Of course the moment I walk into school, I spy Dmitri down the hall. I don’t need him to see any more of my bodily fluid (which sounds really wonky, but I’m referring to tears and snot). I quickly duck into the bathroom and unwrap myself from the moist animal covering. My cheeks are pleasantly pink. I have always loved how I look after being outside in extremes, from cold or heat or sun. I grab a hunk of toilet paper from a stall and proceed to blow my nose until clear. With my hat-scarf, I dab my eyes, sticky from the cold, and look myself over. Crisp and wintry with a dash of static cling. Not a bad look for me.
Three minutes until first bell, I strut out of the bathroom feeling pretty proud of myself. I’m semi-chipper. I’ve got pep in my step. And my step leads me directly into Dmitri.
“You do love a girls’ bathroom, don’t you?” I smile at him. He looks really freaked out. Crap. Am I supposed to not smile at him? Am I supposed to be the constantly depressed angry girl? Is that what he expects? Or worse, is that what he wants? Is he my Edward Cullen?
Did I just make a Twilight reference?
“Hey,” I say to Dmitri, not too happy but with sincerity. If one can say “hey” with sincerity. God, I am really overthinking this moment. And all prior and subsequent moments as well.
“Hi.” Dmitri looks excited. Like, maybe too excited. Like maybe he wants to pull me back into the bathroom and have his way with me. Oh my god. That was very “Twilight” as well. I haven’t read that series in like seven hundred years, and all of a sudden I’m living it? I thought I was supposed to be playing Hogwarts today. No matter. Fiction feels good.
I act on this fictiony, foxy version of me and offer myself up to Dmitri for a hug. Still not big on PDAs, I allow Dimmi to kiss me on the forehead but try to avoid any actual lip-locking while we’re surrounded by a viewing public.
“You look beautiful today,” Dmitri coos in my ear. My chilled cheeks burn.
“Must be the fresh air. I walked to school.”
“You seem different. Good.”
“Good is different?”
“No. Different is good. I mean, you seem different than you have lately. Like, you’re talking to me. And smiling at me.”
Dmitri pulls back and cups my chin. His expression is almost desperate, and I feel this wicked sense of power. This boy loves me, and my good mood makes him feel better. It’s crazy that I could affect a person that much.
I kiss him. Hard. At first I feel his hesitation, or maybe it’s confusion, and then he is into it. Really into it. To the point where when the bell rings, I wonder if he’ll be able to walk to class comfortably.
I peel myself away, breathing heavily, and tell him, “We have to get to class.”
“Right.” He nods at my lips.
“I’m looking forward to the carnival Friday,” I say, gathering my bag and my being.
“Right,” he says again, this time with a concerned squint in his eyes.
“We are going, right?” I ask. My eyes are wide and pleading. I am a character in a novel.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” He nods violently, then kisses my cheek. “I should go,” he acknowledges.
“Me too. See you later?” I ask.
“Yeah.” His eyebrows are fully crinkled and thinking. I don’t know what I said or did to make him so confused.
My mood begins to immediately slip a couple of notches. I knew it was too good to last.
Dmitri
My teeth are chattering like one of those sets of toy teeth that bounce across the table when you wind them up. The temperature, without the wind chill, is two degrees Fahrenheit.
And it’s windy.
Eliana and I are among the few brave souls dumb enough to attend the Excelsior Winter Carnival in these conditions. Her face is covered by a spotted-fur hat and scarf, making her look like a half-human, half-leopard-cheetah thing. She loops her arm through mine, pulling us close for warmth, but it isn’t like the public display of affection at school this week; this is about survival.
I wasn’t sure which Ellie I would see tonight. Would it be the cagey girl with soft eyes and sharp edges, so shrouded in mystery she made me fall in love with her? The sad girl, so off balance as to be falling over all on her own (in a metaphorical kind of way)? Or the perky, almost bouncy girl I found in the halls of Walter Mondale Preparatory High School two days ago, so unexpected she confused the ever-loving crap out of me. (I wonder where that expression comes from—what exactly is “ever-loving crap”?)
