week was no different. Nearly done unloading the pieces of the Ferris Wheel and having already managed to assist his team with getting the Go Karts and half the games unloaded and set up, he joined the rest of the crew in front of the Ticket Booth, where they always met to collect their checks. He stepped forward when his name was called, accepting the envelope graciously before disappearing back into the crowd. He wanted to find Blaine, to see if the other needed any help unpacking, or getting settled in any way. He wanted to talk to him, to make sure he was feeling well after the trip. Instead, he found himself moving towards the opposite end of the crowd, dipping his head as he attempted to appear lost in thought. Once the last envelope had been passed, he turned quickly, disappearing behind the nearest booth where he waited for the crowd to disburse before making his way to the very front of the carnival and doubling back around, via the opposite side of the field, to the staff parking. Sliding into his truck, Soda turned his key quickly in the ignition, pulling out of the location and onto the main road without pausing to even look back.
Truth be told. Soda was near certain he’d held his breath for nearly a mile down the road- he did, nearly every time. His eyes left the road for a quick second, glancing up to fall to the picture he had clipped to his visor. A picture of him, his parents, and his brothers. A picture of before, the classification he enshrouded his memories with in his own mind. Falling back to the road in front of him Soda refocused himself, eyes trained on the road as he drove the next few miles back into town in silence. As soon as he saw the familiar blue metal box, he pulled to the side of the road, coming to a slow stop directly in front of it. Shifting his truck into park, Soda slid himself across the front seat, rolling down the hand crank window as he leaned out it. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled a sealed, white envelope. In the center, written in a neat block lettering was an address, to a house in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and a stamp rested in the upper right corner; no return address was listed. No indication of the sender was, either. Dropping the envelope into the mailbox, he rolled the window back up and righted himself behind the wheel. With a sigh, Soda pulled the remainder of his $450 paycheck- $200- from his front pocket. Thumbing through the bills, he did some quick mental math in his head before pocketing the money once again and pulling back onto the road. @carnivalimportant