وارونه

UPSIDE DOWN

NORMAL PEOPLE PACE when they’re nervous. Olly stalks.

“Olly! It’s just a handstand. Against a wall. I’ll be fine.” It’s taken me an hour to convince him to show me how to do one.

“You don’t have enough wrist or upper body strength,” he grumbles.

“You used that one already. Besides, I’m strong,” I say, and flex a single bicep. “I can bench-press my weight in books.” He smiles a little at that, then mercifully stops pacing. He flicks his rubber band as his eyes scan my body, mentally critiquing my lack of physical fortitude.

I roll my eyes as dramatically as possible.

“Fine,” he sighs, with equal drama. “Squat.” He demonstrates.

“I know what a—”

“Concentrate.”

I squat down.

From across the room he checks my form and instructs me to make adjustments—hands twelve inches apart, arms straight with elbows pressed against my knees, fingertips splayed—until I’m just right.

“Now,” he says, “shift your weight forward just slightly until your toes come off the ground.” I shift too far and roll head over heels onto my back.

“Huh,” he says, and then presses his lips together. He’s trying not to laugh, but the telltale dimple gives it away. I get back in position.

“More shift, less tilt,” he says.

“I thought I was shifting.”

“Not so much. OK, now. Watch me.” He crouches down. “Hands twelve inches apart, elbows against your knees, fingertips splayed. Then slowly, slowly shift your weight forward onto your shoulders—get those toes off the ground—and then just push yourself up.” He pushes up into the handstand with his usual effortless grace. Again I’m struck by how peaceful he is in motion. This is like meditation for him. His body is his escape from the world, whereas I’m trapped in mine.

“Do you want to see it again?” he asks, flowing back to his feet.

“Nope.” Overeager, I push forward into my shoulder as instructed, but nothing happens. Nothing happens for about an hour. My lower half remains firmly anchored to the ground while my upper arms burn from the effort. I manage several more unintentional somersaults. By the end all I’ve gotten good at is not yelping as I roll over.

“Take a break?” he asks, still trying not to smile.

I growl at him, lower my head, and push forward again into another somersault. Now he’s definitely laughing.

I remain flat on my back, catching my breath, and then I’m laughing along with him. A few seconds later I crouch back into a squat.

He shakes his head. “Who knew you were this stubborn?” Not me. I didn’t know I was this stubborn.

He claps his hands together. “OK, let’s try something new. Close your eyes.” I close them.

“Good. Now, pretend you’re in outer space.”

With my eyes closed he feels closer, as if he’s right next to me instead of across the room. His voice slides up my neck, whispers into my ear. “See the stars? And that asteroid field? And that lonely satellite going by? There’s no gravity. You’re weightless. You can do anything you want with your body. You just have to think it.” I tilt forward and suddenly I’m upside down. At first I’m not sure I’ve done it. I open and close my eyes a few times, but the world remains inverted. Blood rushes to my head, making me feel heavy and light-headed all at once. Gravity pulls my mouth into a smile and tugs my eyes open. I am wonderfully foreign in my own body. My upper arms begin to wobble. I overtilt from the vertical position and my feet touch the wall. I push off to reverse my direction and fall back into a crouch.

“Awesome,” Olly says, clapping. “You even held it for a few seconds. Pretty soon you won’t need the wall at all.” “How about now?” I say, wanting more, wanting to see the world the way he does.

He hesitates, about to argue, but then his eyes meet mine. He nods and crouches down to watch.

I squat, shift, and push up. I’m unstable almost immediately and begin to fall backward. Olly’s suddenly right next to me, his hands on the bare skin of my ankles, holding me steady. Every nerve in my body migrates to where he touches. The skin under his hand sparks to life, every cell alight with feeling. I feel as if I’ve never been touched before.

“Down,” I say, and he gently lowers my legs until they’re back on the ground. I wait for him to move back to his corner, but he doesn’t. Before I can think better of it, I stand up and face him. We’re only three feet apart. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. I move my eyes slowly up to his.

“You OK?” he asks.

I mean to say yes, but I shake my head instead. I should move. He should move. He needs to go back to his side of the world, but he doesn’t and I can see in his eyes that he won’t. My heart beats so loudly that I’m certain he can hear it.

“Maddy?” My name is a question and my eyes move to his lips.

He reaches out his right hand and grabs my left index finger. His hand is rough, uneven with calluses, and so warm. He rubs his thumb once across my knuckle and then cocoons my finger in the palm of his hand.

I look back down at my hand.

Friends are allowed to touch, right?

I disentangle my finger so that I can entangle all the others until our palms are pressed against each other.

I look back up to his eyes and see my reflection there. “What do you see?” I ask.

“Well, the first thing is those freckles.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Slightly. It looks like someone sprinkled chocolate across your nose and cheeks.” His eyes travel down to my lips and back up to my eyes. “Your lips are pink and they get pinker when you chew on them. You chew on them more when you’re about to disagree with me. You should do that less. The disagreeing, not the chewing. The chewing is adorable.” I should say something, stop him, but I can’t speak.

“I’ve never seen anyone with hair as long and poofy and curly as yours it. It looks like a cloud.” “If clouds were brown,” I say, finally finding my voice, trying to break the spell.

“Yes, curly brown clouds. And then your eyes. I swear they change color. Sometimes they’re almost black. Sometimes they’re brown. I’m trying to find a correlation between the color and your mood, but I don’t have it yet. I’ll keep you posted.” “Correlation is not causation,” I say, just to have something to say.

He grins and squeezes my hand. “What do you see?”

I want to answer, but I find that I can’t. I shake my head and look back down at our hands.

We remain that way, sliding between certainty and uncertainty and back again until we hear Carla’s approach and are forced to part.

I am made. I am unmade.