The View from the Top

by Hillary Frank

  Tobin’s fingers were getting so sweaty, they started to slip downAnabelle’s face.

  The voices from the ground were just about at ear level now.

  “I was wondering, we’re not still at the top, are we?” Anabelle kept her eyes closed even though his hands weren’t on top of them anymore. “I mean, maybe I can’t see a thing, but I’m pretty sure we’ve been moving for a while.”

  “Oh! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Tobin pulled his hands away and took his arm off her shoulder, but he left it resting behind her on the back of the basket.

  Why couldn’t you have just said what you wanted to say? Anabelle thought. Her face and shoulders felt all cold and empty where he’d been touching her. She opened her eyes but didn’t look at him. “That’s not really what I wanted to ask you,” she admitted. “What I really wanted to say was ...” No, she couldn’t do it now. Not when she wasn’t sure how he’d react. If he puts his arm back around you, she thought. Maybe then. “Can you not wait to leave here, or what?” Ugh, what’s wrong with you?

  “Wish I was gone already.”

  “Me too,” she agreed. The basket started to rise and she got a little queasy, thinking about hitting the top again. “People here suck.”

  “Completely. They’re so judgmental.”

  “I know! It’s like, since I’m this quiet person, nobody expects me to be any fun or something. But I just don’t feel like I’ve been given a chance. And then there are things I’ve done that I feel like I can’t tell anyone. ’Cause if they knew, they’d make this big deal about it.”

  Their basket had risen past rooftops. Anabelle told herself to focus on Tobin’s eyes, to pretend they were just sitting on a bench somewhere. Somewhere on the ground. Maybe a piano bench.

  “Yeah,” Tobin said. “But soon we can start fresh. We can be anybody.” He knocked his knee into hers—it seemed like it was on purpose, because his Snuffy eyelashes suddenly lowered and the tops of his cheeks got red. “Who do you think you’ll be?” he asked.

  Anabelle smiled, trying to imitate his lowered-lid look. “Oh, I think definitely a trapeze artist. And you?”

  “The campus slut,” he deadpanned.

  “That sounds about right,” she said, laughing. She pushed her knee against his and left it there. He didn’t back away. Which somehow made her feel as though she could finally really tell him what was on her mind. “Okay, so there’s something I’ve been thinking about,” she said. She was so nervous that the last couple words got swallowed.

  “Something you’ve been what?” Tobin asked, holding his hand up to his ear.

  “Thinking about,” Anabelle said louder.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know that night?”

  “On the trampoline,” he said.

  “Right,” Anabelle said. “How did you know I was gonna say that?”

  “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” He put his hand on her knee a little too gently—as if he was afraid to put too much weight on her.

  “Really?” She barely got the word out.

  “Yeah,” he said in almost a whisper.

  Anabelle wondered if she could lean over and kiss him back right now. As if only moments, not months, had passed since he’d first tried kissing her.

  “Oh, hey,” Tobin said suddenly, squeezing her knee, “we’re getting to that part again.” He pointed up ahead at the basket in front of them, which was just now hitting the top.

  Anabelle had been so wrapped up in what was happening with Tobin that she hadn’t really noticed how high they were. And she was surprised to find that as long as she didn’t look down, she didn’t need her blinders. But she really wanted to feel Tobin’s hands on her again. “Yeah,” she said, scooting closer to him, “I’m starting to freak out. I’m getting all dizzy and everything.” She wondered if he could tell she was faking because of how calm her voice was. But it didn’t matter because he was clasping his hands over her eyes.

  She pushed her shoulder up into his armpit and he slid his leg against hers, closing the gap between them.

  “Don’t worry,” he said with an audible gulp. “I’m here.” Anabelle wasn’t sure, but she thought she could feel his lips skimming the ends of her hair. Or maybe it was just a breeze. She let her body meld against Tobin’s incrementally. She was afraid if she made any sudden movements, he’d back away and it would turn out that she was wrong, after all, about him still liking her.

  With her sight blocked again, Anabelle became more aware of sounds. There was Tobin’s heartbeat in her ear—louder than she ever imagined a heart could be. It drowned out the pops, whistles, and bells that flowed into her other ear.

  Tobin started to tap a rhythm against her closed eyes. He began with his right hand: bum bum bum . . . bum. And then his left: bum bum bum . . . bum.

  It kinda felt like “Do You Love Me?” from Fiddler on the Roof—the spring production from junior year.

  Tobin continued tapping with his left hand.

  Bum . . . bum bum bum . . . bum . . . bum . . . bum bum bum . . . bum bum bum . . . bum bum bum.

  Oh my God, Anabelle thought. It is! He seemed to be using his left hand to tap Golde’s melody and his right hand for Tevye’s.

  She couldn’t believe it. Was he trying to tell her something? Or just tapping it because it was in his head? Or maybe he thought she wouldn’t pick up on it, and it was only for his benefit?

  She waited for him to switch to his right hand for the next Tevye part, where Tevye tells Golde he was scared when they first met on their wedding day. And then when Golde’s next part came up, Anabelle put her hand on Tobin’s thigh and tapped out the thing Golde sings about being shy, right when Tobin started in on the left side again. He only made it through the first beat, then stopped tapping. She wondered if he was embarrassed that she’d caught on. Or glad?

