Chapter Nine “The Balloon Faire”

nine

" The Balloon Faire "

Thursday night rehearsal comes and like a bunch of middle-aged teacher's pets, the entire cast shows up with yesterday's staging down cold. I remind myself to do the encouraging thing.

"You guys are nailing it! I mean, not one single missed line or flubbed bit of blocking. You've more than earned your balloon thingy!"

The cast shares a few self-congratulatory smiles as they begin to pack up for the night. As they do, I surreptitiously cross a line through week one of the rehearsal schedule. I've already put big Xs through the last four days, but who's counting?

With Friday's rehearsal canceled I have nothing to do, so I opt to tag along with Mom as she grocery shops.

Mom drives as I text Chase: What are your plans for the weekend? Let me live vicariously.

Chase texts: Going to an industry thing in the Bronx. (It's a borough, apparently.) Then Netflix is having a tasting of artisanal honey from an actual hive on a rooftop followed by a screening of the latest Sofia Coppola film. E tu?

I groan and text: Currently hoping that I'm on the guest list at the Plainview Piggly Wiggly. The doorman can be a real prick. If Mom and I get in (she's wearing crocs) I plan on heading straight to check out their artisanal honey section.

I get a "HA HA" Tapback for my efforts.

Soon Mom and I are negotiating the aisles of the grocery store when we bump into Kristy Kim Eldridge, the Presbyterian pastor's wife. She sees me and squeals, "There's our fancy New Yorker!"

I give Kristy Kim a hug and mutter, "I don't know about fancy."

Kristy Kim shakes her head and nods toward her cart. "Would you look at this overpopulated grocery cart of mine? The grandkids are eating us out of house and home. We went through three boxes of Lucky Charms in half an hour flat! And now they're all hopped up on sugar. I caught one of them trying to put baby doll clothes on the cat!"

Mom laughs. "Well, they can blow off some steam at the fair."

"Amen to that. That's all those kids talk about. They just love the Balloon Faire. But what's not to love, right? Say, did you two see in the newspaper that they've got two new balloons this year? One that's shaped like Elvis and one that's shaped like one of those little yellow guys from the Minions movies, I forgot what they're called."

"Minions," I say, helpfully.

"It gets bigger every year!" Mom enthuses. "What time does the face painting start on Saturday? I hear you've got new costumes!"

"Nine a.m. sharp! And yes, Luke and I can't wait to unveil our new look! Anywho. I'd better get back with these provisions. I'll see you all tonight."

And then Kristy Kim disappears in a cloud of floral perfume.

So Luke, the guy who called me a Shakes-queer in the hallways of Plainview High School now volunteers to paint children's faces? I guess it makes sense. It's called image rebranding and I'm not falling for it.

"You don't have to be such a snob about the fair, Noah. The disdain written on your face is more than obvious."

I shrug and examine boxes of pancake batter. "I just don't get it, that's all."

"Well, your father doesn't really get theater, but he still pitches in the only way he knows how. Hot air balloons are his thing. If you can't be enthusiastic, you could at least turn the sarcasm down to a low roar."

"I have to say, I'm glad the Quaker Oats people finally took Aunt Jemima off all their breakfast products. But replacing her with the Pearl Milling Company? Is milling for pearls even ethical?"

Mom snatches the pancake mix I'm holding and slams it back onto the shelf. "Stop deflecting."

"No, no, I heard you," I grumble. "Ease up on the attitude. Got it. I'll try."

—

Later that night as the sun is setting and I'm pretending to eat Mom's ambrosia salad, a horrifying combination of canned pineapple, miniature marshmallows, and coconut flakes, there's a knock on the door. I get up to open it only to find Luke wearing a t-shirt with the words "Plainview Balloon Faire" scrawled across it in rainbow colors. The expression on my face must be crystal clear because he immediately says, "What? You don't like the shirt?"

"That's an understatement."

Luke seems pleased with himself. "I knew you'd hate it."

"Let me guess. You wore it just to fuck with me, you fucker."

To my complete and abject horror, Luke holds up a plastic bag. "And I got you one!"

I immediately freeze. "No. Absolutely not."

