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In the half-instant between waiting for the drop and falling to his death, Mischa’s world comes down to three things: a blur of color, a screech of metal, and Noel Gruber.
Mischa barely noticed him at first. The cart was a rickety mess, all chipped paint and safety bar that felt a little lose. He was too focused on keeping his grip — both on the bars, and the freaking hat which kept trying to fly off his head — to notice the body pressed close against his.
There was no room for breathing in the tiny two-seater. Forget personal space. In the cart ahead of them, Little Miss Straight-A and the nice one were practically sitting on top of each other; behind, a girl’s voice occasionally murmured apologizes to Ricky when the cart’s rattle made them collide. Mischa paid no attention to the choirboy’s bony elbow pressing into his side, or the way their shoulders bumped with every jerk of the cart. What did they expect? It was a tiny ride, not built for someone Mischa’s size. (In Ukraine, amusement rides were built ten times as strong, for men as big as bears. At least… Mischa figured they were. No carnivals had ever come to his town. He’s never seen a Ferris wheel, never tried to out-cheat the cheating fair games… never even ridden a roller coaster, until today.)
He focused on keeping his long legs inside the car, and the hat on his head. If he bumped against Noel every few seconds, well… that’s just how it happened.
“Sorry!” Noel blurted, at the bottom of the first drop. They’d collided hard that time. Mischa’s heart was in his throat, his pulse racing. He barely noticed the pain.
“All good, man!” he shouted back, over The other riders’ screams and laughter.
Noel’s eyes were wide. His skin was pale. (He was always pale, everyone was pale in this fucking town, but Noel was like something from an old Soviet film. All charcoal eyes, ashy hair, and skin like the snow of Chernobyl.) His bony hands gripped the rattling safety bar, hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Mischa wouldn’t have paid attention — he shouldn’t have — but you were supposed to put your arms up for coasters, that much he knew. Instead, Noel was holding on for dear life.
“C’mon,” he urged, bumping their shoulders on purpose. “Live a little!”
As the coaster ascended up the second hill, Noel’s body tensed, his grip on the bar growing fiercer and fiercer — but as soon as they went over the hill, he threw his hands up. He didn’t scream, only gasped, like the air’d been knocked from his lungs. When they leveled out, he was laughing. He looked better with a smile, with some color to his cheeks. Mischa didn’t mean to notice.
It’s not like they were friends, or anything. (Mischa had no friends in Uranium, aside from his little cousin Tyler, and the family dog that had stopped growling at him after he poured some vodka in his water bowl.) Yet in that moment, he felt inexplicably proud of the kid beside him. Choirboy Noel Gruber, who never let a hair fall out of place, always so uptight, always so better than it all… that Noel was completely different from the one beside Mischa now. This boy was glowing like he had something worth living for. He opened his mouth in a yell of delight, shoulder bumping hard against Mischa’s own. It was the first time, Mischa realized, that he’d ever seen the other boy look truly happy.
(Something resonated deep in Mischa’s chest — why smile when you don’t mean it? Why bother, when nothing around you is worth it? When everything is dull, grey, нічого , and you know this isn’t where you belong? The first time he ever felt seen in this fucking town, it was in Noel Gruber’s smile.)
“That is spirit!” Mischa shouted, grinning back at Noel. Their shoulders clanked together again. It felt good, the closeness.
Then came the last loop.
Gravity pushing him down, something stronger pulling him up, a bony elbow in his ribs, breathless laughter in his ear —
The coaster climbed, and it creaked, a steady tick-a-tick-a tune resounding in Mischa’s bones. He gripped the safety bar tighter. They were almost at the top.
Noel's breath came in stuttered starts. His eyes were wide, looking down at the fairground, miles and worlds below. Beyond it, the lakes and forests of Northern Saskatchewan; beyond that, an endless stretch of world, far out of their reach. Then again, maybe nothing was out of reach up here. Maybe they’d just… left it all behind. They were too high up to miss the rest of the world. Too high to come down.
“It’s beautiful,” Noel said in a hushed whisper.
Mischa looked over at him, a reply tingling on his lips —
and then.
a screech. a jolt. a shower of sparks, and falling —
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
.
and someone was screaming, something was breaking , the world gave way into a blur of color and light and nothing, just nothing —
the track, the bar, Noel, all there one second, and in the next —
nothing.
нічого .
It all blended into each other, here, at the end of the world. Everything Mischa was. All the fractured, damaged pieces of him — everything he couldn’t be, everywhere he didn’t fit, all the things he’d never done and never would. They all fell around him, cartwheeling through the air in a helpless blur. Someone was screaming — was it him? — and he’d left his heart on the roller coaster, lost it during the fall, and he was falling, and where was Noel —
That was his last memory. The last thing he saw, really saw: Noel Gruber’s smile, at the end of everything.
( he was the last thing Mischa felt. the last thing he wanted. the last thing he’d never have. )
But Noel was gone, and he’d waited too long, and as the ground rushed up to meet him, Mischa had just enough time to feel a flash of regret, no, stop —
And then.
нічого .