Riley Bloom Dreamland (13 page)

With hammering heart, and sweaty palms, he made his way toward her. Having no idea what he’d say once he got there, and knowing all too well there was a good chance that her friends would all laugh, he still had to go through with it. He couldn’t let the chance slip away. He was at the carnival—just like any other kid—just like any normal kid—and he wanted Mary Angel to see it.

He wanted her to see him the way he saw her.

By the time he caught up, she and her friends had made their way to the front of the line for the Ferris wheel, waiting for their turn to board.

I stood beside him, the two of us gazing up at the car that loomed highest. And while I’d always loved the Ferris wheel, carnivals too for that matter, Satchel made me see it in a whole different light.

Carnivals were dangerous and dirty places—operated by shady carnies with even shadier pasts—and while all of the rides held their own unique dangers, the Ferris wheel was the granddaddy—the most dangerous of them all. His father had assured him of that on the drive over, while his mother had sat right beside him, head nodding in silent agreement.

I shot him a worried look. He was just a few inches shy of Mary Angel, and I braced for what he might do, what he might say. He was in unfamiliar territory to say the least.

Mary Angel turned, smiling in a way that made her face shine with happiness, and though the smile was in no way directed at him,

she’d

been

merely

laughing

at

something a friend said, Satchel was too sheltered, too hopeful, too socially awkward to see the smile for what it really was.

He used it as an excuse to approach her.

Stopping just shy when a boy, Jimmy MacIntyre, otherwise known as Jimmy Mac, or sometimes just Mac, placed a possessive hand on her back, threading his fingers through her blaze of red hair while gently pushing her toward the vacant, waiting car.

“Hey, Satchel, you gonna ride too?” Mary Angel called, finally seeing him as she slid onto the seat.

And though he’d sought her attention, though it was the number-one reason, the only reason, for lying to his parents and risk-ing their wrath if the lie should be discovered—now that she was looking at him, he was struck dumb, left completely speechless, breaking out in a sweat that soon worked its way from his forehead all the way down to his feet.

Jimmy Mac answering for him when he said, “You kidding? Satchel? Ride
this
thing?

Please. That kid’s such a wimp he has a permanent note to get out of PE. He’s not allowed to run! Can you believe it? Running is too dangerous!” He shook his head, rolled his auburn eyes. “Craziest thing I’ve ever heard and I swear to gawd it’s true!” Mary Angel glanced shyly at Satchel, shot him a regretful look, as Jimmy Mac claimed the space right beside her, his shoulder pressing into her angora-covered shoulder in a way that made Satchel’s head swim.

Satchel gulped, gaped, all too aware of the seconds marching forward, erasing all that remained of the three minutes he was given.

All too aware of the mountain of trouble that awaited him if he was caught standing anywhere near the mouth of the Ferris wheel.

“You riding or not?” the carnie asked, his face a mess of crags and crevices—evidence of a life lived recklessly, his father would say.

And though he knew better than to ask, Satchel wondered how his father might go about explaining his mother, who didn’t have much of a life to speak of and yet she bore the same, saddened, used-up look.

“C’mon, get this thing
up
!” Jimmy Mac yelled. “Satchel Blaise the
turd,
oops, I mean the
third,
ain’t goin’ nowhere. Blaise is the biggest chicken the world’s ever seen!”

“Make up yer mind, kid. I don’t got all day!” The carnie narrowed his eyes so much they were swallowed by a mass of sallow, puffy, excess skin—the result of too much sun, too many late nights—obviously no one had warned him.

Satchel was just about to turn, just about to head back, knowing his parents were probably already looking for him, probably already steaming mad, when Mary Angel called, “Don’t listen to him, Satchel. C’mon, take a ride—the Ferris wheel’s fun!” She wanted him to ride!

Mary Angel—the girl with the fiery red hair and bright shining smile—didn’t see him like all the other kids did.

I watched as Satchel threw all caution aside and moved toward the car. My fingers twisting, clutching at each other in a fit of nerves, willing him forward, egging him on, but wanting him to hurry, to board already, before his parents showed up.

He slid into the car below Mary Angel’s, getting a quick glimpse of her waving hand, her smiling face, her legs kicking above him.

