Risk the Fall

by Steph Campbell

  “Could you please look at me, Quinn?”

  “You…” she furrows her brow in confusion. She looks like she is trying to process what I said as if it is some sort of riddle. “What are you doing here?” Her voice goes flat.

  “Jesus, Quinn, what do you think I’m doing here?” I reach for her hand, but she jerks it away.

  “I think you should go.”

  “What?” This is not going the way I had envisioned.

  “I said, I don’t want you here, you need to leave.”

  “Quinn, I miss you. Please don’t do this.”

  She looks up at me for the first time since I have been here. Her face is so pained. God, I just want to hold her.

  “Can we please just talk?” I plead.

  She continues to stare at me. I can’t take it anymore; I pull her on to my lap and press her close to me. It’s a typical hot, sticky Atlanta evening, but she’s shaking.

  “We can fix this,” I murmur into her ear. “I know we can find a way to fix it.” She rests her head against my chest; her weight replaces the cinder block that has been crushing my lungs for days. “I have missed you so much.”

  We sit there for a minute or two in silence, and it’s okay. Nothing needs to be said. For the first time in days, I feel like things are going to be okay. Now that I have her in my arms, I feel like we actually stand half a chance. But it’s short lived relief.

  “Well, you shouldn’t,” she says. She pulls herself away from me and walks to the corner of the deck.

  “Quinn, baby, come on, don’t be like that,” I say.

  “Don’t be like what?” she spits. “Myself? This is who I am, Ben!”

  “There is nothing wrong with who you are, Quinn. That’s not what I’m trying to say. But you’re so fucking scared to let people in.” I don’t understand how things just changed so drastically in the last five minutes, or how I’ve become the bad guy in all of this. “What is it that you think you’re protecting yourself from exactly? Being hurt? How’s that working out for you? Because as far as I can tell, you’re fucking miserable.”

  “I meant what I said before, I want you to leave.” She crosses her arms across her chest defensively.

  Her words are angry, but her face is expressionless. There is no genuine emotion to back up the heated tone. I know exactly why she’s doing this, she does it to everyone. She keeps her friends in the dark about what really goes on in her life to keep them at arm’s length and now she’s pushing me away because I dared to get too close. She thought the Mark thing would be a deal-breaker, and now that I’m here trying to resolve things she’s scared of someone being willing to take another chance on her. Of having to take a chance on someone herself.

  “You aren’t nearly as alone as you think you are, Quinn.” I say, but I might as well be talking to my shoe, her expression is completely blank. “You’re your own worst damn enemy, you know that?” I say, standing up and heading for the sliding glass door.

  “You can't say that I didn't warn you before we got into this whole thing. I told you that I wasn’t worth it.” She stares down at her purple finger. “You can show yourself out.”

  “Quinn,” my mom says. I close my eyes tighter, hoping she’ll take the hint and go away.

  “Quinn,” she repeats. This time, she smacks my foot. It falls out from under my blanket and hangs off the side of the bed. I concede that she has nothing better to do than ride my ass, so I might as well acknowledge her and get it over with. I open my eyes and roll toward her. The sunlight peeking through the mini blinds nearly burns my retinas. Someone has taken down the fleece blanket I’d tacked over the window last week.

  “What happened to the blanket?” I ask.

  “What the hell is going on with you, little girl?” Mom asks. I stare at her expressionless, if she can’t answer my entirely straightforward question, why should I answer hers? The answer to her question is far more complex than the simple whereabouts of my fleece blanket. I close my eyes in response.

  “Quinn, I’m not kidding around here. Look at this letter we got from the school.”

  I don’t look.

  “It says that if you miss five more days of school the year, that by law, they cannot let you graduate. Do you know how many more days of school you have left before the end of the school year? And you can only miss five more? You have really screwed yourself this time. Do you want to be a high school graduate, or not?”

  It’s hard to have such an ironic conversation with my mother. You’d think she would’ve waited until Dad got home from the office so he could handle this one, since he actually did graduate from high school. My mom, however, did not. I’m pretty sure she was too high to even hold a conversation her entire adolescence, much less pass World History, so she ended up getting her GED several years later. For this reason, I choose to plead the fifth.

  “Quinn, are you listening to me at all?”

  I am, at least somewhat. The other part of me is trying to make shapes out of the popcorn ceiling clusters. I spy with my little eye…

  “Your father and I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” she says.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. What the hell does she want me to say? I’ll say whatever it is; I’m a pro at

  telling people what they want to hear. All I need is a clue as to what it is.

  “You have got to get your act together, or there are going to be serious consequences, little girl.” I despise when she calls me that. “You may be eighteen now, but we aren’t going to have a drop out living in our home.” There’s that word again– home. I don’t think it means what she thinks it does. “Starting Monday, you will be at school.”

  She stomps out before I can respond— not that I was planning on it anyhow.

  This is a bad idea. I shift uncomfortably in the wrought iron chair. How did I manage to let them talk me into this? Well, in truth, I didn't have much of a choice, they all but kidnapped me. I haven’t left the house in days. I don’t want to be out in public, but I don’t want to have another run in with my mom like earlier today. I want to be in my room. In the dark. Alone. Why can’t everyone just understand that and leave me alone?

