Rob hopes it’s true. The night could not have gone worse. The homeless man. The tense dinner. The creepy Ferris Wheel operator. Is this the night he wants them to remember forever? Or does the night not matter? Does the moment not matter? Is it truly all about what comes after?
He feels the lump of the ring through denim.
The ride stops and starts. Stops and starts. Each gondola emptying, filling with new riders. They are at the top now. The highest point of the wheel.
It’s so beautiful up high. The lights dazzling. The ocean terrifyingly vast. Rob can hardly tell where the night sky stops and the great sea begins. It’s all a giant, earth-consuming abyss. Eternity dressed in funeral black. Part of him wishes he could take Mary’s hand, fly from the metal box they’re confined in, soar into the moonlit eye of that great void. Fly forever through the cold dark. Past stars, past galaxies. To a forever land. He’d like to take her there. To forever. To whatever it held in its cupped palms, filled with mystery and starlight. Locked in the ever-present, past and future blown apart, forgotten.
“It’s pretty.”
Rob turns away from the night. To Mary. Her smile more genuine. Relaxed now. It’s okay up here. Up here, above the noise, the crowd, it’s okay.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the remaining words stay unspoken. That’s okay, too.
She shakes her head. Reaches out a hand, takes his. Leans forward. They kiss. Nothing magic. Just comfort. Trust. More unspoken words. “Let’s forget it,” she whispers into his cheek, and he nods.
They sit back, study each other. Rob swallows. He reaches into his pocket. Tips of padded fingers find silver. Cool against his warm flesh.
“Mary…”
The ride jerks into motion.
Rob is thwarted. Flustered. Is that it? he thinks. There’s not enough time. They’re moving too much. It’s herky-jerky. Rushed.
This isn’t working, he thinks, fighting tears. He knows he won’t be able to go through with it. Not tonight. He’ll need a new plan. They’ll be off the ride soon, there’s no time. It’s all wrong.
They begin to descend, the wind picking them up as gravity takes over.
The great wheel spins.
As they near the bottom, Mary looks toward the operator. Her eyes meet his, shadowed under his cap. His eyes narrow and his lip turns, a scowl. He looks away, and then they’re gliding through, past the platform, past the upturned faces, a Doppler effect of crowded voices and tinny music. The voices mute as they fly up and away and into the night.
JEREMIAH LOOKS UP at tub number nine as it comes down. Catches her stare.
He’s loaded all new riders, he’ll spin them around a few times, then stick number nine up there like a head on a post. Give him some time to think. To figure out his next move. His mind is racing. He doesn’t want to be here when she gets out. What if they’ve spoken? What if the boyfriend is up there, right now, working himself into a lather? Or maybe they’re on their phones. Calling police. Friends in high places.
He pulls off his ballcap. Wipes sweat from his brow with a sleeve. His long gray hair hangs down his back in a ponytail. He wishes he was back traveling with the carnival. Running the Merry-Go-Round. Those were sweet days. The girls would get off and they’d take his hand and they’d dance with him. Dance to the hick band the carnival hired local, each city different. How he loved to hold those girls. How he loved to dance.
Jeremiah smiles. His gold tooth glimmers fiery red in the neon light.
Number nine passes again. She’s looking away this time. Smiling. Good, good. There they go. The slut and the idiot. One more time around and then he’s gonna let them sit up there a while. Cool down a bit.
He watches, waits… timing has to be just right…
He pushes his foot to the brake. Harder than he should, and there are some happy yelps of surprise from the riders as the wheel slows, almost jarringly so.
Number nine is at the top. All right, all right. He’ll leave the lovebirds up there a bit while he figures out what to do.
In the meantime, fuck ‘em.
THEY ARE HELD at the top. The ride settles. Their tub rocks and groans. The world is all around them. Waves crash on a distant planet. Music comes from a satellite. They are in a spaceship floating along an orbital path. Forgotten by mankind.
A minute passes.
Rob hears a distant plane whining through the night sky, like the far-off cranking of an old air-raid siren.
Another minute.
Mary thinks: How long is this ride?
Rob’s mouth is desert dry. His neck bathed in sweat. He knows, it’s now or never. Mary is distracted, looking toward the coastline.
Now…
There will never be a more perfect moment in this imperfect night. The music of the ride dampens, the crowd buzz washed away by a Pacific breeze, the ocean’s impatient exhale. Rob reaches into his pocket, pulls out the ring, palms it.
“Mary?”
She turns. A smile, just for him. The one he’ll hold onto the rest of their lives. The welcome of her.
He takes her hand. She’s startled at his urgency, but her face is alive. She smirks at the seriousness on his normally carefree face. “Mary,” he says. “I love you. I love you so much.”
