Catch My Fall (7 page)

I punched him. He rubbed his arm as though I’d been a mosquito.

I leaned back in my seat, catching sight of my reflection in the passenger side window. I stared at my own face; the slight ski slope of my nose, the curve of my jaw and the hollow under my cheek bones. Despite how terrible I’d been feeling, I didn’t think I was all that bad. A sudden flash of ‘fantasy twat shot’ popped into my head. I’d imagined her short, a perky little height that made it easy for average height Cole to rest his chin on her head when they embraced. I hated short women. Well, I did those days because Twat shot was tiny, and I hated Twat Shot. Ok, fine - Imaginary Twat Shot was tiny and therefore all tiny women were an abomination. I imagined her with bushy dark brown hair and big earrings, maybe even one through her nose to match her Tutu, and she had the slightest, tiniest little waist and she enjoyed long walks on the beach, moonlight serenades, showering together, being on top, and Cole was happy – so elated to give her all those things, and I hated her. I fucking hated her.

“You alright, F-bomb?”

God damn it, how does he fucking do that?

“Yeah -” I started and stopped before I could say
fine
. I wasn’t
fine
. Even if I lied, he already knew I was a million miles from
fine
. “I’ve been better.”

“I know,” he said and patted my knee. “Wanna vent?”

I laughed. “Naw. I can’t go venting to you about this kind of stuff. This shit you berate your girlfriends about, not your guy friends.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a stag party, babe.”

“I know,” I said, reluctantly. The thought of telling Stellan about my thoughts - my feelings of female inadequacy, my fears that I would never find someone who could please me sexually, the thought that I’d only ever been serious with one man, and it had blown up in my face – these weren’t exactly the stuff of letters you read in GQ. Not that Stellan would ever read GQ, but still…

“Tell me one thing. I know you have an infinite amount on your mind. Vent about just one,” he said. I mulled it over a moment, tempted to spill what was running through my mind, as though purging it to him of all people might somehow cure me. I still just couldn’t see Stellan taking it easy when I told him I’d found it impossible to masturbate since my break up because Cole had been my only sexual desire for almost four years.

That would be a fun conversation.

“I applied for a job,” I said finally.

Stellan glanced at me smiling. “That’s good, yeah?”

“I hope so. It’d be nice to get my life back together.”

He slowed down to turn onto Strawberry Fields Road, a winding side way through the woods. We were no longer heading anywhere in particular. I didn’t protest. I guess supper could wait.

“Your life isn’t all that bad, babe.”

“I know,” I said, and for the first time since I moved home, I actually let myself mean it.

I knew there were people who’d suffered worse than I when the recession hit – people with kids and no support system, people out in the cold. Sure I’d lost my house, but I had a home to come back to. I was warm at night.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and thanked God. “I just feel like there are expectations of me that I’m not meeting.”

“Whose expectations are we talking about?”

I thought for a moment. “Mine.”

He made a soft ‘Ah’ sound and turned down another side street. The leaves were bright even in the dark. Autumn in New England was just days from full swing.

“So, what are your expectations?”

“I don’t know. If you’d looked at me five years ago, I was one of the most successful people of my graduating class. I’d say, by far the most successful woman, and now…”

I paused.

Stellan watched the road, driving aimlessly into the dark. “Now what?”

“Now I’m not, I guess.”

Stellan rolled up to a stop sign, put the Jeep in park, and turned to me. He didn’t speak. He just waited for me to go on. I felt exposed suddenly, and without knowing what was coming, I started talking.

“I’m a failure. And worse than that, I’m the one reminding myself most often. Every time my mom offers me cash, every time I fill my gas tank on her dime, or come home and feel agitated that she left a bunch of shit on the kitchen table – who am I to be agitated with her, it’s her fucking house? And I’m such an asshole, I shouldn’t have said anything about you and your family yesterday, but I did, and I think about you and compare myself in so many ways.” I was unloading. One thought led to the next and the next and my filter was just about gone. “When I was doing well, I looked down at your situation. Not at you, but your situation. You can hate me for that, but I did. I thought ‘why doesn’t he do something with that brilliant mind of his and get out of there,’ and now I’m the hypocrite sitting in the same situation – only worse.”