When my dad and I pulled up to Ellie’s house in the Digrindakis Boat—aka the Cadillac—Ellie yanked the door open, said a muffled “Hello, Mr. Digrindakis” through the spotted fur across her face, and slid close to me. The only noises she made on the drive to Excelsior were occasional grunts I took to be a “yes,” a “no,” or a chuckle in response to my inane banter. It’s not easy to carry on a conversation by yourself, but apparently I was determined to try. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.
“Where to first?” I ask once we’re through the front gate, my dad’s taillights retreating in the distance.
The carnival features a midway with games; a row of vendors selling mostly German food, including funnel cakes; and a few of those portable, suspicious-looking rides that travel from state fair to town carnival to god knows where else. But none of those are the real attractions. People from all over the Twin Cities come to the Excelsior Winter Carnival for two reasons (or so said the website): the ice sculptures and the Frozen Ferris Wheel.
“Sculptures,” Ellie spits out as she ducks her head into my shoulder to avoid a microburst of wind, the moisture in the air stinging my cheeks like little darts. I wonder if this is what acupuncture feels like.
We follow signs to the “Sculpture Garden,” and when we get there, the world falls away.
There are no fewer than fifty ice sculptures—from small, delicate depictions of winter wildlife (deer, foxes, squirrels), to a flawless recreation of the David (something we were forced to learn about in art appreciation class, and thanks to this ice sculpture, something I can now finally appreciate), to a life-sized replica of the DeLorean from Back to the Future (my all-time favorite old movie). The display of raw artistic talent is breathtaking. Ellie and I both stand up straighter and unconsciously let go of each other as we are rendered mute by what we see.
“Holy…” She doesn’t finish her thought.
“Yeah,” I answer in a breath.
There are so few people at the carnival, we’re alone as we wander through the statues. It’s otherworldly, like we’ve landed on some remote ice planet; like we’ve stumbled on an important archaeological find on Hoth.
Ellie points out a few a sculptures she likes and I do the same, and for a couple of minutes at least, the stress we’ve been feeling in our relationship evaporates. I’m with the first Ellie, the mystery girl who lets her guard down just for me, or that’s how it feels anyway. And I realize that’s why I love Ellie so much; she makes me feel special, privileged that she lets me in when she keeps everyone else out, that she allows me to know her. It confirms in my mind I made the right choice in coming here tonight.
Chad had texted me yesterday to find out whether or not I was in for the gig. When I told him no, he told me rehearsal was canceled. That was it; nothing more. I tried texting Kyle to see how much damage I’d done with my decision, but he never responded. (There wasn’t any reason—there’s never any reason—to reach out to Drew.) I didn’t tell Ellie anything about the band and the canceled gig. I didn’t want her to feel bad or give her an excuse to break the date.
The sound of our boots crunching on the frost replaces our conversation as we approach the final sculpture at the back of the garden, the curator of this little museum having saved the best piece for last: a ten-foot-tall copy of the Frozen Ferris Wheel. It’s situated in a way that if you approach it dead on and squat down a bit, you can use the trick of perspective (something Mr. Tannis talked a lot about when we watched Vertigo) to make the ice sculpture line up
perfectly with the actual Ferris wheel in the background. And most amazing of all, the ice sculpture Ferris wheel turns on its axis, just like the real thing.
It’s incredible.
“Whaddya say?” I ask, jutting my chin at the twin wheels. “You game?” Ferris wheels are an important part of our shared mythology, our origin story if you will, and I really want us to ride that frozen beast together. It feels like it will be magical.
Ellie’s eyes dart from the Ferris wheels to me and back again. With her face still covered by fur, her eyes are the only thing I can see.
“Sure,” she says.
I buy us two tickets from a dimly lit wooden shack, the attendant inside kept warm by a space heater, and we get in line. There is only one other couple in front of us; I’m just wondering who else is idiotic enough to be out here in these temperatures, when the guy turns around.
“Dmitri?”
