She bounced up and down, holding tightly onto her mother's hand. "Can we go on the big wheel, Mommy?" She asked, her brown eyes wide with innocence. "Please?"
'Mommy' looked down at her child with eyes that knew only sadness, eyes that had known too much. Her voice was soft and tender, but underneath that, tones of the same sadness were there, as they had always been. "Yes, Lexie. We can go on the big wheel."
Lexie, the young girl, was just a child. She didn't realize her mother was sad, and for this, no one can blame her. She was, after all, just a child, and after all, it had always been that way, hadn't it? "Okay!" She squealed, her tones completely opposite her mother's, and she dragged her up to the opening, just barely tall enough to qualify for the ride. She fidgeted in impatience as the line stood completely still, and chattered happily about whatever came to mind, in the way that young children do.
"Caramel apples are good, but I like cotton candy better. It's sweeter! And it tastes like clouds! Jason says clouds are just water, but I think he's lying, because clouds aren't wet or anything, they're like cotton candy. Can we get some, Mommy?" At her mother's gentle no, she pouted for a minute, but quickly recovered.
"Well, I think bumper cars are really fun! You spin around and around and around and you get all dizzy!" Lexie giggled. "Are you gonna go with me on the big wheel?" She said, once again peering up at her mother, smiling the most angelic smile you'll ever see.
Her mother hesitated, then decisively shook her head. "No, I think you're big enough to go on this one yourself." She encouraged, smiling. "You can do that, right?"
Lexie's lip trembled. "B-but," She said, on the verge of crying, "It's so tall!"
Her mother forced herself to smile. "Yes, but you're a big girl. You won't cry, will you? For me?"
Lexie, still obviously upset, nodded miserably, her eyes shining from unshed tears. "Alright." She said, very quietly.
Then the line finally moved, and it was time for people to get on the ferris wheel. Lexie almost had her seat to herself, before a woman carefully ushered her young son next to the upset child, glaring at the mother, who simply smiled half-heartedly back.
Lexie quickly forgot about her recent near-breakdown when the boy smiled at her. "I'm Wally. Who're you?"
Lexie frowned at him. "Lexie." She said, then added, "Your name's weird." She wrinkled her nose. He frowned back. "Well, so is yours!" But then the wheel started moving, and they both had to look, wide-eyed, at the panoramic view offered by the huge machine as their world seemed to tilt sideways for a single moment.
Lexie turned to her companion. "Wow!" She said, smiling from ear to ear. "We're so tall!" Wally grinned back. "And everything's really tiny!"
They spent the rest of trip chattering companionably about anything they happened to think of, and when they got off, they parted on friendly terms. Wally went home later that evening feeling extremely fulfilled as he'd went on the big wheel without even his Mommy, just this other girl named Lexie. Lexie didn't go home at all, that night. She looked for her mother till the lights of all the pretty rides shut off, and a big, mean man made her go away. In fact, she never went home again. Her home become the streets, and the next time she met Wally, her friend during the day her life turned upside down and sideways, the day her mother abandoned her, she didn't remember him in the least.
He did, though, in some small part of his subconscious. He remembered a little girl with shining, innocent brown eyes, a little girl who liked cotton candy better than caramel apples, same as him, a little girl who really, really wanted a unicorn stuffed animal and thought dragons were okay, a little girl who thought that clowns were weird. So he didn't let himself be fooled by the pink hair and the cat eyes and the cold facade, like so many had been before him. She was just a little girl who had had her world turned sideways one too many times. Just a little girl.
Hmm. This needs editing, I think, but I can't bring myself to care enough to actually do it.