“Why is it worse?” He asked, and there was nothing tense about his tone.

“Because -” I said, and for the first time, I actually let it sink in. “You’re not unhappy. I am.”

The jeep sat on that dark, wooded road like some quiet Golem waiting for passersby.

Stellan stared at the radio, quiet. “I’m going to say something, dove, and I need you to promise me you won’t get upset.”

My chest tightened. ‘Faye, we can’t be friends anymore - I’m moving to Argentina, Faye – Faye, I hate your haircut; it looks stupid.’ I didn’t know what he was going to say, but his tone scared me so completely that I was almost willing to suffer the curiosity and never hear it.

“Okay,” I said, finally.

“You weren’t happy before, either.”

If words can hit like a right hook, these were the ones to do it.

My mind raced toward immediate defense, but he wasn’t done.

“When you were ‘the most successful woman in your graduating class,’ I never saw you. No one saw you. Then if I got lucky, you were exhausted and frustrated, complaining about one thing or another. You were miserable.” He paused. “And you dressed like a yuppy, which was the worst part, really.”

“Hey -” I said and realized my steam was gone. “- I dressed like a yuppy?”

“When you were all traumatized over losing your job, it was the hardest thing in the world to pretend I wasn’t happy. Yeah, I was happy that I’d get to see you for a change, but I was elated you were out of there.”

“It was a paycheck. I was successful, I was good at it -”

Stellan leaned back in his chair, propping his hands behind his head. He looked up at the roof, his face serene. “There’s a difference between being successful and being -”

He faltered a moment, and I pounced.

“Being what, oh all-knowing Guru?”

“Prosperous? I don’t know. I just don’t think success is what brings you peace when you’re on your death bed, babe. I’m just saying.”

I had trouble arguing this point, but it reminded me of the other piece of my puzzle that I’d recently lost. “No, but I thought I had that other part handled, too.”

Stellan breathed in softly, and I could hear the apology. Yet, he didn’t hide from the conversation.

“That’s another thing I haven’t really said.”

I waited, scared.

He shot me a sideways look, giving a sheepish eyebrow raise. “Good riddance.”

I bristled. “Why do you say that?”

“He was a douche bag from jump street, babe.”

“Don’t say that.” My tone was low and warning, but Stellan blew right through it like a fugitive heading for the border.

“No, let’s be real here, shall we? You’ve been with him since you lost your job, yeah?”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my mind raced. If this was a text from Cole, his timing was impeccable. I ignored it. “Yes.”

“Had he been to your mom’s place - even once?”

I paused. “No.”

“There you go. I could go on for hours on the guy, but I think that right there will cover it for now.”

He set his hands on the wheel and checked the rear view - still no lights in any direction. We had no reason to move.

“He wasn’t comfortable. And honestly, I wasn’t either. Spending time with your boyfriend while your mom is in the next room -”

“Has he even met your mom?”

“Yes!”

Once. He’d met her once. I didn’t inform Stellan of that fact.

“Look. He should have been banging down your door to meet your mom, not avoiding the prospect.”

“Not everyone is as comfortable in other peoples’ parents’ houses, Stell.”

“Watch it, babe. Don’t make it about me because I’m being honest.”

I slumped back into my seat, finding my reflection again in the window. My eyes had gone watery, and I hated myself for it. It’s so painful to hear your friends assassinate the character of the man you love. It’s exceptionally hard to hear it when they’re spewing what you knew and refused to say yourself. We didn’t speak again for a few minutes. I was sure Stellan could tell I was getting emotional.

“You deserve better, F-bomb. I just don’t think you realize that.”

And there we have it - start crying around Stellan time: number three. He rubbed the back of my neck with his right hand for a few moments, then put the car into gear. We drove down the dark roads for a few minutes, Simple Minds playing softly. I started to quietly sing along, half my notes coming through and the other half silent. I didn’t want to admit to him that I was afraid there was no better. I didn’t want to admit to him that I was sure all the men my age who were worth a damn were taken, as Meghan often complained, with prettier, daintier, more ‘successful’ women. These were details I share with my girlfriends, these were the details that scared me most. Stellan didn’t need to hear that; he didn’t need to listen to me cry about penis size and babies and fantasy wedding plans that were destroyed now.