It takes a minute for me to recognize Dan. He works the sound board at an all-ages club called Minor’s, a semi-regular haunt for Unexpected Turbulence. He’s a nice guy we’ve gotten to know a bit, and always does a good job with our mix.
“Oh, hey, man,” I answer. “Crazy weather, huh?” Only Dan doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks at me like I’ve got two heads. “What?” I ask after a long and uncomfortable minute.
The Frozen Ferris Wheel comes to a stop, and the really unhappy hipster staffing the ride holds the door open for Dan and his date.
“What are you doing here?” Dan asks, as his girlfriend slides into the waiting compartment.
“What do you mean? Same as you. Enjoying the Minnesota winter.” I try to smile but the cold makes my face hurt.
“No. I mean what are you doing here? A friend just posted an Instagram pic of Unexpected Turbulence taking the stage at a high school in St. Louis Park. A battle of the bands, I think.” Dan is half in the Ferris wheel compartment when he adds over his shoulder, “You quit the band or something?”
I don’t have time, or the presence of mind, to answer before Dan follows his date into the Ferris wheel and they’re whisked away.
Two things happen next:
First, I experience the same thing Jimmy Stewart’s character did in Vertigo, where Hitchcock zooms the camera in while physically moving it backward on a track. It gives the feeling of the world contracting and expanding at the same time; a literal and visual sense of vertigo.
The second thing is that Ellie pulls away from me, looking like I just slapped her in the face.
I switch to some kind of autopilot, as if I’ve been drugged, and allow myself to be ushered into the confines of my own cage on the Frozen Ferris Wheel. For a minute, I don’t even realize Ellie is right beside me. Before I know what’s happening, the two of us are catapulted into the frigid night sky.
Eliana
The air is excruciating. I know we’re Midwesterners and we’re supposedly built for this, but I don’t know if any human is designed for the impact of a moving Ferris wheel against the frigid wind. My boogers are freezing fast. My eyelashes are stiff. And my mind is numb at the prospect of Dmitri being here with me instead of his band. Did he quit? Did they fire him? Is he on a break? What do me and this torture wheel have to do with it?
I peel my frozen lips apart and blink my eyes rapidly until they can move again. This really is a stupid idea for a carnival. I guess that makes us even stupider for partaking. As best I can in the current conditions, I turn to Dmitri. “Why aren’t you at the Unexpected Turbulence show?”
Dmitri’s eyes widen like he wasn’t expecting me to ask that question. As if we could go about this evening as though such a critical fact hadn’t just been lobbed at us by the fates. It’s almost like he’s forgotten I was sitting next to him. “Um. Yeah. I really don’t know,” he says, scratching his head through his knitted beanie. “I told them I couldn’t play the gig. I thought there wouldn’t be a gig.”
Our gloved hands grip the safety bar in front of us. If this ride is supposed to be romantic, the weather and the news certainly have removed any of that sentiment.
“Why did you tell them you couldn’t play?”
Below us, the light bounces off the ice sculptures spectacularly. I consider what would happen if someone dropped a match from the Ferris wheel. Not that I’d do it. But what if.
“I…” Dmitri hesitates. “I wanted to bring you to this carnival?”
It is not a solid fact. It is a question. It makes him pause. He regrets it. He regrets bringing me to a carnival because it means that he is not playing with his band. He should be with his band. He belongs with his band. He doesn’t belong on this rolling monstrosity next to a girl with frozen snot who is not holding his hand or even smiling at what should be something fun. Because I am not fun. I am trapped inside my brain, thinking thinking thinking, and he has chosen my mess over his happiness. It’s too much.
“You should’ve gone to the show. You should’ve played. You didn’t need to bring me here.” I speak through gritted teeth, out of anger and because it’s too damn cold to open my mouth all the way.
“But I wanted to be with you. I want to show you how important you are to me.”
“I don’t feel important. I feel like some pawn in your songwriting arsenal. I feel like you need me to feel important, not because you make me feel important.”
Dmitri fumbles. “Wait. What?”
