10 Things I Can See from Here

by Carrie Mac

  “Feel the fear and do it anyway, right?”

  “Oversimplification, but sure.”

  “Look, though.” She pointed. The sun was easing down behind the high-rises and tower cranes, pink and purple cotton-candy clouds strung along the horizon above the ocean.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. And I meant it. “It’s really beautiful.”

  “Here.” Salix filled the wineglasses from the thermos and handed me one. “A mocha for you. From Continental. The whipped cream melted, but it’ll still be good.” She shimmied closer. The entire rope pyramid shook. My heart took off, pounding angrily.

  “Whoa.” I gripped the rope with my free hand. Don’t look down, Maeve. Do not look down. And then I did look down, and it was a huge mistake.

  The ground rushed up with dizzying speed. I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened my eyes, the ground had dropped away again, and I felt suspended in midair, as if there were no ropes, no pole, no Salix.

  A person could die, falling from that height. I could land on my head or snap my back. Or I could break an arm. A leg. Or both. If Salix fell, she might break her wrist, and then Juilliard would be over. All because she tried to romance a neurotic girl who would never be good enough for her—who was I kidding?—and then I would forever be the girl who ruined Salix’s dreams of being a professional musician. The skyline slanted to one side; then it tipped to the other.

  “I have to get down.” I set the flamingo glass on the ledge, but I missed and it fell off. I heard a crack when it landed a million feet below. “And you do too. Right now. Or you’ll never go to Juilliard. And it will be my fault.”

  “What? Wait. Wait, Maeve!” Salix grabbed my wrist as I started climbing down. “It’s okay. It’s really okay. We’re in a kids’ playground. There are cedar chips on the ground. The ropes would break your fall unless you took a swan dive off from the top. You’re not drunk or stoned or stupid. You’re just afraid of heights.”

  I nodded, my throat too dry to speak.

  “Do you really want to get down? Really and truly?”

  “No,” I squeaked. I wanted to be on top of the world with Salix; of course I did. With cheese and crackers and tacky plastic flamingo glasses.

  “It’s okay to freak out. Go ahead. Freak out.” Salix wasn’t letting go. “Have a full-on freak-out, and then it’ll all be good.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. She didn’t know. She just didn’t know. And I didn’t want her to know.

  “Go through it. It won’t last forever. It’s like nerves before I play for an audience. Every single time I want to throw up. And I do, sometimes. One time I threw up onstage.”

  “You did?”

  “I did. But I see the fear, and then I go through the fear, and then I get to the other side of the fear. I go through it.”

  I let Salix help me back up. “Don’t look down. Look around. Tell me ten things that you can see from here.”

  “You.” My heart still galloped. My knuckles ached from holding the rope so hard.

  “That’s one.”

  The streetlights popped on along the Drive.

  “The streetlights. The patio at Havana’s. That bus.” I relaxed my grip, just a little. “A woman coming out of the corner store. The cenotaph. The bathrooms at the top of the park. A guy, his shopping cart, and he’s got a dog.”

  “You’re counting the guy as one and his shopping cart as another?” Salix counted off her fingers. “And his dog?”

  “That’s ten.” My heart started to slow. “But if you want more, there are”—I counted—“nine hippies with drums getting ready to make a really terrible racket. And more coming across the grass.”

  “They should get the dying-goose man to play with them.”

  “We can hear the drummers from our place,” I said. “Sometimes the boys come and join them. If they’re still awake.”

  “Better now?” Salix let go of my wrist.

  “A bit, yeah.” I glanced at the one plastic flamingo glass still perched on the platform. “Sorry about the other flamingo.”

  “We can share mine.” Salix handed it to me, and I took a sip. “We can get down. Now, I mean. I just didn’t want you climbing down when you were freaking out.”

  “Smart.”

  The drummers started. There were about fifteen of them now, banging their djembes while a few dogs wrestled in a heap in the middle. Pot smoke wafted over, skunky and thick.

  The last of the sun disappeared over the water, and darkness stretched out behind them to the east. The drummers fumbled together until they found their rhythm, and then they didn’t sound so bad. Not from up there, in the dark.