His heart hammering so hard against his rib cage he was sure it would leap right out of his chest and land on his lap. His fingers so slick with sweat, they slipped when he tried to grab hold of the rail and lock himself in, but luckily the craggy old carnie swung by to take care of that for him.

And the next thing he knew he was lifted—carried up—up—up—high into the sky.

Higher than he’d ever been.

Higher than he ever thought possible.

Higher than his parents would ever allow.

But instead of feeling scared, instead of feeling shadowed by imminent danger, he felt exhilarated.

Free.

And for the first time in his life, he gazed down upon the earth, not seeing it as dangerous at all, but instead, as host to the most wonderful possibilities.

His parents were down there somewhere, most likely searching for him. But for the moment, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He refused to think about them. Preferred to concentrate on soaring, the thrill of riding tandem with the clouds. His gaze held fast to the bottom of the red car above him, knowing that Mary Angel soared right along with him.

He dreaded each trip toward the ground, that’s where reality lived—and looked forward to each arc into the sky where everything was peaceful and good.

Or at least until Jimmy Mac started rocking his car—rocking it in a way that made Mary Angel let out a shriek, though it wasn’t long before that shriek turned into a giggle, and then the giggle into a laugh that went on and on.

Longing to hear that beautiful, soft, lilting laugh directed at him, or rather at something he did, Satchel decided to rock his car as well. Grabbing hold of the sides, he shook it as hard as he could. But instead of laughing, Mary Angel glanced over the side, shooting him a worried, cautious look, while Jimmy Mac cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Blaise—didn’t know you had it in you!” Followed by a few more phrases I missed, but that sent Jimmy Mac into hys-terics over his own wit.

But Jimmy Mac hadn’t seen anything yet.

Satchel had just taken his first bite of free-dom and was infatuated with the rush that it gave him. Loved it so much, he craved a steady supply of it.

Thirteen years of being sheltered, and woefully overprotected—thirteen years of cowering from the world—had resulted in thirteen years of pent-up exuberance that longed to get out.

He shook the car again.

Harder.

And then harder still.

Causing Jimmy Mac to hoot and holler, egging him on, as Mary Angel gazed down at him with an increasingly worried frown.

It was an expression that enraged him.

Satchel

had

been

raised

on

worried

frowns—had already suffered a lifetime’s worth.

He wanted Mary Angel to smile.

He wanted her to laugh in the same way she had for Jimmy Mac.

He shook the car again, much harder than before,

causing

Mary

Angel

to

scream—yelling something about the security rail.

But Satchel wouldn’t listen. Even when she pointed, begged for him to stop, the sight of her anxious face only spurred him on.

Why was it okay for Jimmy Mac to shake
the car, but not him?

Did she agree with all the other kids that
he was nothing more than a creepy weirdo
wimp?

Did she think he didn’t know how to have
any fun—how to enjoy a little risk?

Well, he’d show her.

He’d get her to smile no matter what.

He continued to rock the car, ignoring its squeak of protest.

But no matter how hard he shook—the smile never came.

His fingers slipped from the sides.

His car got away from him.

Swinging around, swinging upside down, until the rail came loose and dumped him right out.

The fall from one hundred feet went so much quicker than I ever would’ve imagined.

And I watched as Satchel tumbled from his seat, arms flailing, legs kicking, head crash-ing and bumping its way from car to car until it finally smashed straight into the ground, where everything stopped.

Everything but the sound of Mary Angel’s high-pitched scream.

A soundtrack that continued to play long after the projector halted, the computer flipped off, and Satchel stood before me, head caved in on all sides, but worse at the top. His collarbone jutting right out of his skin, right through the big, gaping hole in his blood-soaked

white

shirt—his

clothing

battered, clotted with brain matter—just like they’d found him.

His one good eye burning into mine when he said, “So tell me, Riley, is that what you wanted to see?”

20

I
had to say something.

He wanted me to say something.

I could tell by the way he’d removed the staples from my mouth and waited for me to speak.

Problem was, I wasn’t sure where to start, so I went for the obvious. “Satchel, I’m really sorry about what happened to you, but you must know, it was an accident.” He rolled his one good eye, shook his battered head. A mouthful of cracked-up teeth spewing from his lips when he said, “Ya think?”

I pushed my bangs off my face and fought to stay calm, doing my best to get past his gruesome appearance, not to mention his uncalled-for sarcasm.

