Setting Free the Kites

by Alex George

  I glanced at Nathan. “We’re fine,” I said.

  “Faye—” began Nathan, but she held up her hand.

  “No,” she said quickly. “No more from you.” She turned back to Hollis. “You need to leave them alone now,” she told him. “Come back to the fire.”

  Hollis took a step away from Nathan, as if the half-drowned boy on the sand were nothing to do with him. “We were done, anyway,” he yawned.

  Faye turned and began to walk back up the beach. Hollis and Tommy followed. Nathan and I watched them go. Neither of us said a word. Only once they had reached the fire—we could hear the distant cheering and whooping—did Nathan turn and look at me. He was bedraggled and soaked to the skin.

  To my stupefaction, he smiled at me.

  “She came to save us,” he said.

  TWENTY-SIX

  We slowly made our way along the beach, our sodden clothes clinging to our skin. More than anything in the world, I wanted to be warm. I told Nathan that he would die of pneumonia if he spent the night on the Ferris wheel in his wet clothes. He didn’t argue. We climbed onto our bikes and pedaled back to my house in silence. My fingers were so cold that I could barely hold on to the handlebars. To my relief, my mother was asleep on the couch in front of The Rockford Files, and we managed to creep upstairs without disturbing her. We set up the cot in my bedroom, just as we had done two winters ago. It had never felt so good to climb into a warm bed. I switched off the light, and we lay there in the dark.

  “So,” said Nathan. “How do you think that went?”

  “Let’s see,” I said. “Hollis used you as a punching bag, I almost got my arm twisted off, and we nearly drowned. Apart from that, it was perfect.”

  “Always with the negative,” said Nathan.

  “And you invited her for a ride in the lobster boat!”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  I sighed. “Did you ever go out in it with your father?”

  Nathan shook his head. “We never got around to it,” he admitted.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Lobster boats were stark and utilitarian, designed for hard work and rough seas, not amorous excursions. “It was a strange choice for a first date, that’s all.”

  “It was the first thing that popped into my head,” said Nathan.

  “Admit it, the whole thing was humiliating.” I was also worried that the evening had put me firmly back on Hollis Calhoun’s radar. The last thing I wanted was for him to hunt me down again when the school year began and resume old hostilities. The only good to have come from our misadventure on the beach was that Nathan’s obsession with Faye had reached its inevitable conclusion. I admired the way he had marched up to her and fearlessly made his play, but I was also relieved that the charade was finally over.

  “I think Faye likes me,” said Nathan.

  I was momentarily lost for words. “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “She came to rescue us.”

  “Only after we’d nearly drowned!”

  “But she came. That means something.”

  I took a deep breath. “Nathan, look. I heard the conversation around the fire.”

  He was silent for a long time. “All of it?” he said eventually.

  “Onions, John Denver, all of it.”

  “Huh,” said Nathan.

  “You did your best. But face it. She’s not interested in you.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Nathan. “There was a definite spark between us.”

  He was so desperately in love with Faye that he was unwilling, or unable, to contemplate the idea that she might not like him back. He was going to marshal his considerable willpower to make himself believe that his courage would be rewarded and that everything was going to work out all right.

  It didn’t help that Faye had been kind to Nathan. At first I was shocked when she had let Hollis and his goon drag us away from the group, but now I saw it as an act of mercy on her part: she had spared Nathan the agony of being humiliated in front of that crowd. But even such a small kindness was liable to complicate things. No more from you, she had told Nathan at the water’s edge, but it had not been enough. He was absolutely determined not to take a hint.

  “But Faye didn’t hang around on the beach with you,” I said. “She went back to the fire with Hollis.”

  “She called Hollis an asshole,” said Nathan.

  “Well, Hollis is an asshole.”

  “She didn’t call me an asshole.”

  “And you think that means she likes you more?”

  “Obviously,” said Nathan.

  I switched the light back on and looked at him. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what else she said.”

  “What?”

  “She said: They’re just kids, for God’s sake.”

  We stared at each other in silence.

  “Oh, I get it,” said Nathan.

  “What?”

  Nathan rolled over so that his back was toward me. “You’re jealous,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You are. You’re jealous.”

  “How can I be jealous of something that doesn’t exist?”

  “It exists, Robert. You just don’t want to believe it.”

  I switched off the light and pulled the bedcovers over my head.

  —

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Nathan and I got dressed and ate breakfast without looking at each other. The jagged shards of the argument the night before lay between us, raw and treacherous. The new morning had not diminished their capacity to hurt. I was still smarting from Nathan’s accusations of jealousy, largely because he was right, even if not in the way that he imagined.

  I was jealous—but of Faye, not Nathan. I was bored of listening to him talk about her all the time. I wanted to go back to the old days when we used to have lunch in the school cafeteria and just talk, when his gaze was not always drifting over my shoulder in search of her. I wanted to hang out at the mill again, to be friends together. I didn’t want to spend evenings hiding behind a sand dune, watching Nathan wish for impossible things.

  We cycled to the park in silence.