Luke's enthusiasm isn't dimmed in the slightest by my refusal. "Arms up above your head!"

I stand as still as a statue with a look of disdain on my face, but Luke doesn't give up.

"Come on, Noah! Arms up! Up! Up! Up! Just like Superman!"

And for reasons that will forever remain unknown, I begrudgingly obey. Luke slides the t-shirt over my polo and lingers for a second when he gets to my waist. If I lowered my hands to his shoulders, we'd be in the perfect position for slow dancing. But Luke steps back and smiles triumphantly at me in the tacky t-shirt. Unsure what to do, I lower my arms and call for Mom and Dad to get a move on.

After some griping from Dad about not getting to do his tethered ride thing, we finally pile into Mom's Toyota. It doesn't take long for Dad's foul mood to fill the air.

When we get to Francis Park, it is teeming with people. Mom parks the car and we make our way through the crowd slowly so that Dad can keep up. Festive music is already blaring and the air is warm and smells like popcorn and cotton candy. We finally get to the center of the park where it seems like an infinite amount of hot air balloons wait majestically against the sky. We walk through them in awe as they flicker almost in time to the music, glowing like enormous stained glass windows in the growing darkness of night.

Mom and Dad wander ahead, but Luke catches the look on my face and turns smug. He leans over and whispers in my ear, "Did I tell you or did I tell you?"

"It's like walking through a kaleidoscope," I say. "You were right. You did, in fact, tell me, and I refused to be told."

Luke stares up at the balloons and I allow myself to take in his face under the fluctuating haze of the Glow. His cheekbones light up in shifting waves of orange and red, the gold in his hair goes from purple to blue. He notices me staring and he stops and stares right back, while more flashes of color rhythmically wash over us. There's something so innocent in his eyes that I begin to wonder if Mom was right about people changing. Maybe Luke volunteered to paint children's faces not because he was trying to rehabilitate his image. Maybe he volunteered because he likes…oh, what is that word again?

Oh, right.

Helping.

Chase pops up in my head and I make a mental note to call him later. Yes, focus, Noah. Concentrate on your boyfriend. The dreamy one whom you're committed to.

Luke must notice a change in my expression, because he snaps out of our shared trance. "Oh, I almost forgot. We don't want to be late."

"Be late for what?" I ask.

"You'll see." Luke jogs a few steps ahead toward Mom and Dad. "Mr. and Mrs. A., I've got a surprise for you, if you'll follow me."

Confused, we follow Luke through a crowded maze of people and down a small dirt pathway. We end up in a hidden clearing off to the side of the park. Waiting there like enormous fireflies are two impressive hot air balloons. One burns a neon green and yellow checkerboard pattern into the night sky and the other one has an art deco design of red and silver diamonds. A two-person crew stands waiting patiently beside each basket.

Dad looks perplexed. "What's going on, Luke?"

Luke folds his arms and strikes an authoritative pose. Clearly he's got some sort of plan and none of us should even think of questioning it.

"Well, me and Dr. Dunbar had a little chat. He agreed that it'd be okay for you to go without your oxygen for about an hour. But that's the absolute limit. So , then, I figured if that's the case, why waste the time on just some boring tethered ride? The four of us are going to take a little tour of Plainview from the sky."

Dad is speechless. We all are.

I finally ask, "How did you arrange all this?"

Luke goes smug. "I know a guy."

Before any of us can think twice, people are loading Mom and Dad into one balloon and Luke and me into another. As we start to lift up into the air it feels as if gravity is evaporating all around us. The ascent is quicker than I expected and the smell of the propane heater powering the balloon makes me slightly dizzy. The trees around us appear to shrink as we rise up into the night sky. It's all happening so fast that I forget to be afraid of being up so high. I look over and see Dad's eyes go wide with wonder as he takes it all in. Without thinking, I grab Luke's tree trunk of an arm and shout, "Look at Dad!"

Dad catches us staring at him and a goofy smile spreads across his face almost against his will. The burner shoots a loud blast of air up into their balloon, startling Dad. He laughs at getting caught off guard and then gives Luke and me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Mom, on the other hand, is too busy taking a million pictures with her phone to notice anything else.

