Catch My Fall (24 page)

Finally, he laughed and nudged me. “Is it that bad?”

I shook my head and attempted to speak. I just kept smiling.

When I finally found words, they came out in cracks and whistles. “You cut your mullet.”

“I did!” He grabbed my hands, planting them squarely on the top of his head. He waited for me to tousle what was left of his hair. I ran my fingers across the smooth bristle of his blonde hair, then dragged them back upward, letting my fingers fight against the natural current of his hair. I let my fingers fall down the nape of his neck, and then slipped them upward again.

He shivered and stood at full height, smiling. “Do you like it?”

There was childlike expectation in his voice.

I could see the idiotic smile on my face reflected in his aviators. “I’m speechless.”

He pumped his fist just slightly in the air. “You better be! Although, the fucking mustache is driving me nuts. Won’t stay on for shit.”

He began pressing the blond hairpiece into his upper lip, finally grumbling as it fell off in his hand. He stuffed it into his pocket and took off his shades.

“You look so handsome,” I said before the words registered in my brain.

He beamed, yet quickly raised an eyebrow and turned to Meghan. “How many has she had?”

Meghan gave him an exasperated look. “No clue.”

“What do you mean no clue?”

“Well, I’m not babysitting her. She wants to get boozed up, she’s welcome to it.”

Stellan shook his head. “You’re a terrible human being, you know that right?”

“Fuck you, Ødegård.”

Stellan looks me in the eye as though there might be a ‘drunk meter’ he could read therein. “What’ve you been drinkin, lady. Have you seen Evan?”

Stellan turned to scan the crowd, his shoulder pressing against mine gently. My skin felt hyper sensitive to every inch of him. I knew the distance of his leg, his elbow, his cheek, his hip from mine. There was an urge to lean or shift my body in a way that would cause us to touch, but I fought it with purpose. That purpose was translated into turning to the bartender and demanding another drink.

“Hang on there,” Stellan said and put a hand out to the bartender. “I’m going to take her for a breather.”

The bartender nodded, and Stellan turned me toward the Evan-adoring hordes. It suddenly hit me that I feared walking in these cowboy boots. One foot slips in the boot, and I might tumble. I felt a firm grip around my shoulders. Stellan had hold of me. I leaned into him and looked up, his clean shaven jaw just inches from my nose as he excused himself through the crowd toward the kitchen. He smelled like laundry detergent and shaving cream and soap and home. I giggled up at him, and he smiled back, giving a chuckle as he shook his head at me. By the time we reached the kitchen, the crowd had shifted in an effort to be near Evan. It felt cool in the now empty space. Stellan held me by the shoulders, almost placing me against the kitchen counter before going to the doorway to scan the crowd.

He returned shaking his head. “Jesus, this is fucking intolerable.”

“Evan has a lot of people’s noses up his bum.”

Stellan smiled. “How many did you have, babe?”

I shrugged. “I’m pretty swimmy.”

“Yes, you are.” He scanned me as he smiled. He pushed one of my nearly deflated bangs out of my face. “I love your hair.”

“I love
your
hair.”

He almost blushed. “You make a pretty foxy red head, I’m not going to lie.”

My lips were on his, and my hands firmly settled on the back of his head before he could finish his thought. I felt his hands settle at my waist, and I stood on my toes to press my lips against his and keep them there. His lips were soft, the grain of his freshly shaved upper lip catching at mine.

Holy shit, I was kissing Stellan.

I can’t believe I had the balls to kiss Stellan. I’m kissing Stellan!!

I curled my fingers into the chest pocket of his uniform to pull him closer and let my tongue query at his lips. His hands shifted to my arms, and their pressure grew stronger, gently pushing us apart.

I searched his face, as he pushed me away.

“I think I’d better take you home,” he said, smiling. I felt a sharp pain in the center of my chest, as though something jagged and raw had been gouged up under my ribs and twisted there. He brushed my hair back again before telling me to stay put while he said a quick hello to Evan.

He slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

I stood there, like some tired old Jell-O mold, moments from losing shape.

What have I done? What did I just fucking do?

