Jesse's Girl

By Skye Shae Bonati

May 26, 2026

Jesse tipped his hat to the girl on the end of the street. She looked at him for just a fraction of a second longer than the typical glance—one of those looks where neither of you is thinking about the other, neither judging nor appraising—and shifted her weight to the other foot as she rubbed her arm. It was fairly cool for a July evening. She was waiting for her order of cotton candy and a chili dog from the carnival workers, sidestepping as two lanky teenagers pushed past with a giant panda on one's shoulders, the other wrapping a string of tickets up into manageable lengths.

The beeping meter of the ride brought Jesse's attention back to the machinery in front of him, and he flipped the safety switch and pulled the throttle handle down. Jesse’s ride was centered in the wide street between The Tornado and the Viking Ship, and flanked by vendors and hundreds of kids milling about. His spinning octopus kept within its iron cage slowed its angry thrashing and let go its own prisoners, some of them running to the refuge of a mom’s or dad’s arms, some of them who were not able to resist the pull of the captor's arms returning to surrender their lives to the rusting monster.

He wished he could walk away from the beast he was forced to show. Its swirling lights and music mingled with the laughter and screams of the faces that streamed past him. Like a dream, everything had become hypnotizing, slowing his brain, causing his "Hold to your hats, folks!" to become something outside of him said, or perhaps he observed himself saying it from the ends of the octopus's arms, spinning and swirling as equally as the lights and laughter and screams, each troop of passengers earning him just one more dollar for his dilapidated apartment back in his hometown, far away from him now.

The gate opened and the occupants filed out, smiling and fiddling with tickets, and Jesse craned his neck to find the girl. She had wandered to a bench closer to him, on the south side of the Viking Ship. She was observing the Ferris wheel, and Jesse thought she might have a friend riding, as she smiled and waved to someone in the top car.

Jesse smiled as he watched her getting frustrated at the way the cotton candy stuck to her fingers, and then laughed as she finger-brushed her hair and then realized her mistake. She pulled her hand away with a look of chagrin, strands of her coffee-colored hair trailing behind her fingers.

Jesse looked with veiled annoyance at the lines of would-be travelers in front of him. "Step right up to the greatest ride in the carnival! All riders must be at least forty-eight inches tall or ride with an adult. Three tickets to enter! No bags, no food, no drinks, folks. Step right up to The Monster!" he said in masquerade cheer. Rounds of children and teens, a few parents or teachers passed Jesse, hardly paying him any attention. Jesse, in turn, hardly paid them any attention.

The swirling black machine once again came to life, slowly at first, but gradually faster, throwing its captives up in the air. It taunted them and spun them ever faster, switching directions as it attempted to disillusion those who dared enjoy its play. But Jesse didn't see them. He didn't see the ride. It moved in a blur to him and sickened him, so he looked again for the girl.

She was getting up from the bench, brushing herself off, and her spot was quickly occupied by a lumpy couple with large shakes in their left hands and large burgers in their right, and they were accompanied by a large bulldog that stuck his nose into their laps, pawed at the bench, and slobbered on their pant legs as they chattered happily together, oblivious of the disturbance.

The ride's meter beeped again, and Jesse again flipped the safety and pulled the throttle lever down, the ride coming to a slow, measured stop. The riders were helped out of their cars by another worker, and once again, the dizzying process repeated itself.

Jesse wiped his forehead with the inside of his T-shirt. In another hour or so, the street lights would come on and take over where the sun left off. Four or five hours after that, Jesse would be finally freed to stumble to the hotel, directions in his hand, rubbing worn and sun-beaten eyes.

"Hey kid." 

Jesse looked up quickly. It wasn't a worker yelling at a misbehaving child. It was his boss.

"Yessir!" Jesse quickly replied, stirring himself to full, heightened awareness. Dazing off at the job in the presence of the manager was more than taboo.

His boss chuckled through a scowl and turned to give a knowing look to the man beside him. Jesse's boss was a boisterous Italian with a thick mustache and an equally thick jowl. The man leaning on the iron guardrail beside him was in complete contrast—all limbs, clean-cut and ashen blonde. The only thing the two men shared was their flashing dark eyes, which Jesse gave up following, and he stood at attention deciding to look at the boss' forehead to at least give the impression of returning a gaze.

"Guardati, dis’a just another special characteristic o' diss’a boy," grumbled the Italian, gesturing to Jesse’s inattention, then cleared his throat. "Kid, I gonna tell you today, you’s certainly a’ done’a me and’a mi famiglia a good'a mount o' help ‘ere in certain moments. But it’s a’come'a to my attention'a, dat’a you just’a not’a working like da rest o' me boys out here, and I just can't'a let that’a become an ‘abit now. When’a you’s a part’a  la famiglia, you’s a part’a la famiglia. But I just'a haven't seen it’a from'a you. I tink’a it’s time you’a gotta go." 

Jesse stood there dumbfounded, staring the boss' forehead. "I, uhh..." he began. The timing meter sounded the alarm for his heart and he robotically stopped the ride and let by another stream of thrill-seekers. He stared at the boss as he yelled out his shpeel for the next round of kids and parents. He had perfected it. He had learned to make himself loud and excited, to give the kids and first-timers their first glimmer of butterflies. The skinny man let out a short burst of humored breath from his nose, and the Italian glowered as Jesse's words filled the air between them.

When he was done, his boss said, "Listen’a me, boy, you're out’a here. Don't’a come’a back tomorrow." And turned to leave. 

Panicked, Jesse stuck out his arm and pulled at the boss' shoulder. "But I," he began, "I can work harder, Sir, I can come back a new man in the morning, you'll see – is there any way? I mean—" 

"Dai!" came the sharp response. "Don't'a touch'a me again, boy." The Italian's moustache quivered atop the man's large upper lip. "Today is’a your last'a day. Ciao!"