  “Thank you.” I gave the glass back. “For getting me up here. And keeping me up here. I don’t usually do things that scare me.”

  “Remember at Continental? When you ran off?”

  “Etched forever in my mind.”

  “I was thinking back to that first date, which is why I invited you here.”

  The word date lifted up, available for the taking. So, with shaking hands, I took it. “Kind of a messy first date,” I whispered.

  “Still,” Salix said softly. “This dumb idea, to bring you up here—”

  “Not dumb.”

  “I wanted somewhere special to ask you if this was. I mean, I was going to ask you if we’re, you know. If you thought maybe we could. If we are.”

  “If we are—?”

  “If we are,” Salix said. “If we’re dating. If this is a date. If all these times have been dates.”

  I was so glad that I hadn’t climbed down when I’d wanted to. I was glad that I’d gone through the fear. I was so glad that I’d stayed long enough to watch Salix stumble sweetly over her words in the dark. Salix, who never stumbled. Salix, who always knew the right thing to say.

  “Are you going through it?” I said with a smile.

  “That is exactly what I’m doing.” Salix exhaled loudly. “Help me out here, would you?”

  “We are.” My cheeks suddenly burned, and my heart sped up again, but for all good reasons this time. “We are.”

  “I thought so.” Salix smiled. “So that time at Continental was our first date.”

  “I’m sorry I was so weird.”

  “I like that you’re weird.”

  Salix leaned forward. She was going to kiss me. This was the kiss that would push the terrible one away. I closed my eyes. Our lips were just about to meet. But then the whole web started to shake. Salix pulled away, and we looked down. Three boys were scrambling up the ropes.

  “They don’t even look like they’re ten years old,” I said. “They should be in bed.”

  “It’s all good.” Salix quickly packed everything up. She pried one of my hands off the rope and kept hold of it as she coached me down. “Put your left foot here. Exactly, yes. Now your other foot too.”

  “Lesbos!” One of the boys pointed. “Lesbo dykes!”

  Salix glared down at them. “Watch your mouth, kid.”

  The boys bounced and bounced, shaking the ropes.

  “You’re okay, Maeve,” Salix said. “Almost there.”

  “Faggots!”

  “Wrong gender, shithead.” Salix kept a hand on my back, steadying me.

  We met the boys in the middle.

  “You were making out up there,” the smallest one accused. Another one made obnoxious kissing noises. The third wagged his tongue between his fingers. “Dirty homos!”

  Suddenly I was with Ruthie, against the wall in her room. And then I was staring at Mrs. Patel slumped on the floor. Oranges rolling into the street. Beaches and bus rides and the fat lady squishing us together. Drummers and dogs barking. The broken flamingo cup. I felt my grip slipping. I teetered forward.

  “Hang on.” Salix jumped down.

  The boys made wet smooching noises as Salix helped me from below.

  “Shut up, you little shit.” Salix took her hand away just long enough to yank the loudest kid off the ropes. He fell backward and la
nded hard on the cedar chips.

  “Oh my God!” I froze. “Is he okay?”

  “Don’t touch me!” He sprang up. “Lesbo bitch!”

  “He’s fine,” Salix said.

  The other two boys were already at the top, and they watched silently while their friend climbed up the other side. When he was up at the top, well out of reach, he spat at us.

  “Rug muncher!”

  “Oh!” It was so absurd that I had to laugh as I finally stepped off the bottom rung. “Rug muncher? Seriously?”

  “Come on.” Salix gave the finger to the boys. She scooped up our flip-flops and her violin and pulled me away from the playground.

  “Where did he even learn that?”

  “I’m going to guess from a ragingly homophobic older sibling.” When we got to the grass, Salix dropped the flip-flops and took my hands in hers. “That did not go the way that I’d planned. Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you sure? Because we were just gay-bashed by three nasty little kids.”

