Falling

by Katherine Cobb

  “And what was this important item you took from the car?”

  “Um…Doritos?”

  “Are you asking or telling me?”

  “It was a bag of chips.”

  “I see. Are you clear why you cannot leave the car in neutral?”

  “Now I am.” I would never repeat that mistake.

  “And what gear will you park it in from now on if—and it’s a big if—I let you even drive my car again?”

  “First,” I whispered.

  “Now, once this happened, what did you do?”

  I swallowed. What I did was drink a beer, followed by three more. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I was scared and—”

  “So you came directly home?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Sweat trickled down my torso from my armpits.

  “Don’t you think crashing my car is serious enough for you to come immediately home?”

  Of course. Yes. Duh. “I should have.” My forehead pounded and I reached up and pushed on it.

  “But you were more concerned with having a good time with your friends and boyfriend, is that it?”

  “No,” I said, my voice meek. I only wanted to delay my imminent death or dismemberment.

  My father sighed, and shook his head at my mother. “I think you are far too worried about, what’s it called? Popularity. Everything is all about you and your friends or you and that boy. And now you’ve gone and crashed the family car. Where is your focus, Anna? I’ll tell you—it’s lost.”

  “Dad, the car thing was a total accident.”

  He came closer, pointing his finger at my chest. He stopped abruptly and his nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell? Is that beer?”

  Holy mother of St. Busted.

  “Answer me. Have you been drinking?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Then why do you reek of beer?”

  “My friends had some,” I admitted, trapped. “And someone spilled a little on my pants.” That sounded plausible. I think.

  “Your friends drink beer?” His voice escalated with each word, his face turning scarlet and getting puffier by the second.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” he shouted. “You’re underage. It’s illegal for you to drink alcohol. You say this as if it’s fine. What else are you and your friends doing? Smoking pot? Doing heavy drugs? What?”

  “Nothing else.” More lies.

  My father’s face hovered two inches from my own, full of menace. He pursed his lips together before shouting. “Let me make something clear: you’re on very thin ice with me, and you’re screwing up. I think now is a good time to reprioritize your responsibilities. Do you hear me? That means you’re grounded, little lady. Grounded. And while you’re on restriction, you will do anything your mother or I request of you, and you will focus on your studies. You will not go out, you will not talk on the phone, you will not watch television. You will either work here or work at school. Is that clear?”

  I nodded. It was perfectly, miserably clear.

  “And one other thing. You will think about your life. Specifically,” he said with special emphasis, “whether these so-called friends of yours are good for you. Because they don’t sound like they are. I will not have you around alcohol. Do you hear me? Now get out of my sight, and get that filthy stink off of you.”

  I sprang to my feet, seeking the solace of my bedroom. My life, as I knew it, over.

  §§

  Restriction equaled misery and boredom. I loathed it. Every day, I came straight home and completed my homework followed by whatever tasks my mother and father concocted, which were plentiful.

  Family dinners became a sullen affair. My contempt for my parents made small talk painful. I ate quickly, washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen before shuffling into my bedroom, my new refuge. I dreaded weekends the most. Once my favorite days, now they drug on minute by boring minute, stretching into perpetuity. I flopped on my bed and wrote in my journal, my closest companion.

  I HATE my parents! How did I get stuck in this insane family? They are so unfair, and my father is the biggest, ogre-iest jerk of them all!!! I just want to get out of here and live my life. God, I’m only 16. That means I have two years to go until I’m free! Then, finally, I can do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want! No one will ever tell me what to do again! No one will be able to take away my freedom like this! I’ll direct the damned show. I want to run away so fucking bad!!!!!!!

  It felt good to vent my feelings, if only on paper. Not allowed to speak to Pete or my friends—and I certainly couldn’t share my thoughts at home—writing was my only solace.

  I doodled on the page and before long, “Mrs. Anna O’Reilly” peppered the sheet. It looked as good as it sounded in my formal cursive. I could be Anna O’Reilly someday. Maybe. I mean, not now or anything. I still had to finish high school, and I planned to go to college, get a degree and flourish in my chosen career, maybe even become famous. I would never rely on some guy to take care of me. I could pull my own weight and earn my own living. No way would I end up a housewife, having to ask my husband for money to buy groceries.

  I prided myself on my independence and ability to act responsibly. After all, I got good grades, more than helped around the house and chose a loyal set of friends. My boyfriend loved me, and we took precautions. I made solid decisions most of the time, and the rest I chalked up to being young and having fun. That’s why being on restriction demeaned me. As a good daughter, I found it a royally unfair punishment.

  §§

  I dressed in a rush for school. The faster I got there, the quicker my social purgatory lifted, and there wasn’t a thing my parents could do about it. I had to attend school, and they were unable to monitor my every move out of their sight.

  After a particularly loud and jerky bus ride to Skyline, seeing Jake Miller in first period was a salve to my wounds. His smile melted my blues, giving me strength to carry on.