As we climb farther into the night sky, everything goes blissfully silent. Only the occasional whoosh from the balloon's burner breaks the spell. A tinge of fear runs through me as the ground gets farther away and I'm suddenly full of a million questions.

"How high does this thing go?"

Luke shrugs. "Pretty high. Three thousand feet or so." Luke must read the smallest bit of trepidation in my expression. "You're not scared of heights, are you? I guess I should have asked that first."

I try my best to play it cool and put on a brave face. "I'm fine. Just, um, where exactly are we going?"

Another shrug from Luke. "Wherever the wind takes us."

Below us, the Glow continues and the distant glimmering balloons make the park grounds look like some kind of vintage Lite-Brite toy.

And on we float.

As we climb higher, my nerves seem to dissipate. Something about the serene look on Luke's face makes me feel strangely safe soaring through the air. Am I really getting used to being up this high? Or is his confidence simply that contagious?

The geometric patchwork fields below us look like something a scenic artist from an old MGM film has dreamed up. Rows of grain silos seem like little bullets pointing skyward. Here and there, tiny creeks spread across the ground like glistening arteries. Soon, Mom lets out a giddy squeal and I look down to realize we're hovering just above our farm. Dad and Mom's place looks like a meticulously detailed dollhouse that some toymaker wired with electricity to make the windows light up.

It almost becomes too much to bear. I turn to Luke, brimming with so much gratitude that I can't even form the words to thank him. I mean, how did he even plan all of this? And how much is this costing him? It's just all so unlike the Luke I used to know that it's mind-boggling. And yet here I am, marveling at the view as well as Luke's thoughtfulness. Before I can say anything, the guy piloting the balloon suddenly turns informative.

"There are basically three parts to this little beauty. There's the envelope, that's what most people just call the balloon. Then there's the burner, which runs on propane and keeps us afloat. Some envelopes are big enough to need multiple burners, but this one's perfectly good with just one."

I glance at Luke with a quizzical look. Why is this guy lecturing us? But Luke seems to be hanging on his every word. He clearly shares Dad's fascination with how things work. I never care how things work, as long as they do.

"Then there's the basket or the ‘gondola' if you want to get fancy about it."

As the pilot goes on, Luke gives me a self-satisfied look. "How do you like the fair now?"

"Okay, it's pretty great," I confess. "But I still think they shouldn't put the ridiculous ‘e' on the end of the word ‘faire.' Talk about getting superfluous with vowels."

Luke stares at me once again with those lingering eyes.

"So, why didn't we all just go in one balloon?" I ask. "There's plenty of room."

"Um…because I wanted to talk to you. In private."

We both avert our gaze for a long moment and I wonder if there's another uncomfortable conversation looming on the horizon. Do we really have to do this right now? Right when everything seems so unreal and perfect?

"So you wanted to have a captive audience for this little chat?"

Luke nods. "I'm assuming you won't jump."

I exhale slowly. "Fine. Fire away."

"So, why did you call me a homophobe that day at the hospital?"

And in a flash, all the old anger is back. "You're joking, right?!"

"No. You told me to go think about what I had done to you, and I have. And honestly, I'm still totally clueless."

"Luke, you and your buddies were fucking horrible to me in high school. I used to dread walking the halls, knowing that you guys were gonna start calling me a faggot or a cocksucker or the ever-popular Shakes-queer. And I'm just supposed to forget all that? Just act like it never happened and pretend we're best friends? I know it was a million years ago, but that shit lingers!"

Luke looks completely stunned for a moment but then starts aggressively shaking his head. "Hey, hold up. I never said anything like that. That might have been true of some of the other guys, but…"

"No, Luke. That bullshit is seared on my brain. It was you and Casey Martin, and that exchange student Alek Gunhus, and that kid Jared what's-his-name. And don't even get me started about what your best buddy Eddie did to me."

"What did Eddie do to you?"

"I don't want to talk about it because I don't want to relive it."

"Look, I know those guys were dickheads, but I never said anything mean to you. Not ever. Not in the slightest."