  I watch the heavy traffic pass. The air is disgustingly hot. Like nearing Africa hot. And sticky on top of it. And why exactly do we have to be sitting outside of all things? There are perfectly good chairs inside the coffee shop. Modern conveniences like air conditioning, even. Sydney and Tess obviously didn’t get that memo before choosing our table.

  All right, so I guess the fact that I’m wearing a hoodie and track pants is kind of stupid – but that’s beside the point. At least I finally broke down and took my first shower in days this afternoon. It didn’t make me feel any better, I still feel polluted and disgusting. I don’t know if that feeling will ever go away no matter how many jars of sugar scrub I go through.

  “Listen Quinn, I know things are hard right now, but I promise, in six months, you aren't even going to remember why it hurt so bad. You’ll probably just laugh at the whole thing,” Sydney says knowingly. She picks at her vanilla-bean scone, and seems pleased with her advice.

  She’s my best friend, and I know she means well, but as she talks I’m mentally calculating all the ways I could silence her. I’m bigger than her ... I wonder if I could use my straw for some sort of MacGyver inspired weapon.

  “Syd’s right, Quinn. I mean, if Ben broke up with you for one little mistake, then you’re better off without him,” Tessa chimes in.

  So true, Tessa, so true… except for two major problems with that statement.

  Number one, I didn’t make “one little mistake” like forgetting to call him back, or insulting his mother. I slept with someone else. Someone older. Someone I can’t even stand.

  And, number two, Ben is the one that is better off without me. How can I explain to them that Ben came over to take me back? That he was willing to forgive me for being a total fuck up and love me anyway? How can I explain that I just couldn’t let hi
m do it? I don’t understand why in the world he was so willing to forgive me, but I wasn’t about to let him settle for someone like me when he deserved so much better.

  I shift my weight again. I don’t want to talk and the sooner Tessa and Sydney realize that, the sooner I can go home. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt on and yank on the strings, closing the head hole tightly around my face.

  Sydney sighs. "Do you want to go?" Finally catching on, are we?

  I nod.

  It’s total horse shit that my mom insisted I be the one to pick up Caroline from the airport. Mom has been prepping for Caroline’s arrival like she is a god damn head of state, not my ex-girlfriend. It’s kept her busy all day, every day, this week – except for the time that she sets aside daily to wonder out loud where Quinn has been lately. She always manages a snide smirk when she does that.

  I can’t bring myself to give her a straight answer. Not when I’m still so damn confused about what the hell happened at Quinn’s house that night. I went over to tell her I loved her, and that I didn’t want to be without her. Somehow, things didn’t work out that way at all. At least she finally came back to school last week. Even though she won’t look at me, it makes me feel a little better just being in the same building as her. I saw she was online the other day and thought about sending her a message on Facebook, but how freaking pathetic would that be?

  Caroline’s flight is delayed, so right now I’m on my fourth cup of coffee, and second Cinnabon. There has to be some sort of FDA warning about consuming this much sugar and caffeine in one day. Although, it hasn’t really done much to curb my exhaustion; I haven’t been sleeping nearly enough lately.

  The Atlanta airport is the biggest cluster-fuck I have ever seen in my life. There are more concourses than I can count, a people mover and a train station and you have to wait in a longer line than for Splash Mountain on Christmas Day just to use the bathroom. I’ve gotten lost in here so many times, it’s unreal. The most annoying thing about being here though, is the sorry attempt to make me forget that I’m miserable and have been sitting here for hours. The airport has their own ridiculous soundtrack, where they have remixed R&B songs into subliminal-message filled tracks to try to get people to relax, clean up after themselves and buy things. Now that I think about it, the music may be to blame for this second Cinnabon.

  They have turned songs like “Shake Your Groove Thing” into “Opening Day Fresh!” and “Fantastic Voyage” into “Our New Concessions”. I’ve been here so long that I feel like I know the words to them now. Caroline will be glad we broke up when I accidentally break out into one of those tunes.

  Just as my ears are about to start bleeding, I see Caroline walking toward the baggage claim. She looks overwhelmed and lost, stopping every few steps to stare at each sign she passes to ensure that she’s going the right way. By the time I reach her, she is pointing directions to a stranger, I feel bad for the lost soul, because they will never make it to where they’re going with directions from Caroline. As soon as they walk away, I step towards her. Without a word, a huge smile stretches across her face and she leaps up to hug me. In that second, for the first time in weeks, I feel … happy.

  “It’s so good to see you!” She beams. I pull away from her awkwardly.

  I think she realizes I’m not entirely as at ease as she is. “I mean, it’s been a while,” she qualifies.

  I sigh. This is not a stranger – I don’t know why I’m acting like such a dork. I pull her in under my arm and kiss the top of her head. The familiar smell of honey overwhelms me.

  “It’s really good to see you too, Linney.”

  She blushes, “I haven’t been called that in a while.”

  I know this is true, because I’m the only person that calls her Linney. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve breached some sort of invisible intimacy line.

  “So, how was your flight?” I ask, trying to bring the personal factor down a bit.