  That day on my lunch break I walked over to the concession stand. I knew Nathan would be there working the crowds, and I wanted to see how Faye reacted to his antics now. I pulled the hood of my monk’s costume low over my head and loitered just out of her line of vision. She was at the cash register, taking orders and smiling at customers, looking as ravishing as ever. Nathan was there too, entertaining the customers and glancing toward the front of the line.

  Faye did not look in his direction once.

  Still the dragon danced on.

  —

  WHEN I ARRIVED AT the Ferris wheel that evening to send Nathan off for another night lofted high in the air, he was nowhere to be seen. I sat in the lowest pod and wondered if our fight that morning meant that he wasn’t going to show up. Perhaps he had noticed Faye’s muted reaction to his performance that afternoon, and he’d gone back to Sebbanquik Point to lick his wounds. I stared up at the stars.

  It didn’t seem likely.

  Sure enough, after a few minutes he appeared, whistling cheerfully.

  “All ready?” I asked.

  “I brought my cassette deck,” said Nathan. “I’m going to have a little party.”

  “Something to celebrate?”

  “I think so. Even if you don’t.”

  “Listen, Nathan. I watched Faye this afternoon while you worked the line at the concession stand. She didn’t look at you. She never even cracked a smile.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  I shook my head. “I know what I saw.”

  “Why can’t you just be happy for me, Robert?”

  “I’m trying to help,” I said.


  “If you want to help, just get me into the sky and then go home.”

  “Fine,” I hissed.

  Nathan slung his backpack over his shoulder and climbed on board. I stormed back to the control booth. After half a rotation of the wheel, I switched off the engine.

  I looked up and saw the flicker of Nathan’s flashlight high above me. A long stretch of the coastline was visible from the Ferris wheel’s highest point. I realized that Nathan would be able to see the distant glow of Faye’s bonfire on the beach. I thought of Gatsby standing on the lawn of his mansion, gazing out across the water toward East Egg and that green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan’s dock. Like Gatsby, Nathan was watching and vigilant, alone with his dreams.

  Just then Karen Carpenter’s voice filled the air.

  Such a feeling’s coming over me

  There is wonder in most everything I see

  I stared up at the Ferris wheel. The pod began to rock back and forth as Nathan joined in the chorus.

  I’m on top of the world

  Looking down on creation

  I doubted whether the hinges that connected the pod to the wheel itself were designed to withstand that kind of movement.

  “Nathan!” I called out. “Stop it! You’re going to break something!”

  The pod kept on swinging, as regular as a metronome. I guessed Nathan couldn’t hear me over the music. Either that, or he was ignoring me. I turned to leave, furious with him. As I was making my way back to the parking lot, a scream of uncut fear ripped through the night air.

  It was the sort of noise that I had previously heard only during the Saturday night horror double features in the Haverford cinema. In the safety and comfort of a dark movie theater, with a carton of popcorn by my side and people all around me, the sound of human terror always made my skin crawl deliciously. It was another matter to hear the same full-throated scream in a deserted amusement park.

  I guessed that one of the hinges on Nathan’s pod must have snapped. I pictured it dangling precariously in midair and began to run back toward the Ferris wheel as fast as I could. As I pelted down the gravel paths the scream came again, and I realized with a cold jolt that the noise hadn’t come from the Ferris wheel at all. I stopped in the darkness, too scared to move. Then a low, keening wail began, fattened by terror. I had never heard anything like it in my life. Whoever was making that noise needed help. Swallowing my fear, I moved toward the sound. The moaning grew louder. I quickened my pace and peeled off the path into the teepees and plastic cacti of the miniature golf course. I heard a hysterical sobbing and then the unmistakable sound of someone being violently sick.

  I spotted movement a few yards ahead of me and stopped. I squinted into the darkness.

  Hollis Calhoun was stumbling back and forth on the putting green of the sixth hole. His trousers were around his ankles. One hand was covering his eyes, the other was clutching his groin.

  “Hollis! Hollis, it’s me,” I called out. “It’s Robert Carter. What’s the matter? What happened?”

  At the sound of my voice, Hollis turned and began to lumber toward me, his eyes wild and unfocused.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  Hollis’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. All he could manage was a small whimper of distress.

  “Did you see something?” I asked.

  Finally he pointed toward Pocahontas.

  “The statue?” I said.

  He nodded. A tiny bubble of spittle emerged out of one side of his mouth and then popped. I looked toward the Indian princess but couldn’t see anything wrong. “Pull your pants up,” I said. “I’ll go and take a look.”

  Hollis bent down and did as he was told. Once he had rebuckled his belt, I walked over to the statue. My heart clattered against my chest. Hollis did not take his eyes off me. Standing a safe distance away, I bent down to peer inside Pocahontas’s mouth.

  A familiar face stared back at me.

  —

  IT HAD BEEN NEARLY two years since I’d first encountered Nathan’s dead mongoose in the Tillys’ kitchen, and Philippe now looked decidedly the worse for wear. Most of his fur had fallen out, and he had lost an eyeball; the one that remained was mottled and discolored and was glaring ferociously at me. His mouth was open and his teeth were bared. They appeared to be glistening darkly with blood. Hollis must have unzipped in front of Pocahontas’s mouth, as usual; discovered that there was something already in the hole; bent down to see what it was; and come face-to-face with Nathan’s dead, one-eyed pet.

