Stephanie Silberstein

Grandma won't like it: I'm taking Todd on the Ferris Wheel tonight. I'm still staring at the closet.

Creak…pull…turn. Grandma. Jump up T-shirt over head door cracks open. "Katherine…" I head out, Grandma comes in. Her eyes slide down me, T-shirt to jeans. My hair…brush it…still a mess. Hand over brush, fall back on bed.

Grandma's eyes shine. She pushes, I'm up. "Where…" Head down hair in eyes. "…dressing so fancy?" Streaks in carpet. "Carnival." A knot. Grandma tugs. Head bounces, up, down, up. I’m dizzy. Look in mirror. "So what's this Todd like?" Tangled clump. Grandma tosses it. "Haven't seen him since mom got sick." Tug, twist. She lowers her voice--afraid house is spying on us. "He's been lonely …" Twist, pull. "…living up at Bloomfield." Bulletin board's empty--took down rejections. "A college boy?" Pull, twist, tug. "Like it?" Rub head stare at reflection. Neat half-braid. "It's OK." Grandma's lips thin. "Take a sweater." I go across. Grandma's hair. Soft. Tap-tap-tap. My laces. Grandma stares. My shoes. Tie them. "You'll catch cold."

Run--jump down steps. Grandma's shadow meets wall. Grab banister, turn, run back up knock photo off desk.

Closet’s dark. Reach in, squeeze air, rub face into fabric ‘til I sneeze. Grab something. Snap! Hanger falls, neck broken. Dive for the sweater, put it on, kick the hanger into darkness. Another creak, another knock. Light, the hall, Grandma. Flip braid over shoulder, wave, walk away. Hold head high, but take dinky steps to the door. Slam. I run. Stand on the sidewalk, throw back my head,. taste the wind ‘til I’ve had enough.

I get in my car, roll the window down, and drive away, singing. "I'm With You".

There's a line to park. I fiddle with the knobs on my radio. Just static. Speed into the lot. My brakes squeal. Back up, watch the smog coming out of the other guy's car. He goes, I take the space. I roll up the window before I head for the grounds. You never know who might be hanging around.

Rusty fence by the Ferris wheel. I lean back, squeeze a spike. Shade my eyes with my hand as I look around.

A boy. Todd? He's whistling, squinting, coming this way. I step towards him. He turns away, stuffs his hands in his pockets. The spike burns as I slide my hand down. Wait… he's coming back. He's grinning. "Katherine?"

I nod. He holds out his hand. Fingers long, skin smooth, nails even. "I'm Todd. Obviously."

I sandwich his hand between my two. He steps back and I let go.

"C'mon, let's get hot dogs." Todd heads for the food court.

I look over my shoulder. Ferris Wheel's the other way. My stomach growls. I won't eat, though. I don't want to get sick.

We're near the front of the lines when I ask, "Have you ever seen so many people?"

Todd beckons me forward. "Two hot dogs, one with relish and mustard, and…" I shrug. Todd orders me a plain dog. I have two bucks waiting, but he shakes his head. I crumple them into my pocket. Tiny boxes appear on the counter. Todd takes one for me. "No, I haven’t." He smiles. His teeth, large and white, fit his mouth. "This is the first time I’ve ever been to a fair, actually."

Picnic area's too crowded. Todd dives in, weaves between little kids. I look around, bite into my dog. Three kids playing rock, scissors, paper. A lady taking over a whole table. Is that guy leaving? No.

Empty grass behind the tables. "How about here?" Todd asks.

"We don't have a blanket."

Todd sits down anyway. I rub my shoe against the grass. Dry. I can sit here.

My hot dog's gone. I toss the box. It flutters away. The wind plays with Todd's hair. My hand goes to his knee. He pushes it off.

I put my hands in my lap and squeeze. "Sorry." Todd stares into space, says nothing. Wipe, wipe, wipe… fingers clean now. He still won't talk.

