The Little Highs

            “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating attention,” Draven muttered, dropping his hands and closing his eyes. He made a mental note not to try to embrace the audience again. He followed it with a second note that Hallister was an idiot and he didn’t care what he thought.

            Burgan Heavyhand, their drummer, finally got onto stage. He had been battling the hot peppers that had come with lunch all afternoon. Draven hoped this was his last time attending to the business. The last thing they needed was a repeat of Hartville, where Burgan had found it necessary to rush off stage in the middle of a drum-heavy song. Then again, with the Little Highs, most songs were drum heavy, so perhaps it would be best not to lose Burgan at all.

            The bassist, Alricc Skythunder, blew out a long breath, his traditional preparation for the start of a show. “Let us bring in joy and release power,” he said, another tradition that Draven honestly didn’t understand.

            “Showtime,” the voice of their manager, Chuck, came through their ears.

            Their final member, Serrus Shadowstrum, picked up his first guitar. “Little High!” he said.

            “Never Low,” the others replied in unison. Draven finished it with, “Let’s do this.”

            The lights, already dim, turned almost off. The crowd’s chatter dissipated, their breaths held in expectancy. Time seemed to freeze.

            A single low note broke through the silence. A light sprang to life behind Alricc, throwing his silhouette onto the white curtain. There, he was larger than life, rising above the crowd like a giant. His head hanging over his guitar, he dramatically plucked a second string, sending another note rippling through the audience.

            Burgan was next, starting a complex beat and whipping his braided hair around. His silhouette replaced Alricc’s. The frantic motion was exhilarating to watch, and Draven had to stop himself from cheering with the audience.

            The shadow changed to Hallister, who played the chords corresponding to Alricc’s bass notes. As he strummed, he bent over, throwing his hand out behind him. “And you say I’m dramatic,” Draven muttered.

            Then Serrus appeared, playing a rapid melody along the strings of his guitar. Draven nodded his head along the beat, then lifted his microphone to his mouth and starting vocalizing. He could hear the crowd begin to go cheer madly, and lifted his head back.

            The effects crew and he had practiced this many times, but he still peeked to make sure they weren’t messing up. As he moved his head back slowly, they lifted tough, braided rope between him and the light. On the white curtain, it gave the appearance of slow motion, his hair flipping over his head and back behind him. He moved slowly as he held the note, then whipped his head forward, breaking the moment right as drums and guitars hit the crescendo of the intro.

            The white curtain fell away, and the lights in front of them lit up, illuminating their faces and bodies. The Little Highs, the all-dwarf rock band, began their show.

LHNL

            The set went smoothly. Serrus’s melodies, underlying all of the songs, soothed and exhilarated the audience on cue, bringing them to elation and sadness, sometimes within the same songs. Hallister didn’t showboat and compete with Draven as much as he normally would have. Burgan made it through the entire thing without complaining or leaving. And Alricc… Well, Alricc was just a steady and solid as he always was.

            It was a shorter set – The Little Highs were just the opening act for two larger name bands. “We have the rest of the night, pretty much,” Chuck said. “They want you back for pictures and signatures at the end, but otherwise, don’t go crazy.”

            Like the rest, he was a dwarf, stocky and used to the joke, “Oh, I didn’t see you. I forgot to look down.” Unlike them, he was frazzled and stressed.

            “Please be back on time, guys, okay?” he asked, before he turned away and scurried back into the depths of their green room, his clipboard clutched like a child in front of him.

            “He needs to get out more,” Hallister said, sitting down and rubbing his face. He searched for a coat that he could wrap over his stage outfit. They had found it was easier to disguise themselves that way, instead of having to try and get their outfits back on when they got back.

            “Want to grab a drink, Hank?” Serrus asked Hallister.

            Hank – Hallister’s real name – looked up from his search. “That sounds good, Steve,” he said, nodding. “Want to come, Dave?”

            Draven – Dave – shrugged. “I might go to the midway. Gotta do that before you fill your stomach with anything crazy, right, Bob?”

            Burgan rolled his eyes. “Look, I didn’t realize-“

            “You never realize,” Alricc, whose real name was just Alricc, said, “I think that’s the issue.” He breathed out a sigh, rolling his shoulders and stretching his stubby legs. “I’m going to watch the rest of the shows. VIP seating, after all. Anyone want to join?”

