How High We Go in the Dark(19)

“Prepare to get destroyed,” Fitch said.

*

“I want to see the tigers,” Fitch shouted as soon as we entered the park. “No, let’s go on a ride.”

He pointed to the Dipsy Doodle teacups. Around and around three times in a row, the world continued to spin after we finally stepped off. He climbed atop the dragon that was showing its chicken-wire interior, crawled through the fairy tree in desperate need of repair. But all Fitch saw was magic—and for a split second, watching him zigzag across the park, seeing him smile, really smile, for the first time since I’d known him, I almost forgot where we were.

For the most part, Dorrie remained quiet unless Fitch called her over for a photo or asked her to accompany him on a ride. She lingered in the background as we walked among the attractions, barely ate when we stopped for a snack at the Laughateria.

“Skip?” Dorrie said as we left the cafeteria, watching Fitch run toward the arcade. “Can you tell me how it’ll happen?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” I asked.

“You’re going to put him on the ride, right? I need to understand what I’m asking you to do,” she said.

“He won’t feel any pain,” I began. “There’s supposedly a period of euphoria. Most are unconscious after that. He’ll be gone by the third inversion.”

“No,” she said. “I guess I want to know how you do it. If you didn’t know Fitch, would he just be another kid you send on that ride? Do you remember them?”

Dorrie watched her son inspect the games as I told her about my charges, how I wrote their names and details in a notebook—Emma singing Disney songs, Colton covering himself with vending machine rub-on tattoos, Stacey wearing an oversized shirt that said CLIMATE CHANGE THREATENS BEER and who wanted to be a marine biologist.

After I was done, we purchased twenty dollars’ worth of tokens, enough for Fitch to buy a stuffed tiger, and joined him at the Skee-Ball machine. But apart from today and all the nights I’d spent with Fitch, I wanted Dorrie to hear the words: “I care about him, too.”

“I know you do,” she said.

Our time was running out. Fitch was scheduled with Group 4B: Hospice-Sponsored Children, which meant we only had another hour. The park’s animal trainers, neighbors of mine, gave us a special Big Cats show and let Fitch feed the sea lions. Afterward, without saying anything, I led us in the direction of the Chariot of Osiris. I saw Fitch looking up at it, his eyes returning to the map. I’ll always wonder how much he knew in that moment.

“Are we going on this now?” he asked.

“Well, your mom doesn’t like roller coasters, and I’m in charge of the control booth today,” I said. And all this was true. I had told my manager that I wanted to be the one who pushed the button. “But this is a big-boy ride. You’re a big boy, right? You’re a space commander, right?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I mean yes, sir. I’m a big boy. But—”

“Hmm?”

“Can the tiger come?”

Dorrie kneeled beside him and handed him the stuffed tiger. “I love you so much,” she said. “Mommy had a really good day with you.” She asked him for another hug before he sprinted off toward Osiris. Dorrie clutched onto me, sobbing as Fitch joined the line of children, her fingers digging into my clothes. I could feel the weight of her slipping, her legs buckling.

“I’ll be right there,” I yelled to Fitch as I helped his mother stand.

“I’m going to sit here on this bench,” Dorrie said, barely audible. “Come get me after.”

I moved as if the stone path had turned to quicksand. Each step had the potential to stop me in my tracks, my selfish thoughts racing, wanting to keep Fitch here with us somehow, the three of us together. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, told myself to think happy thoughts about intergalactic victory with the help of Space Commander Fitch. I tried to imagine him at his worst, when his paper-thin skin turned impossible colors, as if every cell in his body had been set aflame. I reminded myself that the virus eating at his brain had wrapped around his synapses, stealing a little part of him with each minute—and then I opened my eyes and saw him more alive than he had ever been.

As far as Fitch was concerned, he was already in the sky with Orion high above, aiming his arrow at Jupiter or Venus. He was shaking with anticipation in his seat, rubbing his arms. I draped his never-worn denim jacket around his shoulders, pulled down the padded restraints, buckled him in tightly. He asked me if we could get ice cream after, and I wanted to tell him he could have all the ice cream he wanted. I studied his face and wondered if this was just the wish of an astronaut who knew he might not be coming home. I gave him a high five, told him to hold on tight. I told him he was on a mission to save the world and that I wanted to hear him shout at the stars and raise his arms as high as he could to rake the bottom of the sky.

From the control booth, I gave him one final salute. The orange shimmer of the electric torches dotting the tracks washed over him just enough so I could see his silhouette amid the excited horseplay of the other children. I pushed the red button and the chains of the ride clicked and clacked, pulling the train upward. Each sound vibrated through my body, striking at the temptation to stop it all. Dorrie was standing with the other parents near the guarded perimeter gates. I sat back in the darkness of the booth, waiting. And for a moment, I thought I heard Fitch’s triumphant shouts, perhaps the happiest sound I will ever hear, until there was only the roar of Osiris and then nothing at all.