I stood waiting for him to return, aching for him to return, to feel him close to me again. Yet, I remembered only the pressure of his hands, the way he’d pushed me away. Suddenly, I couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing his face again.

Before anyone could notice my passage, I snuck behind the crowd and out the sun room door. I turned away from the wonderland of lights and headed past the garage, out onto the dark road. I marched in my cowboy boots past the dozens of parked cars and wobbled down the slope of the hill. I was a mile from home, I’d walked this route a hundred times.

One more time wouldn’t kill me, I thought, desperately trying to ignore the heat building at my pinky toe and my heel. I made it down the steepest part of the hill and was getting close to the bridge when my phone buzzed in my bra. My stomach lurched.

Did Stellan realize I was gone?

I pulled the phone out and pressed the button.

Schmuckface -
I’m thinking of you. Call me.

Seeing the text, seeing his number appear on that tiny bright screen in the middle of that empty road - it chiseled a crack right through me. I set my jaw and began typing.

I ducking hate you!! I fucking hope you catch herpes and it burns a hole thru your dick, you ducking asshole! Go fuck yourself and due Alone!!

SEND!

I stared at the screen for a few seconds, rereading my fury in autocorrected form.

Ducking? Really? Well that just wouldn’t do.

I meant fucking! You Asshole!

I pressed the send button with a guttural scream, my voice echoing across the swampy fields by the roadside. I took a few more painful steps. My feet were crumbling into an array of blisters and raw skin, and I wasn’t in a state to show a stubbornly brave face. I leveraged the heel of one boot against the toe of the other and pulled.

That’s when I nearly bit it. I was too woozy to keep my balance, and the boots were clunky under foot – and clearly hateful. I bent down and gave an angry pull at the boot, but a mix of sweat and old leather seemed to create a vacuum around my foot. I was ready to throw my phone into the river and set fire to my boots. Instead, I dropped to the grass on the side of the road, set my phone aside and double handed, grabbed the first boot, pulled my ankle up to practically my shoulder. I was flashing my crotch (which was almost entirely baby smooth, I’ll have you know) to the world - a drunk Cyndi Lauper screaming at her boots on the side of the road.

I felt the skin of my heel tearing against the inside of the boot as I pulled it off. I sat a moment, letting my poor feet cool, dark patches of blood visible on my socks even in the dark. My ass felt cold in the wet grass. Fantastic.

I stuffed my phone back into my brassiere, took a boot in each hand, hoisted myself up, and continued my trek along the bridge.

The headlights appeared behind me as though the car had been following in the dark. I closed my eyes and fought to keep my gait steady. Don’t look like a drunk floozy, Faye.

“Where you headed, Jensen?”

I turned to find Evan’s ancient silver Jetta pulled up alongside me. I’d been ready to slew profanity at strangers, but seeing a familiar face at that moment startled me a moment. “Home,” I said, finally.

He nodded. “Barefoot in the dark?”

I continued to walk without a word.

He rolled alongside me. “Get in the car, Faye.”

“I’m fine.”

“Get in the car.”

“I’m fucking fine!”

“I will forcibly collect you,” Evan said, and the familiarity of his tone rattled me somewhere deep.

“I will forcibly kick you in the dick!”

“Sounds fair,” he said, and the car stopped. The driver’s side door shot open.

I stopped dead where I stood and backed away from him, hollering,
“I don’t need you to take care of me right now.”

The fact that I was near tears when I said it made it totally believable.

“Okay,” he said, his hand out in front of him as though he was trying to calm a wild horse. “I’d still like your company.”

I growled upward, as though some beast in the sky were challenging me. When that didn’t relieve the frustration, I chucked one of my mother’s boots at the pavement. It bounced across the road, almost falling into the water on the opposite side.

I watched helpless as Evan sauntered over and picked it up.

He turned to approach me, his red devil suit jacket gone now, leaving his flaming pants to blaze bright in the glow of his headlights. “You ready to get in the car.”

I sighed heavily, my breath shaking as I did. Then, without another word, I crossed to the passenger door, and climbed in.