  Arriving at English class, a red-faced and tear-streaked Mary pulled me aside in the hall.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I said.

  Pausing while students passed, she whispered, “I think I’m pregnant.”

  32

  Pregnant

  I sank against the wall. “Are you sure?”

  Mary swiped away a tear. “My period should have been here weeks ago. I’ve been waiting, hoping I was wrong.”

  “I thought you were on The Pill.”

  “I was, but Jake and I are off more than on, so I quit taking it. Then we slept together. I knew it was risky, but it was only one time!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She glanced down either side of the hall and leaned in closer. “I have to get an abortion.”

  “Oh, Mary…when?”

  “I’m calling the clinic today.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll go with you.”

  She cried harder.

  I hugged her tight. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I’m here for you, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

  “Thanks, Anna. You’re a good friend.”

  I pulled back, staring into her distressed brown eyes. “Are you going to tell Jake?”

  “I want to, but I think he may get mad, or worse, what if he doesn’t care?”

  I nodded.

  “Right now I’m not going to say anything to him. Or anyone,” she said. “Promise you won’t tell?”

  “Of course. It’s in the vault.”

  “The worst part is I love him. And I keep thinking if I stick around long enough, he’ll fall in love with me, too.”

  I didn’t have the heart to say any differently even though Jake’s reputation as a playboy had to be based on some truth. No one could deny he flirted with most of the girls in the school, but rumor had it he’d screwed his share as well.

  Mary chewed on her lip. “Do you think I should tell him? He has a right to kno
w, doesn’t he?”

  “I’m sure you’ll make the right call when the time comes.” And if and when she did tell him, Jake better not be a total jerk-off.

  The bell rang, forcing us to hustle to class.

  Throughout the week, Mary kept me abreast of her progress, whispering during school breaks away from the ears of our friends—including Jaime, to avoid her critical comments. A test with the clinic downtown confirmed she was pregnant, and an appointment for an abortion was scheduled for two weeks from Saturday.

  In order to be with my friend through this ordeal, I needed to get off restriction, so I stopped sulking around the house and trotted out my best behavior, hoping to reduce my sentence.

  My efforts paid off just in time. I was given one final lecture about responsibility, and my father let it be known he was watching me carefully before he ended my house arrest. It had only been three weeks, but felt like months.

  I may have been digging my own grave, but I lied to my parents to take Mary to the clinic. I suffered no guilt. They would never understand or support her getting an abortion, especially being Catholic, but it was her business and no one else’s.

  Mary stayed quiet as we drove downtown. I reached over and gave her hand a squeeze, but didn’t press her to speak.

  We walked up the steps of the gray building and into the reception area. As she checked in, I took in the disheveled waiting room. Worn and tattered furniture, magazines strewn on every table, and posters tacked against the walls couldn’t hide its stains and scuffs. A musty odor permeated the crowded room. If this reflected the abilities of the medical staff, we were in trouble. I found two seats in the back corner and sat down.

  After a short wait, a nurse summoned Mary. We hugged, and I told her to be strong. She smiled weakly and disappeared behind a door.

  I read through the parade of colorful posters. They each had a message, mostly about birth control and the consequences of not using it. I shuddered. Terrified of getting pregnant, Pete and I had been careful. I never wanted to experience what Mary endured right this minute. We were too young to be making decisions about babies or abortions. What choice would I make or how would Pete react if a baby came into the picture? I grabbed a fashion magazine from the stack on the table and opened it, determined to take my mind off the situation.

  I yawned, stretched and glanced at the clock for the twentieth time. Mary had been gone hours. My heart ached for her. And where was Jake? He should be sitting next to me in the waiting room, supporting her. After all, he was half responsible for this mess. I called to mind her tearful retelling of her conversation with Jake, and how he first acted like the baby wasn’t his, then blamed her, saying she’d been irresponsible and that it was her problem. Ever since, he’d distanced himself, making her worst nightmare come true. Creep! I picked up another meaningless magazine, flipping the flimsy pages with purpose.

  Between the procedure and the time it took the anesthesia to wear off, four hours passed before Mary could leave. Relief flooded me when she limped into the waiting area, until I got a close-up view of her ashen complexion and miserable expression.

  “Are you okay?” What a dumb-ass thing to say.

  She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  I helped her outside and into the car. Once back in the driver’s seat, I turned to her. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re so pale.”

  “They said everything went fine, but I am not okay by any stretch. That’s the worst, most awful thing I’ve ever experienced.”

  I rubbed her shoulder. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “I just killed my baby,” she whispered, a sob catching in her throat.

  “You did the only thing you could.” Right? I doubted any words could console her.

  “Get me out of here, please.”

  I drove Mary home and helped put her to bed, explaining to her mother how she’d suddenly taken ill. A lie and yet, still true. I felt sick myself when I got back in the car. I headed straight to Pete’s, searching for comfort.

  “Hey! This is a surprise…wait, is something wrong?” he said.

