I force out a laugh. “You lush.”
A smile grows slowly on his face, and we go get a couple of beers and some of the kettle corn. He takes it easy with the alcohol and we just walk around for a bit. It’s been forever since I’ve been to one of these things. I’ve had a particular aversion to people over the last few years, and I start feeling sweaty as we weave around groups of teens and families. It’s all so normal and so outside of me, it makes me feel like I’m a ghost observing the living.
There are some carnival rides at the back of the school in the parking lot. We take a walk back there, and Paul looks up at the Ferris wheel and then at me.
“You want to go up?” I ask him.
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve never been on one.”
I look at him, incredulous. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Geez, pal. Everybody’s been on a Ferris wheel.”
“Guess I’m not everybody.”
I look at him until his eyes catch mine. “No. You’re definitely not.”
His eyes dart to my lips where they linger, and I want to reach out and run my fingers over his, but I realize where we are, and so we go over to the Ferris wheel, get in line, and wait. My heart is thudding when we get on, and I don’t know why.
We get into the swinging bucket and the thing takes off. As we go around, high up enough to see the lights downtown, I look over at Paul and the grin on his face, the absolute joy there just gets me right in the gut. And the ache inside me deepens, and I know I can’t get out of this now. Even if I wanted to.
And I don’t.
“So…you were listening to opera?”
The wheel goes around and around, and I like the breeze and all the lights down below. For a second, I feel almost as happy as Paul’s smile.
“Yeah.” I look over at him. “I was.Paulie.”
I can’t really tell, but I know his face is flushing. “She just calls me that because she’s my aunt.”
“Right.”
He leans his arms on the rail of the bucket seat and looks down. “So, why were you listening to it?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” He looks over at me, pushes his glasses up. “I just didn’t expect that, I guess.”
I give him a half-smile. “And why’s that?”
He returns the half-smile. “Well, you know. The motorcycle. Working on cars, getting all greasy and stuff. Just seems…I don’t know.”
“What?” I say.
He laughs. “I don’t know. But it was kind of neato, you know? That you like that stuff, I mean.”
“Neato?”
“You know what I mean.” He sits back in the seat, making it swing.
“Is that what the kids say now?”
“I’m not a kid,” he says, pushing up his glasses. He fiddles with the edge of his shirt. “And you weren’t like embarrassed that someone would hear it?”
“No. Why would I be?”