  I reached into Pocahontas’s mouth and tugged the mongoose out. My fingers were covered in a sticky red substance. It was ketchup. I held Philippe at arm’s length. The stench of putrefaction was unspeakable. I dropped the body on the ground. Hollis took a step backward and began to sob loudly.

  “Hollis?” He hadn’t heard me. “Hollis.” I shook his arm. “We need to go now, okay? And, Hollis? It’s really important that we’re super quiet.”

  He looked at me then.

  “My dad is still in the office,” I explained. “You don’t want to have to explain what you’re doing here this late, do you?” Hollis blinked and then shook his head. “Come on, then.” Without letting go of his arm, I steered him onto the path and we made our way back toward the front of the park. Hollis stumbled occasionally in the dark, but he kept up with me. His breathing was labored, and he emitted an occasional sob of bewilderment, but otherwise he was quiet. His right hand clutched involuntarily at his groin from time to time. Finally we arrived at the side gate. I turned to him.

  “You okay?”

  A fat tear emerged from his left eye and began to roll down his cheek. He shook his head.

  I patted him on the arm. “Go home, get some sleep.” This was asking the impossible, I realized. I knew if I put my penis into the mouth of an Indian princess and unexpectedly encountered the fangs of a rotting mongoose, I would never sleep again.

  Hollis began to cry in earnest then, big, heaving sobs of distress.

  “Go home,” I said again, glancing anxiously in the direction of the office. I helped him onto his bike and watched as he wobbled off across the asphalt. At the front entrance to the parking lot he paused for a moment, and then, to my dismay, turned around and began to pedal back toward me. He pulled up in front of me and looked me in the eye. That was when he spoke for the first time.

  “If you tell anyone about this,” he said thickly, “anyone at all, ever, I will hunt you down and I will kill you.”

  He pushed off again. I watched until he disappeared out of the parking lot. I wondered if Hollis had any idea what had happened to him.

  Nathan Tilly had just exacted a very precise revenge.

  —

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I got to the park earlier than usual. As soon as Nathan’s pod reached the ground I threw back the security bolt and flung open the door. “What kind of a stunt was that?” I demanded.

  “Stunt?” yawned Nathan.

  “Last night Hollis was stumbling around the mini golf course, screaming his head off.”

  “Ah.” Nathan’s eyes flashed in satisfaction.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear him yelling.”

  “I wish I had,” said Nathan.

  “Look, Nathan,” I said. “What Hollis did at the beach—that was bad. And what he was doing to the Pocahontas statue—well, that was bad, too.”

  “It was very bad,” said Nathan.

  “So, I get it, okay? But what you did, Nathan! It’s not right. He won’t ever be the same.”

  “Good,” sniffed Nathan.

  “And the ketchup!”

  Nathan looked pleased. “The little touch that means so much.”

  “It’s not right,” I said again. “And what if he guesses you’re behind it? Have you thought about that?”

  “Don’t worry. Hollis
may have suspicions, but that will be all. He’ll never know for sure, because he’ll never want to talk about it.” Nathan grinned at me. “It’s going to drive him crazy.”

  He was probably right. There was no way Hollis Calhoun was ever going to start asking questions about what had happened. Still, I worried that my own presence in the park so late might incriminate me in some way. I spent the morning wondering whether I was going to regret helping him the night before.

  When my break came, I walked over to the mini golf course. I wanted to see Hollis for myself. I stopped a safe distance away and watched him for several minutes.

  Hollis was not doing well. The obnoxious, arrogant bully I knew had vanished overnight. Now he meekly handed over the putters and golf balls, unwilling to look anyone in the eye. Once or twice he glanced nervously over his shoulder. There were dark rings of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He probably hadn’t slept.

  I walked up to the hut. Hollis stiffened as I approached.

  “Hey, Hollis,” I said.

  “What do you want?” he mumbled.

  “Just checking in.” I beamed at him. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  He looked at me sourly. “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Okay, then.” I turned to go.

  “Wait.” There were clouds of doubt behind his eyes. “I did have one question,” he said, so quietly I could hardly hear him.

  “Shoot,” I said.

  “Where do you think that thing came from?”

  I shrugged affably. “No idea,” I said.

  Hollis eyed me suspiciously. The beast had not appeared by accident, he knew that much. All those glances behind him suggested that he was afraid something else unpleasant might happen.

  I thought about all the misery that Hollis Calhoun had inflicted on me over the years. Watching his discomfort felt like a small but hard-earned reward.

  I sauntered off, whistling as I went.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Nine years earlier, a hill on the western side of the park grounds had been cleared of trees and a large sign appeared: YOUR NEXT FUN-FILLED ATTRACTION COMING SOON! My father had spent months designing a forest of interconnected tree houses linked with rope bridges. He had visions of children clambering over one another, breathing in the fresh Maine air as they played. There would be slides, ladders, trampolines, lookout posts, old-fashioned adventures—and not a single motor or electrical circuit that could break down. The attraction’s crowning glory would be two zip lines that sent people flying from the summit of the hill down to the bottom in a glorious whoosh of adrenaline.