The two carnival men stalked away, glancing at everything, seeing nothing; and they faded into the crowd before Jesse's vision could cloud them out. He never cried in public. 

Never. 

Jesse flipped the safety once again and prayed down an answer with the throttle lever. A group of angsty looking teenagers who had apparently just come from the pier piled through the line with an oversized prize in tow. Jesse cleared his throat and motioned them to leave it at the gate. Their leader made like he was going to protest, but Jesse pointed to the back of the line. He made up his mind to concentrate on each person who came through and notice everyone. 

Before he got too far with that, though, Jesse did notice something strange. It was quiet. Yes, there were screams, but they were a different sort, something more like real danger, as opposed to the nervous half-scream-half-whoop of an adrenaline-filled child.

Something sparked his memory, and he looked for the girl. For some reason, her short laugh at the cotton candy mess had caught his attention, and he had felt intuitively that the laugh was uncomfortable in her eyes, like it wasn’t used to coming around, or indeed staying.

His eyes found her at the Ferris wheel---no, not at, on. She had gotten a ride and now sat perched at the very top of the wheel. Somehow, she had freed herself from the swinging car and was actually beginning to stand on the red painted box. His mind rapidly registered the silence and the screams, and the worried look splayed across one of his co-worker's faces. "M-M-Ma'am,” the young college student was stuttering, "P-p-p-please come down! Please get back into the car r-right away!"

Jesse watched the carnival worker wave his arms and shout at the girl plaintively in vain and waited with baited breath to see what she would do.

The girl had already stood up to her full height in the few seconds of time it took for Jesse to take in everything—the people milling helplessly about; his friend madly calling out in his shaky voice; the other riders peering worriedly out from their cars, craning their necks to see, or screaming in alarm; the fact that his boss was nowhere to be seen, but that the skinny man was leaning against a fence a few yards from the base of the wheel; the girl's fearless eyes, peering down at the crowd and then flying up to the sky; her body going rigid, her feet not stumbling, but bringing her to the edge; her legs propelling her out to the open air; her arms stretching out to the sides in a perfect T—but Jesse’s mind did not register these things. His mind registered like this: how lovely she was, and how he would like to see her fly; how he had dreamed of flying once as a kid; how fitting it was that her hair streamed out behind her like the tail of a high-flying kite... And more and more thoughts came, but they did not come in a queue, like lines in a story. No, they came like a force of a hurricane's winds and knocked the wind out of Jesse’s chest. He almost closed his eyes, because he thought that it must all be a summery heat-induced dream, but the sharp sound of sirens cut into the haze, saying, “Reality! Reality!”

A crowd had gathered beneath the ride, and began growing as the wails of the fire brigade rang in the distance. 

Just as these thoughts did not come to his senses one by one, they took no length of time. For Jesse, it felt as if he were hanging in space—but no—it was she who hung in the space between the time and the air, a poised swan with a gossamer trail, a spirit in the sky, and she dazzled him.

It was because of all these various tumbling thoughts that washed over him in tenths of seconds like huge oceanic breakers, bashing into him so fiercely, that he did not even notice himself moving. 

Suddenly her glistening trail collided with—him, and he caught her. He found himself taking the impact of her fall almost like another part of the wave, and he really felt no force from her at all.

Instead of him looking up at her, it was now she who was in his arms, a feathery, light sort of angel, and he became part of the gossamer aura that surrounded her, and now surrounded them both.

Even with the hundreds of people that must have gathered around them, there was still no noise from the crowd, and Jesse wasn't even aware that the first responder vehicles had come to a halt barely a yard behind them.

The only thing Jesse heard was the silvery rustle of the girl’s hair which had come to rest on his arms, the even softer sound of a sparkling tear slipping down her cheek, and her eyelashes fluttering open. Jesse was in shock, and he stared into the eyes of the girl he held. Again they shared together that magical moment of unweighted understanding, neither one judging, neither one appraising.

To them, it seemed a million years, a million and twenty, and Jesse smiled when she said, almost as if she knew him, "I was hoping that you would catch me."

He laughed, and said, "I think you caught me—“ but he was broken off by a strong hand on his shoulder, and again, suddenly, a new wave of sound crashed over the two broken souls who stared dumbly at each other, smiling into the summer night. The fireman asked if Jesse knew the girl, if he had any reason to believe that she was mentally unstable, if his crew could take her to the emergency room; but Jesse just held the girl tightly and said no to each question that came. 

Some minutes passed and the girl was pulled from his arms. Jesse let her go and watched her being taken by the hand and led to the ambulance parked behind the fire truck, but she looked back at Jesse and he quickly bounded to her side. He carried her the rest of the way, and when they arrived at the medical center, it was Jesse who carried her through the bustling halls of the bright nurse's domain. 

Seared in his mind were the sounds of her words and tears and silvery hair, and the surety with which she whispered the only words she had ever spoken to him. Seared in his eyes was the poster, larger than life, it had seemed. Jesse had seen it through the bars of the Ferris wheel through the crowd, as if, by some divine measure, a straight line had been cleared for Jesse's eyes. For in the everlasting second that had enveloped the two fated souls under the shadow of the carnival night, Jesse's eyes saw the advertisement: 'Wanted—Mechanical operator position, GM Motors, will board. Call __________ for inquiries'... And then all else had faded into the eyes of the girl who leapt to meet him.

As he sat, nervously shaking his ankle in the waiting room, Jesse rehearsed the number that had been so vividly burned in his memory and held onto the hope of the trust the girl had placed in him. Jesse had never felt stronger.

Copyright © 2026 Skye Shae Bonati. All rights reserved. This artwork may not be reproduced, modified, or distributed in any form without the express written permission of the artist.

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