Page 101 of Book and Ladder
BTTP: Can’t make it to our spot right away. Enjoy the festival. I’ll meet you at sundown by the corn maze. Sorry for the delay. I got called away, but I’m still planning to find you.
When I last checked, she hadn’t answered. I hope she gets the message. Captain set up a last minute pig-calling contest entry for our crew. My participation is mandatory. I’ll get through that, ride a few rides with my nieces, and then I’ll find M&M before the sun sets.
The dragon costume I ordered is earning me a lot of stares and smiles. I slung a canvas book bag over my shoulder and put large plastic black-rimmed glasses over the eyeholes—transforming myself into a book dragon.
A family I know passes by, their kids toting paper boats filled with funnel cake.
I say, “Hello,” to the husband, Glenn, and he squints at me.
“Patrick?” His wife, Ellen, asks.
“Yes. Oh. Sorry. I forgot you can’t see me with this head on.”
“Fun costume,” Glenn says with a chuckle.
“Thanks.”
I weave through the crowd, wondering if she’s here, checking every hand for a copy ofThe Princess Bride. I make my way to the penned-in arena where the pig-calling contest will be held. Portable metal bleachers flank two sides of the area. Animals in pens line one of the opposite sides.
Mayor Briggs’ voice comes over the speakers on one of the poles set up around the property. “We’ve got the fiddle contest starting at the bandstand in ten minutes and the hog hollerin’ will be in the main arena at the same time. Follow that with the husband calling contest. You won’t want to miss that. And be sure to get yourself one of Vanessa’s apple fritters before they’re gone! Everyone pick up your copy of the firefighter calendar on your way out tonight. We’ve got a table near the gravel lot set up with a box for you to drop your payment into on the honor system.”
I approach my crew. Greyson’s wearing a black eye mask, black T-shirt and black pants.
“What are you?” I ask him.
“Zorro,” he says with a huff. “How do you think you’re going to handle a pig in that costume?”
“I’m calling them, not wrestling them.”
He nods.
Cody approaches, wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. A rodeo belt holds up his jeans. “I’m a cowboy,” he supplies.
“Aren’t you actually a cowboy?” Dustin asks. He’s dressed as a baker. Apparently Emberleigh dressed as a firefighter in a fun twist of role-reversal.
“It’s my costume,” Cody answers. “Most people around here think of me as a firefighter.”
“Hate to break it to you,” Greyson says with a smirk. “Most people around here don’t think of you at all.”
Dustin cracks up. “Man, Grey. When you decide to be funny, you’re spot on.”
I shake my head and the bulky dragon head moves from side to side. The costume is warm. Thankfully the evening air is cooling off the closer we get to sundown.
Sundown.
I’ll see her in less than two hours. The idea that she’s here, at the festival, on this same property sends a thrill through me. I’m a ball of nerves and anticipation dressed as a fire-breathing reptile.
We shuffle over to the spot alongside the platform in the arena. Well, the rest of the guys walk. I shuffle. This costume! What was I thinking?
More than a few farmers and some townspeople gather with us. The pig-calling contest is a staple at the Fall Festival. I normally wouldn’t have entered. Some of these men and women treat the event like an Olympic sport.
Six pigs are released into the arena. Troughs in the center are filled with slop.
The MC announces, “Hog callin’s about to begin. This year, you have to actually catch the attention of a pig in order to be considered one of our finalists. We’ll have a showdown between the top entries later this evening.”
The first guy, an older farmer, steps up to the mic and lets out a traditional “Soo-eee” call. He goes on, making “Soo-soo-soo” sounds. The pigs keep right on eating. “Here pig! Sooeeeeeee,” he calls. Nothing. He tries again and then the MC asks him to step away from the microphone.
A few other farmers have more luck, getting the attention of one or two pigs.