The car smelled familiar – a mix of paper, Febreze, and a sort of dank scent that made the air inside the car feel damp, like its windows were left open to the rain one too many times. The windows were open, and the crisp air tossed my rock solid hair about the top of my head. There was a hint of garage smell to the car, a side effect of being left at Dad’s house when Evan ran off to pursue a better life.

Evan drove right past my street. I shifted to look at him, but I didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry – just kidnapping you,” he said.

I didn’t argue. If there was anything one learned from being Evan’s friend for any length of time, it was that arguing with him was futile. Unless you planned to physically assault him - he didn’t like pain of any kind.

Despite knowing that he would squeal like a frightened cheerleader if I even hinted at nipple tweaking him or twisting his armpit hair, I just wasn’t feeling it right then.

We reached St. Bernard’s Cemetery, a space of ancient trees towering over old graves. Even in the dark, the leaves across the ground and overhead were vibrant orange as Evan pulled in. I watched the gravestones pass in the glare of his headlights, watching for untold shadows hovering between the graves as I’d always done when I was young and chasing ghosts. This wasn’t Sleepy Hollow, where we disappeared to act foolish and be hooligans. This was St. Bernard’s; this place was holy to me.

I held my breath as he rounded the familiar corners and pulled the car up to the grass. The headlights flashed across the first few graves before settling on their prize.

I stared bleary eyed at the stone face –
Terrence and Edith Jensen
.

I sat dumbfounded a moment.

Evan had an impeccable memory.

He shut off the car, leaving us in the dark. Despite sitting in a graveyard, I felt safer there than I could express. My phone buzzed in my brassiere, startling me.

I ignored it.

I stared out my open window, listening to the night time movements of animals and leaves rustling, coupled by the rare whoosh of a passing car on Bedford Road. I could have nestled into that corner of the world and faded away if Evan hadn’t been there. He ran his fingers up the nape of my neck and gave me a light head scratch. Somehow, despite a decade of not speaking, of not taking nightly trips to this graveyard when I was losing my mind after Stellan left for school – somehow we were still there, still idiot teenagers with fucked up fathers who escaped to graveyards for solace. Sometimes I wondered, between night time graveyard habits or streaks of rabid sexual promiscuity and drug abuse, which one was more disconcerting to a parent. I sat there with Evan rubbing my neck.

“Feel like talking, Cyndi?”

I turned to him and shook my head. I was almost certain I had raccoon eyes, but I didn’t care. It was Evan. He let me go back to my window while he fumbled with something in the glove compartment. A moment later, the Flashdance theme was softly playing through the speakers. I planted my palm to my face and laughed quietly.

When I was able to look at him, he was staring at me, bobbing his dark head softly with pursed lips and a look of overwhelming coolness as he jammed along with the stereo.

I shook my head. “Really?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What? I thought this was your theme song!”

I laughed and again shook my head, this time with slow deliberation. “You know, the true shame of this moment is the fact that you had this song at the ready.”

“It’s true. You can’t imagine the crap I have on here because of you.”

“What? How is this because of me?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve got a Faye Playlist on this fucking thing from all the crap you made me listen to. And on repeat if I recall.”

I sighed. “It wasn’t crap.”

He stared at me until I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ok, it wasn’t all crap, but you’re still the one with it on your phone.”

“Blame nostalgia. I was actually going for Time After Time – you know, get some Cyndi going in here - but I couldn’t resist.”

I looked at Evan for the first time that night – truly looked at him – and saw the same boy I’d spent years of my life with. He’d grown into his looks, the dark hair and eyes, the goofy grin – they’d all combined with a hint of stubble and mature eyes to create a strange Marlboro Man effect, despite his bright red pants. He gave me a queried look, and I smiled.

Evan always carried a ‘mark,’ as I’d called it – a sadness to his eyes that drove you to want to collect him under your wing and protect him, shield him from something, though you weren’t sure what. It was that sadness, that heaviness that seemed faded now.

Evan and I were friends for two years before I discovered the cause of that sadness; the night he showed up on my porch, shirtless and bleeding because his Dad had taken the buckle end of a belt to him for putting a dent in the very car we were sitting in.

I wondered if that kind of mark ever truly faded, or if we carried them like freckles or green eyes. I wondered if he could see mine, if I did indeed have one too.