I decided then that I needed Meghan and reached for my phone. The text alert startled me. I’d almost forgotten.

Bitch! I’m starving! Tell me you’re free!

Speak of the devil.

“Anybody good?” Stellan asked, shooting me a sideways glance.

I swallowed, unsure how well this proposal might go over. “Meghan says she’s hungry, too. Any chance -”

I didn’t even get the final words out before Stellan had a wicked grin on his face. “Oh, absolutely. But only if you agree to eat in public.”

I whined my protest. Why couldn’t we just pick up the pizza, bring it home, and never see people ever again? Meghan quickly texted her agreement, and my hands were tied. I was going out in public.

I wasn’t happy about it.

Stellan dropped me at the hippy pizza restaurant and shot down the street to ‘pick something up.’

“I’ll come find you guys! Go order, chill out, won’t be more than a few minutes!”

Meghan complained about work and life, being single and being underpaid, all the while looking like she stepped out of a department store catalog. I’d once asked her how long she took to get ready in the morning. The answer made me wonder if she ever slept - and that perhaps I was close friends with the walking undead. Vampires are supposed to be pretty, right?

The two of us were settled at a table by the massive oven, the heat of the flames within traveling throughout the room. She regaled me for some time. When she was done, she crossed her ankles and asked how I was.

It was like a cork from a champagne bottle – I practically exploded. I told her about my complete inability to even think about sex and despite the angry look I received when I mentioned his name, I told her I was afraid Cole was the closest I would ever come to getting it right.

“I don’t understand how you can say that, hon?”

“Why?” I asked, trying to keep my voice down.

“Because he wasn’t ‘right’ - in any sense of the word. Were you there? Did you miss that whole ordeal with the cell phone and the vagina and the -”

“No, I know. He sucks. He sucks beyond reason -”

“Do you really believe that? It almost sounds like you’re mourning his loss or something.”

“Well, I am sometimes. Is that so wrong?”

And she was off. “Faye! The guy is a scumbag! He cheated on you, and kept evidence of it!”

This was a mantra she’d been happy to repeat for over a month now.

“I know that!”

“When you lost your place, did he offer to let you stay with him? No. It ‘never came up,’ right?” I started to respond, but she was on a roll. “Did he not openly embarrass you in front of all his friends when you lost your job and couldn’t afford to pay for your own dinner one night?”

That one stung, and I’d nearly let myself forget it.

“Did you or did you not tell me you dreaded going out to eat with him long before then because the two of you sat in silence most nights because you had nothing to fucking talk about?” God damn it, she knew her shit. “Are you seriously missing him because sometimes he was good in bed?”

“It’s not just that,” I said, realizing I was about to – no let’s be honest – I’d already completely lost the helm of this conversation.

“No, Faye. Think about it. What is it that you really miss?”

She waited. I was surprised to see her slow down, as she usually didn’t take even a moment to breathe once she got going. I thought about Cole, looking into the eyes of a friend who actually heard all the troubles he and I were having long before I discovered his cell phone’s adventures. I couldn’t push aside the bad in order to dwell on the good with her. I remembered that night in the bar when the handsome bartender asked for my number. I remembered the night we first slept together and the days I spent reeling from it. Was there nothing else to dwell on?

Damn it, why do women have to actually feel when it comes to sex? Why can’t we just be like men and fuck our merry way to an orgasm, then forget it ever happened? Am I being sexist? I don’t fucking care! I wish it was easier. I wish I had a cock shot on
my
phone!

“The intimacy?” I finally said.

“Ah,” she said. When she turned to me, I expected another tirade. “Weren’t you the one complaining about a lack of just that a few months ago?”

Yes sir, she’d been a good friend for a long time, and she wasn’t going to let me forget it.

“I was.”

“And why was that? I know, but I think maybe you need to remind yourself.”