  “I know. I’m good. Truly.” But I wasn’t. It wasn’t about being called a lesbo or a rug muncher, though. I was angry about the boys’ timing. If they’d arrived just five minutes later, Salix would’ve already kissed me. But they took that first kiss away. And so it was a first kiss that wasn’t. It was an interrupted kiss. It was still there, but it hadn’t happened. And those five minutes would never happen again. There would be another five minutes in their place—happening right now, almost finished, even—but I didn’t want those five minutes. I wanted the other five minutes back. I wanted that kiss at the top, up there with the dappled lights of downtown spread out below. But that was gone now.

  As we crossed the park, I saw Mr. Heidelman hurrying up the other path.

  “That’s my neighbor,” I told Salix. “The musician.”

  He was heading straight for the drummers.

  “What’s he doing?” Salix squinted into the dark.

  He stopped at the edge of the drum circle, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Mr. Heidelman?”

  “Hello, neighbor.” He swayed to the beat. “It’s Miss Maeve, yes?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “And this is Salix. She’s a musician too. She plays the violin.”

  “My favorite instrument of all.” Mr. Heidelman raised his voice over the cacophony of drums. “First chair for the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra for nearly four decades until they gave me a lovely retirement party. Which means I’m retired now, I suppose. How long have you been playing?”

  “Since I was five.”

  “And are you very good? Or just average? It’s okay to be honest. Not everyone can be gifted.”

  “She’s brilliant,” I interrupted. “She’s going to go to Juilliard. Like her sister.”

  “I’m applying,” Salix said. “I haven’t been accepted.”

  “Yet,” I said.

  “High sights, indeed.” Mr. Heidelman nodded. “I tell you what: we’ll listen to these drummers for a while, and then you must come back to my place to play for me. Yes?”

  “I could,” Salix said. “If it’s okay with Maeve.”

  “Wonderful,” Mr. Heidelman said, and then he turned his attention to the drummers.

  He started dancing, kicking up his legs and flapping his arms. He took my hands.

  “Dance, Miss Maeve. Dance!”

  I was a terrible dancer, and I didn’t want to prove it to Salix, but then I saw her dancing too, clapping her hands and stomping like she was at a barn dance. She looked like a complete and utter goof, and I liked her even more for it.

  Mr. Heidelman stopped dancing all of a sudden.

  “Oh, dear.” He leaned heavily on me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes.” He gasped for breath. “I am not twenty anymore. Not even sixty. That is all.”

  I took his arm as he teetered backward. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “That would be wise, I think.”

  The drumming slowed to a stop. Someone offered up a lawn chair. Salix helped Mr. Heidelman to sit.

  “Is he okay?” someone asked.

  “Should we call an ambulance?”

  “No, no.” Mr. Heidelman waved away the idea. “I’m okay,” he gasped.

  “Do you want a glass of water?” A tall man with long blond dreadlocks squatted beside Mr. Heidelman. “Wine?”

  “Wine, thank you.” Mr. Heidelman nodded. “A sip of wine would be very fortifying.”

  A girl not much older than me—with bare feet and her own baby dreads—came back a minute later with a small mason jar half filled with red wine. Mr. Heidelman took a long sip.

  “You cast a spell with those drums,” he said.

  “Namaste.” The girl brought her hands together under her chin. “Thank you.”

  “You looked like you were enjoying it,” the guy said.

  “Indeed I was.” Mr. Heidelman nodded again. “But to tell you the truth, I came over here to politely ask you to stop at eleven, if you wouldn’t mind. You see, I live right there.” He pointed. “And an old man needs his sleep. You understand. You will help a tired old man get a good night’s sleep.” Mr. Heidelman downed the rest of the wine and slowly stood up. “Won’t you?”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” the guy said.

  We each took a side and helped Mr. Heidelman out of the park, where he suddenly stood a little taller and took a deep breath. “That’s better. Do you think it worked?”

  “That was an act?” I was bewildered.

  “No, no. Not really.” Mr. Heidelman shook his head. “I was winded. I did need to sit. And I did enjoy the wine. But yes, I did go over to ask them to stop at eleven. A little drama can go a long way, don’t you agree?”