“What I meant was, it’s unfortunate, yeah, but it’s no excuse to do what you do. It’s no excuse to terrorize people.”

“What? Are you kidding? Did you miss something? I mean, look at me, Riley! I ignored my parents’ warnings, I lied, and look at the result!” He ran his mangled fingers up and down his body like a game show model displaying the prize.

The sight was miles past grisly, truly the stuff that nightmares are made of. But I couldn’t afford to focus on that. I had to use whatever time I had left before he decided to dreamweave a whole new wave of terrors on my behalf. I had to find a way to get through to him.

Not wanting to waste another second, I yelled, “Stuff happens, Satchel! Really horrible, regrettable stuff. And while I’m sorry about what happened to you, and I really, truly am, I also have to be honest and tell you that I’m way more sorry about the way you lived your life before that. I’m sorry that you had no friends. I’m sorry that you didn’t fit in. I’m sorry you never had a single moment of fun. But most of all, I’m sorry for the way your parents made you fear
every single
thing.
I’m sorry they urged you to hide from the world. I’m sorry for all of that—far, far more than the sorry I feel for what happened to you at the fair.”

My words silenced him. Caused him to stand before me, patting the caved-in mess where his hair used to be, oblivious to the small avalanche of flaky, dried blood that trickled down to his feet.

“I get that they loved you, I really, truly do.

I get that you meant everything to them, and because of that, they were terrified of losing you. I get that they had your best interests at heart—only wanted to keep you out of danger. But by doing that, they made you a prisoner! Not being able to run, ride a bike, play sports with the other kids at school …” I shook my head, determined to not get too carried away. It was imperative to keep the message clean, clear, free of emotion—no matter how much his parents enraged me.

“You had no friends, never experienced a single moment of real and true fun. And though it wasn’t their intention, they turned you into a freak with no life. Heck, they wouldn’t even let you have a pet—‘animals are too dangerous,’ they said—sheesh!” I paused, replaying my words and relating them to my own life.

Practically all I’d done since I’d died was complain about how short my life had been.

Complained about what a bum deal I’d gotten when I found myself dead at twelve.

Until I met Satchel, it never even occurred to me to celebrate just how much living I’d done in such a short amount of time.

I’d had friends—lots and lots of friends.

I’d played sports—even though I wasn’t very good.

I’d ridden my bike in the rain—laughing when the water splashed up from the back tire and drenched my sister, Ever.

I’d had a pet—in fact, I still do.

I’d had all the wonderful, normal life pleasures that Satchel has never once known.

His parents had robbed him of them.

And I was suddenly so overcome with gratitude for all that I’d had—I could no longer mourn what I once thought I’d lost.

My life may have been ridiculously short—but the short time I’d lived had been pretty dang good.

“There are only two emotions,” I said, returning to Satchel, unaware of what those two emotions might be until I actually stated them. “Love and fear. Love and fear is all there is—everything else is just an offshoot, motivated by those two.”

I paused, wanting him to hear it, to get it, to completely understand what I was just beginning to understand for myself. Not really sure of where the knowledge was coming from and wondering if it might be the result of a thoughtwave of some kind, but trusting it was true all the same.

“Only, in your family, love and fear got so confused they began to resemble each other.

Fear got mixed up with love, until it began to
look
like love, to
seem
like love, to
feel
like love—when, the truth is, they couldn’t be more opposite. I mean, think about it,” I said, desperate for him to follow, to really listen. “Your whole, entire life, all thirteen years of it, the only time you truly felt alive was when you were riding that Ferris wheel, wasn’t it? That’s the only time you truly felt free—that’s when you began to realize all of life’s glorious possibilities. Though unfortunately, as we both know, you got a little carried away, and, as a result, things ended tra-gically. But I’m willing to bet that if you ever gazed down on the earth plane after you left, well, I bet you left one heck of a cautionary tale behind. I bet Jimmy Mac never shook a car on a Ferris wheel again. I bet he thought twice before he taunted someone he thought was beneath him. I bet Mary Angel never stopped feeling guilty about urging you to ride in the first place, which is pretty sad when you consider that the ultimate decision was yours, not hers—not to mention how she begged you to stop and you wouldn’t listen.