"So… how do you like Bloomfield?" Todd squashes his box into a ball. He tosses it. It flies towards the trash, hits the rim. "C'mon. Roller coaster's waiting."

I stand up, squint. Roller coaster snakes around its track. I twist my head 'til I'm dizzy, following it. "I’d rather not."

Todd rolls his eyes. "My stomach can't take fast rides," I say.

"Oh. Well, let’s go on the baby coaster then and see how you do."

I take a few steps the other way. Lights flash on and off, calling me. I make myself turn around. "Don't you have to be, like, less than four feet tall in order to go on that?"

Todd's eyes X-ray me. "Oh, you could pass for a little girl, no problem." The probes sparkle. "No more excuses. C'mon!" He runs. I follow him. I have to.

I watch the baby coaster for about two seconds. Some kid cries. The operator pulls a lever to stop everything. I trace the shadow of his muscles. The line moves up. I flash him a smile.

Todd brushes my fingers. His hand ducks behind his back as I turn.

The ride stops then. Todd tiptoes forward. "Hi." He stares someplace far away. I nudge him. "Tickets." Todd grins. Rip. Two tickets off our roll, into the guy's hand.

I push the turnstile. Hard. Todd follows me through. I reach for his hand. "Let's get the front car." Todd's hands disappear into his pockets again. I skip to keep up with him. In the car I pull the safety bar down first thing. Second thing, I put my arm around him.

Todd slides away. He studies Lever Guy. "So that's how they run this thing."

"Yeah," I say. "One time the Ferris wheel guy wasn't paying attention and I went around forty times. It was like having my own private space." I slide my hand down Todd's back.

Todd pats my other hand. "This ride OK on your stomach, Katherine?" My eyes sting. "If I have to I'll lean over the side." I fake a cough and Todd pats my back. Crash, jerk, bump. Ride stops. Chest hits safety bar, it lifts up. Don't wait, run. Swish, swish

--my jeans.

Lock won't close. Twist, pull, tug--clicks shut. On my knees, sobbing. Toilet water ripples.

I stand up, look in the mirror. Eyes too puffy--rinse. Tighten braid, go out.

Todd's waiting for me. "Katherine."

I go flat against the wall. Todd keeps coming.

"Look," he says. His eyes are large and round. "I'm sorry the baby coaster didn't agree with you. Wanna try something else before calling it a night?" I reach for his hand but get freaked and don't take it. "Like what?"

"You choose."

My tongue taps my teeth. "The Ferris Wheel, then."

We walk across the grounds, together but not together. My hands hang loose at my sides; Todd's stay in his pockets. At the Wheel, I lean on the fence. I swallow. Lights slide, calling me again.

We get inside. Just us two. The guy locks us in. I lean back as he hobbles to his lever. The car rises. "So where do you go to school?" Todd asks.

I press my nose against the window. A lady in a big hat matching a toddler's. The baby shuffles its feet. "I don't."

Todd looks out, too, avoiding me. "I do web design. Someday I'm going to have my own business."

"Wow! How'd you ever tell your parents?"

"It just sort of happened," I say. Todd nods. It's quiet 'til the car stops mid-air. It swings back and forth. He says, "I don't know what I'm in school for." He grins. "Maybe I'll drop out."

I grab the handrail. It's cold and hard. "Oh, no, don't!"

Todd rocks the car. "Look at that view."

The car rises again. I'm dizzy. I kneel at the window. Lights sparkling, moving, sliding. On the rides, the midway, the freeway: buzzing…singing…calling me.

Car stops, swings. Across the grounds, lights flip upside down, never go out. Push hard at window--car jerks, moves. I'm sinking, sinking. Past the freeway, past the lights. I kneel at the window. The light-riders scream.

Scrape. The Ferris Wheel lands. Ride's over.

Stephanie Silberstein * 1750 N. Wilcox Avenue #213 * Los Angeles, CA 90028 *

323-871-0533 * ssilbers@usc.edu

1,424 words. © 2003 Stephanie Silberstein