Girl on the Ferris Wheel

by Julie Halpern

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t just the Greeks, but the Chinese, and the Babylonians, and half a dozen other cultures from across the globe that invented music and drama and dance, that art in any of its many forms is probably native to humans, regardless of where or when we’re from. But I was too tired and too shell-shocked to pick a fight.

  “You understand?” he asked with utmost gravity.

  “Yes. Love is everything,” I answered without emotion. I wanted to say love is everything that hurts, but I didn’t. I was starting to feel numb.

  That was all hours ago, anyway.

  When I think of it now, I probably should have paid more attention, because maybe Dad was onto something. I’m just not sure what.

  It’s past midnight, and I can’t fall asleep. I keep playing the scene from the Ferris wheel over and over in my head, and each time I do, my emotions morph ever so slightly from sad to angry until I’m one hundred percent pissed off.

  I probably should have realized I was smothering Ellie, that all my texting was too much. But really, what the hell was I supposed to do when she wouldn’t even talk to me? Just pretend everything was okay?

  She’s being selfish. (As mad as I am, I still feel really guilty for even thinking that, but my train of thought is out of control and if I try to stop it, it’s going right off the tracks.) Ellie didn’t even care that my band did a gig without me. She should have been consoling me; instead, she made it about her.

  “You know what?” I say to Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Marky, all clad in leather on the poster on my wall. “I deserve better than this.” I pause for a second before adding a dramatic “Fuck it.”

  I pick up my phone and compose a text.

  ME: Hey Meg … Just thought I’d say hi and see if you want to hang out soon.

  There’s a long pause as I watch the three little dots letting me know she’s typing a text. Something about the way they look makes me nauseous, like the motion of a rolling ship at sea, like I’m going to hurl.

  MEG: Hi, Dmitri! What happened to you tonight? I was at the UT show, but you weren’t there. Anyway, I got to meet Chad. We’ve been hanging out for hours. He’s so cool!

  Meg was at the show? She hung out with Chad? Wait. She’s still hanging out with Chad? She thinks Chad is cool?

  MEG: He says you quit the band … why? Anyway, gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.

  I don’t answer. There’s too much to unpack in that text to even think about answering. My mind is swirling with images of the band playing, and Chad and Meg kissing, and Ellie’s gritted teeth and fire-tinged eyes hating my freaking guts. So I start crying—not a loud wailing cry, more of a strangling muffled sob—and keep crying until I fall asleep.

  Eliana

  Six days. That’s how long I was under my blankets. My mom was too busy dealing with Asher’s and Ava’s strep throat/ear infection combo to argue with me about school. But her patience waned. I had an appointment with Sheila Grossman. Instead of an expensive inpatient program, she laid out a plan to put me on homebound. That means I’m home (duh), but I pick up and send in my schoolwork. I’ll have regular Sheila Grossman appointments (yay) and try to work through things without the added stress of social interactions. At least for a month or two. And while this feels good, like a tangible plan, it doesn’t feel like a solution. It won’t change the fact that I have a giant “Depressed” stamp marring my school files.

  Dmitri

  I try to text Eliana a few more times the day after the Frozen Ferris Wheel, but she doesn’t answer. She isn’t in school on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or any day after that. By the end of the week, I can’t take it anymore, so I corner Janina.

  “Let it go, Dmitri.” There is a real sadness in Janina’s eyes, like someone she knows has died; I don’t know if that person is me or Eliana. I try to press Janina, to find out if Ellie is okay, to find out if I still have a chance, but she doesn’t give me a thing.

  I text Ellie again that night, the anger I was feeling a week ago having evaporated and leaving a residue of desperate sadness in its place. Only the text fails because the number—Ellie’s number—no longer exists.

  Well, okay then.

  A normal person would probably take this as a sign it’s time to move on. Turns out I’m not normal. Inspired by something I saw in a movie, I send a large pizza to Ellie’s house, with “I Love You” spelled out in pepperonis. Who wouldn’t fall for that?

