Dullsville

Author's Note: A little less than 10 years ago, my friend Darryl and I wrote a screenplay submitted it to a competition sponsored by the Sundance Institute. It chronicled the lives of a community of sideshow performers, the essential stars of the traditional circus. Darryl and I wrote with respect; we wanted to show that, despite being ridiculed and considered outsiders, these performers were ordinary people doing their best to overcome physical and financial hardships. We didn't win the competition, but Darryl gave me permission to adapt our work to prose. I hope Darryl will forgive the changes. I'll tell this story in several installments. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1. On the Road

Daphne Arcane sped along Route 2 as her husband, Edwin, dozed in the passenger seat. It had been an hour since she had seen anything but farmland and the occasional house, barn, or silo, and at least 15 minutes since she'd passed another vehicle. Which all would have been fine on this sunny Washington day, except that for the last half an hour, she had had to pee. Desperately.

Just as she thought she would have to wet herself, Daphne spotted a crossroads ahead.

"Oh, thank God, thank God!" she said under her breath as she lurched the Eldorado into the Dreamy Whip's parking lot, waking Edwin as she threw open her door.

"What'll you do if it's occupied?" Edwin shouted as Daphne waddled toward the building. "You'll hear the gunshots!"

And I'll be visiting you and the baby in prison, my love.

Chuckling, Edwin opened the glove compartment and took out a rumpled pair of leather work gloves, putting them on and flexing his fingers. As he opened the door, he grabbed an overstuffed wheeled backpack from the floor and, jumping down to the tarmac, slipped the pack's straps over his shoulders as he started walking on his hands toward the restaurant.

"Look, mommy! A midget!" a little boy shouted from a picnic table in front of the Dreamy Whip. His embarrassed mother quickly shushed him, but the boy pointed and smiled excitedly.

Smile. The kid doesn't know any better. Maybe mommy will teach him. "It's OK, ma'am," said Edwin, then, smiling at the boy, "Nope. Not a midget. I just forgot my legs at home."

As Edwin hand-walked to the restaurant door, he looked to see if there was anything he could grab to hoist himself up and open it. Of course, there wasn't, so he waited to see if someone would open it for him. Fortunately, it was the breakfast rush, and it wasn't long before another patron held the door open for him.

"Thank you," Edwin nodded.

"No problem. Have a blessed day!"

Thanks, rube. I think I missed that particular boat, pre-birth.

He scanned the crowded lobby and spotted the sign for the restrooms. As he hand-walked past the line of patrons, some stopped talking and stared, while others glanced at him and, discomfited, quickly averted their eyes. Edwin was used to being looked at. Hell, he had made a career out of being looked at. Still, it had been a while since the do-gooders had raised hell and shut down the traditional sideshows. Put a lot of people out of work and on welfare. Most people had never seen a born freak. So there were always a lot of side glances and outright stares when he was out in public.

Take a picture; it'll last longer. Hell, I'll sign it for a buck.

Everyone has seen one kind of freak or another; they just don't always recognize them. That woman covered in tattoos? That man forcing his morbidly obese self behind the steering wheel of a compact car? That person of indeterminate gender covered in more piercings than a Claire's store? Made freaks. Conjoined twins? Midgets and dwarves? People with too many or too few limbs, like Edwin? Born freaks.

Edwin managed to open the men's room door, entered, and locked it behind him. The small room with a single commode, sink, roll of paper towels (no toilet paper, though), and what might formerly have been a plunger, was filthy.

He was scanning the room to determine how he might use the sparse space to his advantage in "legging up" when someone tapped on the door.

"Are you in there, Edwin?" It was Daphne.

With a sigh of relief, he unlocked the door, and Daphne came in, wiping her hands on a paper towel. "Let's get you tall," she said jokingly as Edwin started shedding his shirt. She opened the pack and removed a pair of folding prosthetic legs and an elaborate harness of straps and buckles. Sneakers were already affixed to the feet.

Someone knocked on the door, and Edwin called, "Ocupado. Just a minute!"

Finally, after about 10 minutes and a series of grunts, curses, and moans (all from Edwin), Daphne helped him to his feet and handed him the two telescoping canes he used to steady himself.

Just as they were finishing, the man knocked on the door and called, "Hey! Any day now!"

"Hold your horses!"

More knocking. "C’mon, c’mon! We’re dying out here!"

Edwin hoisted himself to his feet and opened the door while Daphne gathered his things and stuffed them in the pack.

"It's about fuc—Oh. Oh, sorry," said the man as he glanced first at Edwin, then at Daphne. Edwin waved the man off with a forced smile as two other men in line stood aside to let Edwin and Daphne pass.

"Go ahead, Daph. I'll only be a minute.

Daphne nodded, and while she walked out of the Dreamy Whip to the car, Edwin maneuvered through the narrow hallway and back into the lobby. He stood there for a moment, placidly scanning the crowded restaurant and making direct eye contact with anyone he could, then pushed open the doors and walked, on his two legs and steadied by his canes, back to Daphne's baby blue Cadillac Eldorado.

See ya. Wouldn't wanna be ya.

After he was settled in the passenger seat, Daphne handed him a bottle of water out of her cooler, kissed him, started the car, and drove out onto Route 2.

© 2026 Brian G Parker and Darryl Johnson

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