Month: December 2015
DOUBLE-DECKER
by Chad Greene
The way I remember it, we held hands for the first time on the double-decker.
My hand had held a deep-fried hotdish on a stick right before riding the double-decker Ferris wheel. After all, we were at the Minnesota State Fair, and what could have been more Minnesotan than that – three Swedish meatballs on a stick, with tater tots between them, all breaded and deep-fried?
“The hamburger-and-cream-of-mushroom-soup dipping sauce?” Annie suggested as we strolled toward the midway.
“Or that the banner above the window where we ordered had ‘Uff Da!’ printed on it?” I asked.
“Twice!” she laughed. “Or that the stand was called ‘Ole and Lena’s’?”
“‘Ole and Lena’!” I exclaimed. “Like all those old jokes my Norwegian nana used to tell! Did you ever hear the one about when Ole and Lena got married? On their honeymoon, they had driven almost all the way to Minneapolis when Ole put his hand on Lena’s knee. Giggling, Lena said—”
“‘Ya can go a little farder now if ya want to, Ole,’” Annie interjected in her best Yooper accent.
“So Ole drove to Duluth,” I finished.
Theway I remember it, that was the first time we laughed together – a very new couple sharing a very old joke about a husband and a wife who almost always misunderstood one another.
The way I remember it, we compromised for the first time on the double-decker.
My hand still held half a deep-fried hotdish on a stick. As I started my standard tirade against roller coasters, I punctuated my most important points with thrusts of it.
“Artificial thrills,” I sneered, “for folks who are—”
“Not afraid of heights?” Annie interrupted.
“—bored by their lives,” I insisted. “Admittedly, I’m—”
“Afraid of heights?”
“Of course not,” I scoffed.
“So, you refuse to ride a roller coaster because—”
“—I have no need for artificial thrills because I’m not bored by my life.”
“But, because you’re – of course – not afraid of heights, you’d have no problem riding, say…,” Annie’s eyes scanned the rides that towered over the rest of the amusements on the midway, “…the double-decker Ferris wheel?”
“Of course not,” I bluffed.
“Well, let’s get in line!” She trotted toward what looked like a rickety Erector Set. Two wheels with eight passenger gondolas each were connected by thin – too thin! – metal beams with holes in them. An axle threaded through the holes in the middles of the beams, meaning that it was not only the eight gondolas on each of the wheels that would rotate from bottom to top, but also the two wheels themselves.
As I stared at the legs dangling out of the gondolas on the higher of the two wheels, I gulped. Then I threw the remaining half of my deep-fried hotdish on a stick into the trashcan next to the head of the line.
“Not feeling a little … queasy, are you?” Annie asked. “Our feet are still on the ground.”
The way I remember it, I managed to scrape up an appropriate pun. “It’s just that…,” I stammered as I stepped past the carny holding the gondola door open for us and scooted onto the bench beside her. “It’s just that, I want to concentrate my attentions on only one ‘hot dish’ at the moment.”
“Aww,” she said.
Just then, the carny slammed the door and pulled the lever. With a jolt, we creaked skyward.
“Ahh,” I said.
The way I remember it, I mostly stared down at my knuckles, which were white from my compulsive clutching of the safety bar. I felt like our ascent could only last a little longer; I was – yes – afraid we were about to start our descent.
“So….”
“So….”
“So…you’re Norwegian?” Annie asked. “I would’ve guessed German, with a name like—”
“Carl Braun? You would’ve guessed right – at least, mostly.” After a slow start, my answer began to pick up speed – as I was sure we were about to do. “My nana, my great-grandmother, was Norwegian. And her husband, my great-grandfather, was Italian. So, that makes me about one-eighth of each. But I’m about three-quarters German—”
At the moment, I felt something strange. Although, as I had dreaded, our gondola started its descent, our wheel simultaneously started its ascent. I was so disoriented that, despite my – yes – fear of heights, I was about to look up from my knuckles.
But then I saw Annie lift her left hand off the safety bar and place it on top of my right hand.
The way I remember it, I momentarily lamented that my hand had held a deep-fried hotdish on a stick right before riding the double-decker because it was slightly greasy. But then I let go of the safety bar, and I rotated my wrist, so I could hold her hand.
Now, I wonder if she had misunderstood me – if my inability to hide my fear of heights had seemed to her instead to be the height of emotional openness in an Upper Midwestern man?
But, then, I was sure I did not misunderstand her when she informed me, in her best Yooper accent, “Ya can go a little farder now if ya want to, Carl.”
Read more by Chad Greene in:
“Divine” litro.co.uk – “Oasis” inlandiajournal.org
art of this 