  The pizzeria calls me back and tells me an older woman (Ellie’s mom, I guess) refused delivery, and they want to know what I want them to do with the pie. I tell them to just give it to the staff.

  Strike one.

  I also work up the nerve to text Chad that night, to begin the process of working my way back into the band. I swallow my pride and apologize for missing the gig. This is what I get back:

  CHAD: You blew it, Demetrios. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to mention you in my autobiography someday.

  Eliana

  Homebound is glorious, even if it does sound like I should have an ankle bracelet. I get to leave the house. I’m supposed to leave the house, as part of my agreement with the parents and Sheila Grossman. Schoolwork is sent home, schoolwork is returned online, I get to spend all of the rest of my delightful alone time doing whatever I want. (If by “alone” I mean with a middle-aged man in the basement. At least he does get take-out sandwiches for me every once in a while. And we have made it a point to watch one classic movie together every Friday at lunchtime, which isn’t as bad as expected.) Doing “whatever” includes, but is not limited to, reading, walking, puzzling, and watching heaps of movies. Nowhere in that list do I have to talk to anyone but my family and Janina. It might help that I changed my phone number.

  Dmitri

  The day after the pizza debacle, I begin a program of writing Eliana three letters a day, on actual stationery and mailed with actual stamps. I figure there is no way she can ignore that.

  Five days later—by then I figure that at least my first six letters (two days’ worth) have arrived—Janina finds me in school and tells me to cut it out.

  “You just need to give her space. Leave her alone. Let her figure things out.”

  Knowing that my letters are getting through gives me a rare moment of hope. Then Janina hands me six postmarked, unopened envelopes.

  Strike two.

  If this isn’t bad enough, I reach out to Kyle, but he’s not answering my texts.

  It’s feeling like the universe is conspiring against me.

  Eliana

  I’m on the couch, trying to watch The Dark Crystal on Netflix, when Dad plops himself next to me. He’s not overly close, which I appreciate, and he’s not talking to me, which I also like. In fact, I kind of don’t mind that he’s here. It’s lonely being home all the time with just my head to keep me company.

  Dad manages to keep silent for all of three minutes, when he weighs in on the show. “They’ve kept the feeling of the original movie while coming up with an entire new world of Gelfling. I’m impressed.” I nod, because if I engage too much, that’ll encourage him to talk more. Three more minutes and another comment, this time about the legacy of the Jim Henson Company. I’m not completely listening. It’s a comforting din my dad brings with him. For about ten minutes. Then it’s overkill, and I wish he would stop trying to be my friend and just be my dad.

  “Dad, can we maybe just watch in silence for a few hours?” I ask. That was one of the things I liked about Dmitri. He knew when to let the power of the screen take over. Or at least when quiet felt right. Maybe it was the musician in him.

  I can see how painful even five minutes of quietude is for my dad, maybe because his daughter told him to shut up or maybe because it is that hard for him to be quiet, but he opens his mouth, holds up a finger, and announces, “I’m going to get a paper and pen. That way I can take notes on all of the talking points for a later discussion.”

  “You do what you gotta do, Dad,” I say.

  Dad stands
up, walks away, and doesn’t come back. I’m both happy and sad. That’s what I get for leaving my room-hole.

  Dmitri

  Janina isn’t the only one to warn me off my current path.

  “You need to move on.”

  Nicky and Yia Yia are waiting for me in the kitchen after school. I told Nicky about my failure at sending the letters. I guess he ratted me out.

  “Dimmi-moo,” Yia Yia begins, “she good girl, but maybe you need give her space.” Why does everyone in the world care about Eliana getting space? What about my need for a lack of space?

  “You’re freaking her out.” Nicky’s voice is definitive, like he knows something.

  “Did you talk to her?” I hold my breath while I wait for him to answer.

  “No. I tried to text to see if she was okay, but she didn’t respond to me, either.” Part of me is happy he didn’t get an answer, and part of me wants to punch him in the face for trying.

