The Wooden Sea: A Novel by Jonathan Carroll

Author:Jonathan Carroll [Carroll, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2001-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

How does weird get weirder? I’ll tell you. Feeling pleased and lifted by what had just taken place, I left the diner smiling and cheerfully blissed out. That lasted maybe five minutes. Out the door and turn left toward the heart of downtown Crane’s View—all one block of it. Curious to know what would be there, I tried to remember what Main Street had looked like then. My town, thirty years ago. How much had they charged at the Embassy Movie Theater for a ticket? How much had a box of Goobers chocolate-covered peanuts cost at their candy counter? What were the names of the different candy they sold? Charleston Chew, Zagnut, Raisinets, Good & Plenty, Fifth Avenue … Retarded Johnny Petangles knew every one of their television ads and would recite them ad nauseum. The theater had been torn down two years ago and was replaced by a Blockbuster video store, which I thought was ironic. Trading the big screen for the little one. Let’s keep walking down McCabe’s memory lane. Back then the Embassy Theater stood next to Dan Pope’s Bar and Grill. It was where we all had our first legal drinks the day we turned eighteen. In my mind I could still smell the place—boiled cabbage and cigarette smoke. Next to Pope’s was—

A man wearing one of those helmets that had kebab’d my brain. The learning helmets from my last days in Vienna. That’s right—walking down Main Street in 1960-something Crane’s View, New York, was a guy wearing a black full-head helmet. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I made some kind of strangled uh-oh sound. It felt like someone had spilled cold raw egg down my spine. What’s more, there were people around but none of them paid any attention to him. Brian Lipson in his Crane’s View varsity letter jacket stood talking to Monica Richardson in front of the town library. Helmet Head walked right past them. They both looked, no expressions changed, they went back to their conversation. My town is conservative and changeless. Always has been that way. Anything new is instantly noticed and discussed endlessly. Whether it was Crane’s View today or thirty years ago, if someone walked down the street wearing one of those goddamned goofy helmets people would notice. Watching these two kids glance but turn away indifferently meant they were used to the sight. That gave me the big bad creeps. Everything was possible now—chaos reigned. Back when Lipson and I sat in geometry class and I cheated off his exam papers, I never saw any helmet heads go by. If I had, I sure as hell would have told the world about it.

I decided to follow this guy. See what happened when other townspeople caught sight of him. See if—

“Hey, Frannie!” said teenage Brian Lipson looking right at forty-seven-year-old me.

“Hello there, Frannie McCabe” echoed scrumptious Monica Richardson but with a smile dirty enough to melt any fellow’s underpants.

If I had been a cartoon character at that moment

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