            “I’ll pass,” Dave – he had dropped the Draven persona once everyone else had foregone their stage names – replied. “I’m done with watching all the big acts getting preferential treatment.”

            “Well, of course they do,” Hank said. “They’re… big.”

            “No, I didn’t mean the big name,” Dave replied. “I meant size. Humans. Human sized… things.” He sighed. “Not us.”

            “It sounds like you’re a little low,” Steve said. He almost said more, but Bob cut him off.

            “Please don’t make another short joke,” he said. “It’s very degrading.”

            “Oh, come on,” Steve said, “If we can’t joke about it, what’s the point?”

            Bob rolled his eyes. “Just like the whole silhouette thing is a joke. Make ourselves look like we’re trying to be big. We don’t have to be large to make an impact.”

            “That’s the point of it,” Steve replied. “When the shadows drop away, people will realize that we don’t have to be big to make a big wave.”

            “Sure,” Bob said. “Keep telling yourself that. Once you come to, I can recommend a therapist.”

            “Don’t hate on our signature,” Dave said. “I get that you didn’t like it in the beginning, but people aren’t laughing anymore. They’re cheering!”

            “They’re probably laughing on the inside,” Bob said. He grit his teeth. “I need to go.” He dashed out the room, taking the tension with him.

            “He’s just uptight,” Hank said. “And we were going pretty hard on him tonight. We should probably apologize.”

            “True,” Dave said, looking to the side. He sighed. “Midway?” he asked.

            “Sure,” Hank said, picking up a coat and wrapping it around himself. “Let’s go.”

            As was often the case, the three dwarves passed unnoticed through the crowd, over to the midway. Dave breathed in the heavy smell of carnival food and hot asphalt. Though it was night now, the air was still filled with the scent and sound of the fair. “It’s nice to be here,” he said decidedly.

            Hank grunted in agreement, but Steve shrugged. “I miss the real world.”

            “This is the real world,” Dave said. “Look at it! Humans everywhere!”

            “Sure,” Steve said, “But I mean the world where we don’t have to pretend to be humans ourselves.”

            “Oh, there are worse fates,” Dave said. “And they don’t involve fried dough!” He made a motion toward one of the stands, but Steve caught his shoulder. “Oh, right, midway before food.”

            “I guess living in the fear of dragon attacks can be miserable,” Steve said, “But those are about as rare as a tornado touching down while you’re at the top of the Ferris wheel.”

            “Whatever you say,” Dave said. “I’ll take my chances with the Ferris wheel.”

            They were approaching the midway, and as they passed under the gate, Hank muttered under his breath, “That’s probably all we’ll get the chance at.”

            Dave looked at him, then looked up, his heart sinking. Not only was there an attendant checking height for rides – which they could already see they didn’t meet – it was one they had come up against before. “Chelsea,” he muttered, as if he were seeing his sworn nemesis. He pulled his bandmates around a corner, looking at them seriously. “We need to come up with a plan.”

            “Let’s just go get in line for the Ferris wheel,” Hank said.

            “No,” Dave said, lifting his finger in warning. “We are going to ride a roller coaster.”

            “Like The Little Engine that Believed in Itself?” Steve asked. He shook his head at the name. “I still can’t believe that they thought that was the best way to plagiarize that name.”

            Dave looked at the nearby ride, filled with children who were squealing as the Little Engine slowly pulled itself up the short rise before riding down the opposite side. “No,” he said doggedly. “We’re going to ride The Sound of Thunder.”

            “There’s no way-“ Hank started, but Dave cut him off.

            “Do you remember what Whilhelm would always say?” he asked.

            “Will isn’t with us,” Hank said, “So technically, without a Will, there’s-“

            “Even more of a way,” Dave said. “Will always messed things up.”

            Steve was chuckling at the repartee. “So what’s your plan?” he asked.

            Dave reached for Hank’s coat. “Get on my shoulders.”

            “What?” Hank asked. “No! That never works!”

            “It will this time,” Dave said. “I know it.”

            “This is such a bad idea,” Hank said. “What about Steve?”