  I nodded. “Mary’s going through something tough, and I feel horrible about it.”

  Pete pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Just hold me.”

  We stood there quietly, wrapped around each other, and I burrowed my face into his chest. I loved Pete’s scent, and the combination of that with his shirt’s freshly laundered smell was perfect, like going to bed after a crappy day. I let go.

  “Current sadness aside, how does it feel to be free again?”

  I smiled, peeking up at his face. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “I guess you won’t be crashing your parent’s car anytime soon.” Pete chortled. “In fact, why don’t I just drive us for the next foreseeable future?”

  “Wise-ass. I’m a good driver!”

  “That may be so, but you’re still a mere neophyte compared to me, I’m afraid.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What did I do to ever deserve you, your highness?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  I reached out to sock his arm, but he sprinted up the walk and into the house, laughing all the way. I chased after him.

  His sister shrieked when she saw me and threw her arms around my waist. Mrs. O’Reilly also greeted me with a warm hug.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” she whispered. “Between you and me, Pete has been so cranky these past few weeks. How are you?”

  “Things are better. I’m sure you heard about the car.”

  “I did. How unfortunate. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

  “Me, too.”

  Mrs. O’Reilly grasped both of my arms with her hands, giving them a squeeze. “These little mishaps do happen. You just have to be careful out there, sweetie.”

  I nodded. She was so much nicer than my own parents. Why couldn’t she be my mother? “What are you cooking? It smells delicious.”

  “Lasagna. Join us for dinner. It’s going to be fun—we’ve got a full house tonight with my sister and her family joining us.”

  “I’d love to.” I called home. My mother answered and I mouthed an unspoken thank you. I assured her I was fine and explained how I ended up at Pete’s house. She gave me permission to stay but imposed an early curfew of ten o’clock. I didn’t mind. Maybe my mom wasn’t so bad after all.

  It was a normal, uneventful evening, exactly what I needed. After an hour of energetic dinner conversation and a belly full of comfort food, Pete, his older cousins and I headed to the rec room to watch The Godfather. Pete sat on the sofa, and I crawled on the floor, leaning back between his legs. He played with my hair and our fingers entwined as I became absorbed in the world of Don Corleone and his world of family, respect and murder. Thoughts of Mary’s suffering faded quietly into the night.

  33

  Countdown to Summer

  Pete turned off his headlights and cruised slowly down the dirt road. We approached one of our best party spots off Skyline Boulevard, a place nearly impossible for cops to find thanks to a strategically placed hill and plenty of trees. The protection at our backs left us free to carouse, drink or howl at the hillside overlooking the bay.

  “Grab the wheel a sec,” he said.

  I took over the steering. “What are you doing?”

  “Just watch. But no talking.” He turned off the radio and reached below the seat, pulling out an industrial-sized flashlight.

  In the distance, I could make out Reese, hunched over igniting his cigarette, before he straightened up and squinted in our direction.

  Pete beamed the light out the driver’s side window, manipulating it like a searchlight as the car inched forward. It flooded the faces of our startled friends and Pete yelled, “Assume the position. You’re all under arrest!” His maniacal laugh gave him away.

  “Hella uncool, dude!” Steve said, slapping the side of the car.

  Reese smirked. “I knew it
was that fool O’Reilly.”

  We parked and joined our buds. The gang was all there, but Reese and Steve soon left to make a beer run. Mary, Jaime and I clustered together, talking. The main topic of conversation was our impending summer vacation (only one month to go!) and what we planned to do with it.

  “I am so glad I’ll be done with cheerleading,” I said.

  Jaime made a face. “I don’t know how you did that crap.”

  “You were good at it,” Mary said, attempting to counter Jaime’s harsh remarks once again.

  “If I’d known it was going to be so much work and such a time-sucker, I would have thought twice about it.”

  “Anyone good trying out?”

  I shrugged. “The new girls are too stuck-up for their own good. Their heads might explode if they get picked.”

  Jaime tossed her hair. “At least you didn’t change.”

  “Some people told me I was stuck-up, but that’s booshee. I’m totally still the same.”

  “You’re just our down-to-earth little rah rah, aren’t you?” She threw an arm into the air in mock cheer mode.

  “Whatever. How’s it going with Reese?”

  “I still don’t trust him, but he’s been pretty good to me lately. Or maybe that means he’s even guiltier.”

  “He loves you,” Mary said.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “That’s not really the point, is it? The question is whether he’s dickin’ around.”

  “He’d be an supreme idiot,” Mary added.

  Jaime laughed. “C’mon! You know that boy’s a fool!”

  We laughed at its truth. Reese was silly, funny and crazy—most of the time.

  Eager to change the subject and help me tamp down my guilt over knowing about Reese’s philandering ways, I turned to Mary. “What are you doing this summer?”

  “Getting a job.”

  A horrified look crossed Jaime’s face. “Why?”

  “My parents are making me. Believe me, I wish I could just hang out. But I need the money.”

  “Where do you want to work?” I said.