  The two of them, my brother and grandmother, prattle on a bit longer about how I’m pushing Eliana further away, and how girls like boys with some semblance of dignity. I ignore the obvious dig about my own lack of dignity and try to hear what they’re telling me.

  But really, what do Nicky and Yia Yia know about girls? Nicky’s never had a girlfriend, and Yia Yia is like a hundred years old. (It’s weird to think of Yia Yia as a teenager at all.)

  I promise to think about what they’re telling me, knowing full well I’m going to ignore every last bit of their advice before any of us ever leave the room. Time for a new plan.

  Eliana

  “You are not to tell me anything. Like, anything, that Dmitri says, does, touches, smells—”

  “Smells?” Janina interrupts.

  “Yes, Janina. I do not want to know what he smells. I want to know not a thing about Dmitri while I am on homebound. That is your job as my best friend. If I catch a whiff—”

  “What’s up with you and smells, El?”

  “Just promise me I can work through what I need to at home without worrying if he is sad or happy or with someone else. You are my only lifeline to Walter Mondale High School. Keep it under lock, okay?”

  “You can count on me, sir.”

  Dmitri

  With pizza and letters having failed, I turn to the canon on how to win the love of a reluctant girl (see Cyrano de Bergerac and Say Anything). I stand outside Ellie’s house at ten thirty P.M., singing “Girl on the Ferris Wheel.”

  Loudly.

  Very loudly.

  All the lights in Ellie’s house are off and stay off. The only lights I do see are the flashing red-and-blue strobes of a police cruiser rounding the corner after my third encore. I’m through the hedges before the cops spot me.

  Prickly things stab my neck as I hide in shrubbery and cry myself to sleep. I wake up shivering and cold an hour later and know that it’s really and truly over.

  Strike three. I’m out.

  Eliana

  Even with Janina banned from discussing anything Dmitri, I still had to deal with the (super embarrassing, and did I mention mortifying) moment when Dmitri stood outside my window, à la Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything, and blasted “Girl on the Ferris Wheel” at me. I peeked through the tiny window in my room-hole, but refused to step out the door. My mom must have called the police, because I watched him zoom off, followed by a police car.

  I almost called him. Or texted him after that. It was kind of sweet, in a dumb eighties-movie kind of way. But then he’d know my new number. And then I’d be right back where we started. Can’t go back to the carnival.

  Dmitri

  Reeling from getting dumped by Ellie, and looking for something good to latch onto, I throw a Hail Mary and track Kyle down at a local coffee shop he likes to frequent. He’s sitting by himself writing in what I know to be his lyrics notebook. He squirms when he sees me coming, but at least he doesn’t get up and leave.

  “I’m sorry, Dmitri,” he starts before I can say a word. “I tried to talk Chad into giving you another chance, but he won’t listen.”

  Kyle wraps both his hands around a chipped mug of something frothy, like he needs something to hold on to while he’s talking to me.

  “At the end of the day,” Kyle adds, “this band doesn’t really exist without Chad.”

  I think about pleading with Kyle, maybe even suggesting he leave UT and that he and I start a new band, but the words die in my throat before they ever reach my mouth. I know he’s right; Chad is more important to UT than I could ever be. And for reasons I’ve never understood, Chad has wanted me gone from the band for a long time.

  This is it. It’s over. I am firmly, completely, and forever out of the band. Unexpected Turbulence has been the defining and central core of my life for two years, and it’s over.

  No band.

  No Ellie.

  No life.

  Hello, rock bottom, my name is Dmitri. Nice to meet you.

  Spring

  Eliana

  “You should really put in a request for a new office next year, Mr. Person. One with a window.” Mr. Person shrugs noncommittally. I imagine he has put in that request numerous times in a passive, nice-dude sort of way, which is why he has the dank dungeon office and all of the newer, shinier guidance counselors have the rooms with views. It’s a shame because today is one of those late March days, the ones that come out like a lamb. It’s fifty-five degrees outside, and here in Minnesota that means much of the population is breaking out the shorts. It will probably snow again next week, but as long as it’s here people take full advantage. It’s a perfect day for a run.

