Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1)

“That’s ol’ Blue the second. Ex-husband left me the dog and this here business. Reckon I liked the dog and the work better than him anyhow.” Mary bent to pet the dog as we exited the truck. Alden seemed like he couldn’t hop off my lap fast enough, but I needed a couple of deep breaths before I could climb down.

“Let me get a phone number from you, and I’ll call after I find the right tire and look at that rim. I’ve got a mechanic who will help me out with that.”

We exchanged contact information, and I tried to be all casual as I secured walking directions to the arcade. It might be a kid thing, but it still sounded better than exploring local attractions or trying to find food. I was still stuffed from the pizza, and thanks to having had Alden on my lap, the only thing I was hungry for was something I shouldn’t want and couldn’t have.

The town was small enough that we could walk to most of it from the repair shop. North turned out to inexplicably be an east-west road, but once we got turned around right, we found the small downtown with a row of buildings on either side bookended by a large church on one side and a courthouse on the other. As we neared the buildings, we discovered a large food packing plant and then the promised Wonder Dog Museum with its immaculate garden—neater than many cemeteries and country clubs. We sent a picture of the bronze dog statue to Professor Tuttle before continuing on.

“That courthouse clock looks like something out of Back to the Future,” I joked, pointing at the redbrick building. “Better watch it, or we’ll be running into other versions of ourselves.”

“That old movie?” Alden said. “You just want an excuse to floor it in the car.”

“Guilty.”

Eventually we reached a narrow, flat lot near a stately post office. A metal arch over the turn-in proclaimed “Enchanted Arcade.” The white building was set back from the road with some fanciful metal sculptures out front—two mini elephants just calling for tiny kids to sit on them, some giraffes, a boat that was probably supposed to be the Ark with cutouts for faces for picture taking, and right next to this quasi-biblical scene, a bunch of dwarfs surrounding another cutout that seemed to be Snow White in a long, blue metal dress.

“Stand over there,” I ordered Alden. “We need a picture of this.”

“I’m not putting my face up against one of those.”

“Fine. I will. You do the camera.”

I had no problem being silly with the sculptures, crouching down among the dwarves, dancing with Snow White, and pretending to pet the animals, letting Alden get some photos, but also not stopping until he was smiling too. “You’re such a goofball.”

“Yup. And proud of it.”

“I never expected…” His voice trailed off, and he looked over at the field beyond the building.

“Me to be silly?” I supplied.

“Something like that.” He gave me one of his rare smiles. “Are we going in?”

“You know it. Even if it costs money, it beats wandering around town.”

The interior of the building was bigger than it looked from the outside, sort of a big, cavernous warehouse filled with flashing lights and bright machines. All the classics I remembered from kid birthday parties—Pop-A-Shot, Whac-A-Mole, a big wheel to spin for prizes, a photo booth, and more. And rows of arcade video-game machines, including several iterations of Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Street Fighter, and Joust along with a line of pinball machines. In the rear of the building, a Tilt-A-Whirl-type ride jockeyed for space with a mini carousel for little kids, two flight simulators, and a driving game. Out back, there were go-karts and a small oval track.

It being early afternoon on a weekday, there weren’t many other patrons—a couple of kids out driving the go-karts, bored moms sitting in the shade, some teens on the video-game machines, and a few little kids being chased by a young caretaker. One almost ran into us, but Alden gently redirected her back to the high-school-aged babysitter.

“Careful. No escaping!” He laughed, his voice surprisingly gentle. It really was remarkable how much more patience he had for kids than for adults. Two fingers in her mouth, the little girl smiled, clearly taken with Alden. He gave her a little wave before we continued to the counter where a guy as ancient as Mary’s dog greeted us.

“How many tokens can I do you for?” The man sized us up with bleary eyes. The long counter had a register at one end and a wall of prizes behind the clerk, mainly assorted stuffed animals and plush figures, with more in the cases under the counter. He pointed to a special on the board in front of the register—two sodas, popcorn, and a hundred tokens. “This is our best deal.”