“I’m not your damsel in distress, Dmitri. Sure, I’m in distress, but there’s nothing you can do about it. And as much work as you think I am to ‘save,’ you’re just as much work. I’m tired of having to answer texts and tell you I’m okay or not okay or what you can do to help me. Because there’s nothing you can do.”
“That’s not true! I can help you! I can be there for you and show you how much I love you and protect you and take your mind away from things!” Dmitri practically shouts this down to the only other fools who are out in this weather. It doesn’t feel reassuring. It’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to be in a state where someone wants to help me. And what makes Dmitri think he’s the hero who’s going to do that? I tripped him, does he remember? I don’t want to need help. I just want to be alone.
“I can’t do this anymore, Dmitri. I need to go home. Now.”
I say this and realize we are at the very top of the Ferris wheel. Stopped to let on a couple with dazzling love in their eyes. Assholes.
“We can figure it out, Ellie. I love you. I can help—”
Before he can finish that ridiculous, repetitive sentiment, I stop him. “No, you can’t! Stop saying that! Help yourself. Get out.”
“But, we’re like fifty feet off the ground.”
“You know what I mean, Dmitri. Get out of this relationship. Think of the songs you can write about your crazy ex-girlfriend and how she broke up with you on the Ferris wheel. You can thank me later.” I have so much bile in my voice, but inside I’m crumbling so much I fear I may rain down from the top of the Ferris wheel.
We finally begin moving again, and I’m surprised when I peek over at Dmitri and he looks incredulous. At me. I’ve done it. I’ve made him turn on me. Just like I did to all my friends. My siblings. Now he won’t want to help me. He probably won’t ever want to see me again.
“But I love you, Ellie.” He is broken. I broke him.
The Ferris wheel cascades downward, and the carny stops us abruptly at the bottom. He unlatches the safety bar, and the instant I’m free I start to run. It’s not easy to run when it’s this cold. Within the first fifty yards my lungs burn and my throat crackles. I hold the scarf over my mouth as best I can and keep running. I run even though I hear Dmitri yelling something after me. At me. But I am gone. And he doesn’t follow. I knew he wouldn’t.
I am alone. Just like I should be. For better or for worse. And it will always get worse.
Dmitri
After texting Ellie an untold number of times to see if she was okay—even though she told me how much my texts annoy her—this is the only one that got
a response:
ME: My father’s really worried. He says he was responsible for you and needs to know you got home safely. Can you at least tell me that? That you got home safely? If not, he and I are going to have to go out in the boat and look for you.
My phone chimed two seconds later.
ELIANA: Yes. I got home safe.
I send one final text.
ME: Ellie, I get that you’re mad at me, though I’m not really sure why. But are you mad enough to end this? Is it really over?
My answer comes in the form of deafening silence.
After we stepped off the Ferris wheel and Ellie ran, it took two whole minutes for my brain to catch up with what was happening. By the time I went after her, it was too late. She was gone. I guess she left the fairgrounds, found a spot I wouldn’t think to look for her, and called her parents to pick her up. Or maybe she just took a Lyft home.
When my dad came to get me and my date was gone, I had to tell him everything. It was embarrassing, like a colossal admission of failure. What’s weird is that I found myself telling him more than he really needed to know to understand the situation. I more or less vomited the entire history of my and Ellie’s relationship on the car ride home, starting with my tripping in gym class and ending with the Frozen Ferris Wheel.
Dad was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him.
“I proud of you, Demetrios.”
Not what I expected. Dad and I don’t talk about things like feelings and relationships. “Proud?”
“You choose love over music. This a very Greek thing to do.”
I had no freaking idea what that was supposed to mean and told him so.
“We are people who give the world music, and…” He fumbled for words and slipped to Greek. “και λογοτεχνία, και δράμα και χορός.” (And literature, and drama, and dance.) He said this with force. “But all this,” he said, back to English, “what is word, culture? Yes, culture. All this culture, it exist because of love.”
Girl on the Ferris Wheel Page 20