  While Mr. Person clicks and clacks, I shuffle through the mountain of papers required by the school to cover the two months I went on homebound.

  “Looks like you did very well while home,” Mr. Person tells me as he looks over my exams. “And, might I add, you look very well.” I suppose I could be grossed out that my guidance counselor complimented my appearance, but the dude is right. After my meds were tweaked a few times, we found the right concoction for both my depression and anxiety. Instead of staying in my room-hole all day, I did my schoolwork at the puzzle table. And funny enough, that night at the winter carnival taught me something: I love to run. I have been walking long distances for years, but it never occurred to me to pick up the pace. The cold in my throat, the sticky sweat in my eyes, and the burn in my chest felt amazing. And distracting. So I kept running. Every day I was home, I ran. Sometimes for twenty minutes, if it was insanely cold or snowy and slippery, and sometimes for an hour or two. I convinced Janina to join me on some days, and in turn she convinced some of her beauty-school friends. On occasion we had ten girls running together. My mom even took me out to buy proper running shoes and some good sports bras.

  If this keeps up, maybe I’ll join cross-country in the fall. Maybe.

  “As requested by Sheila Grossman,” Mr. Person gives a shout-out to my therapist, “you will have a lighter than usual schedule for the rest of the year until you’re back in the swing. Two study halls, an independent study for English, and a free pass on PE. Don’t go selling it on the black market.” A free pass in PE means I don’t have to take gym for the rest of the year. Ironic, in my newer fitness stage. Not like what we do in high school gym class could ever really be equated with fitness, but I wouldn’t mind a run in the middle of the day.

  Which reminds me of Dmitri and that day where he tripped. If I had been a runner back then, I would have been in a different lane. The PE tumble would never have happened. Would we still have connected? Would it have gotten so complicated? Would I have gone over the edge?

  Who can say?

  I haven’t talked to Dmitri since the Frozen Ferris Wheel. It helped that I changed my phone number. Really, the only people who ever used my phone were my parents, Janina, and Dmitri anyway. It was easy enough to tell Janina and my parents the new number. And that was it. Janina was given the direct order not to tell me anything about Dmitri. I was instructed by Sheila
Grossman to delete any and all social media accounts, so I could just focus on myself and getting better and feeling good and returning to normal-ish.

  That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous about seeing Dmitri now that I’m back at school.

  Mr. Person hands me a pass to my next class, history, and declares, “You are released back into the wild.” He is trying to be funny. Not a bad attempt.

  “You’re a peach, Mr. Person,” I say, not exactly sure what the phrase means. I hope it’s not some sort of sexual innuendo.

  I really need to get out of this office.

  “Remember what I said about the room with a window, Mr. Person. You deserve it.”

  Mr. Person nods humbly, with a dash of sarcasm.

  And I’m out. Into the wild. The hallways of Walter Mondale High School.

  I round the corner and walk right into Dmitri.

  Dmitri

  I kind of hate spring. Yeah, it’s full of hope and promise and blah blah blah, but in Minnesota, it really just means more mud. I am so tired of mud. Plus, everyone’s so cheerful that the deep freeze is finally lifting, it’s like they’ve all forgotten how crappy their lives are. Whatever.

  Last week I removed all the photos and magazine clippings taped to the inside of my school locker. First were the ones related to Unexpected Turbulence; there was a really good review from a weekly arts paper, a photo of the four of us onstage at the Entry, and a copy of the lyrics to “Girl on the Ferris Wheel.” I tore them down and tore them up. The other pictures I pulled off my locker were, of course, of Ellie. There was a picture of the two of us at that Harry Potter restaurant; a strip of four pictures from a photo booth, both of us making silly faces; and a stunningly beautiful photo of Ellie from two years ago. She told me it was the only picture she’d ever liked of herself, which was such an Ellie sort of thing to say.