            “I’ll watch. This will be way more fun,” Steve said. “Plus, if it works, then I’ll switch with one of you.”

            Hank muttered some more, but finally, climbed onto Dave’s shoulders and wrapped the coat around both of them. The result almost looked like a man, provided you ignored the short legs and comically misshaped midriff area.

            “What do you think?” the creature’s stomach asked in the voice of Dave. “Can we do it?”

            “If anyone can,” Steve said, giving them a thumbs up, “You can.”

            With the vote of confidence, they stumbled from around the corner and barreled toward Chelsea. Still out of earshot, Hank whispered loudly, “Let me do all the talking!”

            Chelsea, a sourfaced woman who was now about the same height as the pair of them, frowned as they came closer. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

            “A ticket for the Sound of Thunder,” Hank said, reaching out a handful of money. Dave quietly willed Chelsea not to notice that the arm was far too short for the height.

            Beyond all reason, it worked, as Chelsea took the money and handed them a ticket. Dave, almost giddy with excitement, gave a little bow of thanks. Hank, on top, yelped as he struggled to stay upright. “Sorry,” he said, as Dave straightened and they caught their balance. “Long day walking. Legs get tired.”

            “Sure,” Chelsea said, eyeing him with suspicion.

            They walked past her, toward the line for the Sound of Thunder. It had died down from earlier. A good thing, Dave knew. He didn’t know how long he could hold Hank up for.

            As they walked across the midway, Dave peeked through the front of the coat, trying to make sure he didn’t run into anyone. Their midriff wobbled as Hank tried to get more comfortable.

            And then disaster struck. A tall man, not looking where he was going, ran into them from behind, causing Hank to wobble forward. Dave rushed to keep him upright, but it was too late. They both went down, and in full view of Chelsea, came apart and rolled across the midway lot.

            “No!” Dave shouted, pushing himself up. He could see the seats, almost with reach, as he started to run for them. Hank, nearby, wrestled with his coat, trying to get up. Chelsea sprinted behind them, reaching for his collar.

            The ride was about to begin, and Dave ducked under the attendant’s line, diving for a seat. He missed, and began to run along the start of the track, angling to jump into the last spot. He could feel Chelsea’s hand reaching for his neck, but grabbed onto the back of the seat nearest, getting pulled away from her clammy grasp.

            As he flew into the air, he threw a glance behind him, seeing Chelsea slowing her run and raising a fist in anger. “I’m going to be Lot Of High!” Dave shouted, looking forward at the climb that was to come. His heart dropped, and his grip tightened as he saw how steep and how high it was.

            “This was not a good idea,” he said.

            “No, it was not,” said the woman in the seat he was holding onto. He looked up, and saw Chelsea standing over him. “You shouldn’t have tried to ride where you weren’t supposed to, Dave!”

            She grabbed his hands, forcing them off and throwing him into the air. Dave fell toward the asphalt, watching her sweep up and over the top of the rise. Her eyes were fixed on him, blazing with anger and victory.

            Dave blinked as he came to, looking around at the two other dwarves he had corralled behind a building, out of sight of Chelsea’s watchful gaze. “Maybe we just ride the Little Engine that Believed in Itself,” he agreed, stepping back.

            “Are you okay?” Hank asked, visibly concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

            “Oh, I have,” Dave said, watching the Sound of Thunder pull away. “You’re right. The world where we can be ourselves will always be the best.” He sighed. “And at least there, we have dwarf-sized roller coasters.”

            “But,” Steve added, “At least we’re not in the mines.”

            “Hear, hear,” Hank said. He tossed his head slightly. “Come one. Let’s go get in line for the Ferris Wheel.”

            As Dave went to follow, he looked over at Chelsea, who caught his look with an imperious expression. “You’ve won this time,” Draven Mountainshaker said under his breath, “But when we duel again, victory will be mine, Chelsea.” He lowered his eyebrows and raised a clenched fist. “Draven Mountainshaker says it will be so.”

            “Dave!” Hank yelled from further up, “You’re doing it again!”

            Dave dropped his hand and Draven Mountainshaker fell away. As he ran after his bandmates, he decided. This was the real world, and he would fight to stay in it.