  “Oh, it was fine, thanks. I appreciate you coming to get me. I know you probably had other things to do.”

  “You know I don’t mind. Let’s just get your bags and get out of here, it’s insane.”

  “I know right? What is with this music?” she giggles, I’ve missed that sound. Real, genuine laughter.

  “So, this is your room?” Caroline says as she sits in the desk chair. I think of Quinn spinning in the chair. I’ve got to stop doing that.

  “You still playing a lot?” She asks, motioning to my bass that is leaning against the wall.

  “Eh, not so much anymore. Just by myself.”

  “Oh, you haven’t met anyone?” She catches herself, “To play music with, I mean.”

  “Uh, no, not really.”

  “How about your pictures? Are you still taking them?”

  I freeze. “Wait, you know about that?”

  She nods, her fair cheeks tinged pink. “Of course.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Benny, if you wanted to tell me, you would have.” She smiles shyly.

  “It’s not like that, Linney.”

  She nods.

  “So, listen, I’m going to go and put your bags in the guest room, do you need anything?”

  Caroline stands up and puts her hand on my arm. The excitement I used to feel at her soft touch is not totally gone. Everything about Caroline is sweet and familiar. Without thinking, I lean down and kiss her softly; my mouth barely grazes hers before I pull away, leaving her lips slightly parted and her face lined with confusion. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

  “No, Ben, I don’t need anything else right now.”

  The trace of a smile and blush on Caroline’s face that leaves me even more uneasy that I just screwed things up. Again.

  I’ve been going to school all week long, but I haven’t been to work.

  My dad and I got into it yesterday. He confronted me about not showing up at the office. He didn’t ask me why I hadn’t been there, probably because he believes that I have no actual reason other than just being an unreliable screw up. Whatever. He did however “ground” me. I’m eighteen years old, but because I live in his “domain” he can punish me “whenever he god damn feels like it”. It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyway, or that I would feel like going out even if I did.

  “So, what do you think?” Tessa asks me as we walk to the parking lot after school.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

  Tessa gives me an annoyed scowl. “I asked if you were going to come to the party at Grant’s house tonight.”

  “Grant? As in Sydney’s Grant? He doesn’t exactly seem like the party type.” It’s true, I didn’t think he and Syd did anything other than watch movies and make googly eyes at each other.

  “I know, right?” Tess stands up and buttons her cardigan. “You know his mom is, like, never around. And I think I remember Syd saying that his older brother just moved back in, so I kind of get the vibe he’s the one throwing it. But, whatever, I’m going to go, you should come! Me, you and Syd never hang out anymore.” I honestly can’t think of anything I’d rather do less than hang out with them right now and Tessa is getting on my damn nerves.

  “And if you can’t make it tonight, you can always come to church with me on Sunday!” I was wrong– there is something I’d rather do less. Much less.

  “I can’t go anywhere, Tess. I’m grounded.” Normally I wouldn’t own up to this. I’d claim to have some super important family function to attend, but I’m worn out. I’ve been keeping up the pretense about my family for years, and after my confession to Sydney last week, I’m pretty sure there is no point anymore.

  “Grounded? What for?” She asks.

  “I quit my job. Sydney didn’t tell you any of this?”

  Tessa shakes her head. One thing that Sydney is not is a gossip. God love her.

  “It doesn’t matter, I just can’t go. You guys have fun though,” I say as I get into my car. It is nearing t
he temperature of the sun inside, but I waste no time closing the door. The steamy interior is much more comfortable than having a personal conversation with Tessa right now. I consider not starting the car, suffering in the near triple digit temps for as long as I can. Just because … because I deserve to.

  But I don’t. Instead, I go home for another weekend of family fun. Happy Friday!

  We’ve had dinner, played baseball, watched the History Channel together, and had about all the fake family bonding I can stomach. Dad and Mason have already gone to bed; they have to get up early for a baseball tournament. My mom and I have been sitting in the same room in complete silence for well over an hour. She is engrossed in some old show with Don Johnson and an obnoxious yellow car, while I flip through a recipe book. It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night and I’m bored out of my mind. My life seriously blows.

  Since I have nothing better to do, I decide to go to bed early. I get up from the couch and stumble toward the stairs.

  “Quinn, hon, you wouldn’t run to the store for me would you?” My mom asks as I reach the first step.

  I grimace in the darkness.

  “Why, what do you need?”

  “I’m dying for some ice cream. I think your dad finished off the Rocky Road yesterday. You can get yourself something too, if you want.” She must have taken the happy pills today.

  I exhale loudly enough for a normal person to realize that I am annoyed, but her drug induced haze prevents all common deduction. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

  I grab my keys and head to the grocery store.

  The store is completely deserted, thank God. I look like total ass. Not that I have cared too much about my looks lately, but it is Friday night. I’m standing in the frozen section digging through a pile of disorganized pints of ice cream, when I hear an all too familiar voice behind me.

  “Well, well, well, I was wondering what you were up to tonight and now I know.” Daniel is standing behind me, holding a case of beer and wearing a super classy tank top that reads, “SUNS OUT, GUNS OUT.”