  —

  Mr. Heidelman unlocked his door and ushered us in. Salix went ahead, but I couldn’t quite make myself take the first step inside. This was Mrs. Patel’s home. And at the same time, it wasn’t her home anymore at all. Glancing in, I could see the baby grand in the living room, and bookshelves lining the wall behind it.

  There was no curry smell.

  No TV blaring.

  No Mrs. Patel.

  “It’s okay.” Salix reached for my hand.

  I stepped inside, ready for the panic to grip me, but it didn’t. My eyes went straight to all the art on the wall. I started to kick off my flip-flops.

  “No need to take them off,” Mr. Heidelman said.

  I did feel a pang of sadness then. But I wanted to know Mr. Heidelman too, and I wanted to look at all the paintings and prints and sketches on the wall. I wanted to hear him play the violin, the piano, any one of all those instruments that the movers filed in that first day we met.

  Salix pulled out her violin and tuned a few strings and Mr. Heidelman put the kettle on for tea. Salix and Mr. Heidelman chatted while the kettle heated up. When the kettle whistled, it sounded just like Mrs. Patel’s. I didn’t feel panic or sadness as Mr. Heidelman lifted the kettle off the stove. I just missed Mrs. Patel.

  I went back to the art, to clear my head.

  From floor to ceiling, frames of all sizes. Watercolors, oil, pencil sketches, paintings that looked hundreds of years old, others that were very modern. I had never seen a wall so crowded with art. Another wall displayed photographs, mostly black-and-white, all of people, mostly musicians, and several of Mr. Heidelman playing in the orchestra.

  Salix started to play.

  Simply put, it was the most beautiful piece of music that I had ever heard. Haunting and sweet at the same time, both uncomplicated and intricately urgent.

  Mr. Heidelman shuffled out of the kitchen, rubbing his hands together, his face bright with joy. “Nigel Kennedy. ‘Fallen Forest.’ Yes!”

  Salix lifted her eyes in acknowledgment and kept playing.

  For a moment I felt as if we’d slipped through a door and into another world, where everything looked the same but was covered in a fine dusting of glitter.
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  I stared at Salix as she played. How could she know each note by heart? How could she keep so much music tidy and organized and ready to pull out at any time? It was a kind of miracle, really.

  —

  At eleven o’clock, the drumming in the park stopped.

  “You see?” Mr. Heidelman grinned. “They were happy to help an old man. And now it’s time for me to go to bed.”

  “Thank you for the tea and cookies,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Salix said.

  “You must play for me again.” He pumped her hand. “No, even better. I have an idea. You wait. It will help with Juilliard. I’ll be in touch.”

  He said good night and shut the door.

  “It’ll help with Juilliard?” Salix laughed. “Is that what he just said?”

  “He did.”

  Salix’s cheeks shone red and her green eyes sparkled. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “This.” She slid a hand around my waist and pulled me close. She kissed me. Her lips were soft and lingered warm against mine before she pulled away. “I’ve wanted to do that since before those little shits showed up at the park.”

  “Me too.” And on tippy-toe I kissed her back.

  Kissing was a height.

  The anticipation was the ride up, up, up, so high. To where the air was thin and there were clouds all around, and far below, everything was still going on without you, without the two of you.

  And on tippy-toe I kissed her back. Again and again and again.

  Salix tasted like the jasmine tea and almond cookies Mr. Heidelman had served us in china teacups with iridescent peacocks painted on the saucers. Her lips were soft. She knew what she was doing. Her hands were firm on my hips, and then on the small of my back. When we pulled apart to say good night, I could hardly believe that we were standing on concrete. Everything was so soft and pliable. The air was warm and smelled of roses. And then she was walking away, and even though I never, ever wanted her to leave, not ever, I knew that of course she had to. It was so late. And a moment had to end to become one.

  The house was dark and quiet. I floated to the couch and actually swooned as I sat down. And then I was giggling, and then I was yawning, and then I was falling asleep with a smile so big that when I woke with a start a couple of hours later, my face actually hurt. It was the front door, slamming open. My dad stumbled in and flicked on the hall light, but he didn’t notice me. He kicked off one shoe and then wrestled the other one off, lurching backward until he was braced against the wall, where he let out a very loud belch.