Teenage Noah has possessed my body and he isn't accepting any excuses. "But you let it happen. Which is almost worse."

"But I didn't let it happen."

I pause for a second while my brain stops functioning. The ghost of teenage Noah wavers. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't let it happen. I know you remember all that terrible shit those assholes made you suffer through. But you also have to remember that one day it suddenly stopped, right?"

I take a very long time to concentrate. Is he gaslighting me? No, no, it's vaguely coming back to me. There was a day when the clouds lifted and the hurtful taunting stopped. They just started to ignore me, which was like heaven compared to what daily life had been like when they were constantly tormenting me.

And then the biggest shock of all descends onto my slightly stalled brain. "Wait…that was because of…you?"

Luke shifts his gaze to the fields below us, seemingly contrite. "I should have said something sooner or right when it happened, but I guess I was scared. But yeah, eventually I told them that they were dicks. And if they were hoping to impress girls or get laid by being assholes to you, it wasn't working. And I told them I'd stop hanging out with them if they didn't cut that shit out."

We're silent as we float over the Plainview train station, which looks like a miniature Christmas display from a store window. Another whoosh of hot air keeps us bobbing along.

Both teenage Noah and adult Noah have questions. "Okay, well, let's say that's true. Then let me ask you this and I honestly want to know: Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you stick up for me?"

"Because you didn't deserve any of that bullshit. And I also thought you were, I don't know." He throws his head back and gives an embarrassed moan. "I thought you were cool, Noah."

I can't stop myself and laugh right in his face. "Cool? I was never cool! And if you had such a high opinion of me back then, why didn't you ever talk to me?"

Luke stares at me, obviously at a total loss. "I don't know." My gaze wanders back down to Earth. Another farm goes by below us. Stacks of hay look like little bars of gold. "I guess I was intimidated by you."

I turn back to Luke as another way-too-loud laugh escapes me.

Luke continues. "Oh, come on, man! Did you completely black out Mrs. Henson's English Lit class? The two of you would carry on for hours about poetry and metaphors and a million other things that I had no clue about. That none of us had any clue about. You wrote one of your term papers in iambic pentameter, Noah! I didn't even know what that was. I had to google it. What was I going to talk to you about, your dad's new cow-milking machine with the graphite pump? The 49ers? You were the guy everybody called Shakespeare."

"And Shakes-queer," I say.

"Hey, I never called you that. I only called you Shakespeare and I'm sorry that turned out the way it did. I sorta meant it as a compliment."

The balloon makes an unexpected dip and my heart shoots up into the back of my throat. I grab the side of the basket without thinking and give Luke a frantic look.

"Are you okay?"

My voice trembles and I hate myself for it. "I lied. I sometimes do have a thing with heights. It comes and goes. It's fine. I'm fine." I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. "Just ignore me."

But he doesn't. Luke reaches up and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and says, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Noah. We're safe."

A nervous laugh escapes me. "You can't possibly know that."

Luke says with complete certainty, "If I say we're safe, we're safe."

And all at once my nerves are gone, but my heart remains in my throat for a very different reason.

I find myself staring so deeply into Luke's eyes that a Sondheim lyric pops into my head: " I could look at him forever ."

Okay, Noah. Time to look away. You're not in a Sondheim musical.

I turn my gaze bravely back out toward the sky and it takes me a second to realize that we're already sailing our way back to Francis Park. Before I know it, our basket gently lands on the grass as Mom and Dad's touches down beside us seconds later.

—

We're all in a kind of lightheaded daze during the car ride home. Mom and Dad seem dizzy from the flight, but I'm dizzy from something else entirely. Have I misjudged Luke for the last fifteen years? After the bullying stopped, I was so focused on getting the hell out of Plainview and making it to Broadway that I never even considered why it stopped.

Dad's busy fiddling with his oxygen tube, but manages to say from the front passenger seat, "I don't know how to thank you for that, Luke."

Luke is silent for a minute, and then utters the noblest lie ever. "Noah and I came up with the idea together."

Dad is quiet for a split second and then adds, "Well, thank you, too, son."

In the darkness of the back seat, I silently wonder if the world will ever make sense to me again.