Five years ago Juan Pedro left. He just wasn't around anymore. When he eventually turned up, it was discovered he ran away with the carnival, which had recently blown through town. Showed up, got a job, and left without a thought. Left the Malone's. Left the Grant's. Left his adopted name. Left it all to run a tilt-a-whirl. He called to let them know, because if there is one thing Juan Pedro knows, it is that one must worry about a mother who worries incessantly. He traveled with them. The carnies. All over the county. East, West, Inbetweenland, and the South. And in the south Juan Pedro, left the carnival and set up camp.
He started in a cotton field. Bending all day. In Texas, with migrant workers from the Mother Country. The season came and went. Day after day, becoming strong in the sun. Learning a language he had to unlearn at the age of two, when he called his new mother Ma-ma-see-ta. With the season went Juan Pedro. With the comfort of others like him. No more white-bred family, white-bred friends. No more white-bred north. No the season took Juan Pedro and his new brown friends to South Carolina. For a new crop. New work.
Juan Pedro met a little lady. The season came and went again. And again. Here resided Juan Pedro and the little lady who would break his heart. Bitch didn't care. Bitch didn't know. Bitch was young. Bitch left. Juan Pedro grew soft and comfortable. He bought a trailer and some Lamas. Shaved them once a month and spun their wool into yarn. He started a collectable store. Juan's Collectables. He gets sick sometimes. He has a weak immune system. Part of the permanent alcohol in his brain. Survives on odd jobs.
Juan Pedro comes back once a year, for Christmas. Lives with the littlest of little sisters. They spend a week together. She works but tries to make time for him. One week out of the year little sister doesn't need to worry about Juan Pedro. One week. One week.
Juan Pedro left with the carnival, but really Juan Pedro left long ago.