  In any case, he picked it up again with his right hand on Tevye’s next part. They continued alternating phrases—and when they got to the part where Tevye asks Golde if she loves him and she says she supposes she does and he says he supposes he does, too, Anabelle’s heart felt like a cave at dusk, with a whole bunch of bats flying out of it.

  They tapped out the last four lines in sync because the two characters sing them together.

  Though Anabelle didn’t exactly want Tobin’s feelings for her to be those of a traditional old-worlder who’d been married to her for twenty-five years, it definitely beat having him want to be her brother. And she figured the old-world thing hadn’t been what he was trying to say, anyway.

  “People Like Us” stopped playing and nothing else came on the speakers. It must’ve been ten o’clock. That’s when WhirrrlyWorld stopped playing music on weekends.

  The fairground noises from below were so close, Anabelle had a feeling they were near the bottom. She sat there, still not being able to see a thing, wondering what to do next. Should she say something? Should she sit up and kiss him?

  “You know,” Tobin said, breaking the silence. “There’s stuff you’ll miss about this place, I’m sure.”

  “I kinda doubt it,” she said.

  “O-kay,” he said, sounding a little defensive.

  Oh, no, she thought. I hope he doesn’t think I mean I won’t miss him. Because she definitely would. Especially watching him sway from side to side with his eyes closed when he really got into playing his cello. She wished he’d uncover her eyes so she could read the look on his face.

  “Trust me,” he said, “I can’t wait to leave, either. But there’s stuff about Normal that we shouldn’t forget about when we go. I mean, things are gonna be really different for you at Oberlin. And this stuff here? It’s all part of your past. And that’s important. I mean, how can you be a successful trapeze artist without accessing memories from your past?”

  Anabelle giggled. “Like what?”

  “Well,” he said. “This, for starters.” He turned her head to the right and took his hands off her eyes. She wasn’t sure
what she was supposed to be looking at. There was a woman walking by, licking a lollipop the size of her face. She was wearing a tiny little tennis skirt and buggy sunglasses. A lot of those fancy tourist ladies wore shades at night. “Her?” Anabelle asked. “I’ve never even seen her.”

  “No,” he said. “Beyond that.”

  “The ticket booth?”

  “Farther.” He pointed to the side of the ticket booth into the darkness. “Across the street.”

  “School?!”

  “Yup.”

  “I definitely won’t miss that,” Anabelle assured him.

  “Not even the time Mr. Pizzarelli accidentally threw his baton on stage during South Pacific? Or when we all sat around in the pit before Jesus Christ Superstar and pretended we were getting in character, like the Players do? Or all those chamber rehearsals when our playing just totally clicked and it felt like we were pros?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Anabelle said. “I’ll miss that stuff. But it didn’t have anything to do with school.” She put her hand on his knee and squeezed, hoping he’d know she meant those things had everything to do with him.

  “True,” Tobin said, pushing his knee up into her hand. He put his hands back over her eyes as their basked drifted backward. “Okay,” he said. “How about this? This you won’t find anywhere else.” He turned her head slightly down and to the left and peeled back his hands.

  This time she knew what he wanted her to see. She was looking straight at all the vendor shacks across the street. Bright neon signs flashed: REAL HOMEMADE FUDGE, OLD-FASHIONED PEANUT BRITTLE. OPEN! OPEN! OPEN! “I bet I know which one you’re gonna miss most,” Anabelle said, laughing. She pointed at the giant glowing chocolate-chip cookie on top of Kooky Cookies, where Tobin worked as a cookie delivery boy.

  Tobin tugged on a ringlet of her hair. “What, you don’t think it’s gonna be Naughty Nibbles?” he said. “I already told you what kind of guy I’m gonna become.”

  Anabelle reached up and boinged one of his curls. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Maybe you should bring some chocolate body parts with you to impress the ladies.”

  He laughed and pressed his fingers back over her face as the basket floated back toward the three-o’clock position on the wheel. His palms had dried up a bit, and it felt as if they were molded to her eye sockets.

  “All right, what else will I miss?” she asked.

  He tilted her head back slowly. The ride stopped and Tobin slid his hands to the sides of her face, brushing her hair gently around her ears. “Well,” he said. “You definitely can’t forget this. They won’t have these where you’re going. At least not this many.” She looked up. The basket above them had moved ahead of theirs. Nothing was blocking her view.

  Stars. So many, they looked like spilled milk.

  “You’re right,” she said. “That’s a good one.” She felt as if Tobin were reaching inside her chest and holding her heart. One little bat was still flapping around in there.

  Down below she could hear the clicking and banging of a Ferris-wheel basket being unloaded.

  Anabelle kept looking at the sky and saw Tobin’s face in her peripheral vision. He was looking up, too, and still playing with her hair.

  There was the sound of a Ferris-wheel basket gate clanging into place. “Well, I guess this is it,” she said.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “They’re letting people off. Ride’s gonna be over soon.”

  “I know,” Tobin said. “But there’s this.” He took one of his hands away from her head and she could feel him shuffling around for something in his pocket. When he put his hand back in front of her, he was holding a whole slew of untorn tickets. “I was planning on staying here awhile,” he said. “I don’t really feel like going back home and dealing with my dad yet. You can join me if you want.”

  Anabelle nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her whole body warming. “My dad can wait a little longer, too.”

  The ride started moving again, cranking them up a notch and into a forward direction.