Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  “Not as big as you thought it’d be?” I question wryly.

  Appraising her unimpressed reaction I decide to throw her an apologetic grin, and in a more serious tone express that we’re lucky she grabbed it. It’s obviously intended for one person on an airplane bed, but it’s better than nothing. And with the space in the tree house being limited we’ll have no choice but to be close anyways. Trying desperately to come off as a gentleman, which is somewhat of a stretch, I lie down first, facing the wall opposite Breanne and pull my legs upwards. Our night’s shelter is no match for my frame. Silently, I hand her one end of the blanket as she lowers herself onto the floor.

  I can feel heat generating from her back although we are inches apart. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem as content as she fidgets and huffs in frustration. Peering over my shoulder I watch her unfold her jacket and quickly wrap it around her exposed feet before flopping back down. Knowing that she no longer has a pillow, and thinking of her head injury, I offer her my jersey. She considers this and then politely refuses. For some reason this frustrates me and makes me feel like less of a man; she shouldn’t be so stubborn and sleep with her head on the floor while I lay more comfortably a few inches away.

  Without thinking I swiftly roll over, closing the distance between us and slide my arm under her head. The smile I feel against my bicep is all the confirmation I need to know that she’s ok with this. I instinctively rest my other hand on her hip, but quickly jerk it back. I’m not used to this and the only other place I can think to put it is nestled between her breasts. I’m fairly confident that this would be a bad move, so I awkwardly rest my arm on my own hip. I close my eyes and try to think of anything other than how badly I want to push up against her. Surprisingly, holding her is almost enough.

  “You still awake?” I ask after several minute of silence. Earlier I struggled with how to interact with her and behave. I’m not used to feeling this way…it’s completely unexpected…not that I completely understand what it is. I won’t make a move on her but I can’t pretend she’s not affecting me and now I need a distraction.

  “Yeah, why?” she whispers.

  “I was thinking about something this morning. When we first met, you said that if the plane went down you’d want to watch. But you didn’t,” I say.

  “I guess things never happen the way you think they will.”

  “No kidding. I knew you’d be spending the night with me but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I state and thankfully she laughs.

  A few minutes pass and I’m almost asleep when she shivers and takes my free hand, pulling it around her. I swear my heart stops beating. She’s holding my hand and my arm is resting right between her breasts. Her hair is in my face. Fuck, she still smells amazing and I want to bury myself in her.

  “I’m cold,” she quickly clarifies, either sensing my tension or stopping me before I get the wrong idea. “If this bothers you, though, you can move. I guess I should have asked.”

  “No,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to ask. I’m good.” Actually, I’m more than good.

  Just when I think she’s fallen asleep, she whispers, “I’m glad it was you sitting next to me.”

  “Me too,” I whisper back. And despite how fucked up today has been I find it hard not to be happy in this moment.

  I think back on everything she shared with me today and how I held back, like ignoring her would make me want her less. Now I’m certain I have no control over that at all. I take a deep breath and decide to tell her everything I withheld earlier.

  “My favorite color used to be blue. Like the lake I grew up on. I think I spent everyday swimming in that lake during the summer when I was young. It has beaches, there are no sharks and you can get there by car.” She hugs my arm, probably pleased that I’m opening up. “I’ve never had a pet because my parents have bad allergies and now I travel too much. If I did get one it would be a dog…cats freak me out too, though clowns are worse in my opinion.

  “I prefer beer over wine but I know people who have started wineries outside of California that I’d be happy to introduce you to. Your taste in music is so bad I consider it child abuse that you let your kids listen to it. When we get back I’m making you a CD so that you know what good music sounds like,” I pause trying to remember what topic was next.

  “My first kiss was when I was sixteen…I was nervous and I should have waited longer. The girl had braces and she cut the shit out of my lip…she actually looked like George Michael too,” Breanne’s giggle makes me grin from ear to ear. I pause to enjoy her reaction and then clear my throat…on to something more serious.

  “I hope I never lose a spouse or child and I’m sorry that you’ve had to experience both. No one should have to go through that. I wish I could take away an ounce of your pain.” I really wish I could. It’s odd how I hadn’t really thought about having a family of my own until now but it is something that I want. I run my thumb over her hand. “Someday, I hope to have a big family, too.” I pause for a moment, thinking about what it would be like to have a child of my own. I’m sure the experience has a lot to do with who you raise the child with. The thought is sobering.

  “I don’t think I have a favorite food, probably because I eat out a lot. Surprisingly, all restaurant food tastes the same to me and I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal. No matter how desperate I am for food though, I’ll never stoop to eating baby food.” She playfully tries to push my hand away and I refuse to let go. Once I have Breanne settled back in her spot with a firm hold on her hand, I continue.

  “I don’t have many secrets but one of them is that I always wanted to play for the Yankees. I’m from New York and I’m a loyal guy. It took a while to get used to playing for my home team’s biggest rival…so when I get the chance I make up for it by playing Major League Baseball on my PlayStation. In the game I play as myself…but as a Yankee.”

  I stop to take another breath. No wonder she kept talking. These are stupid facts about my life, yet I feel like I just had confessional and I’m not even done yet. I don’t know how she’ll react to what I say next but I’ve wanted to say this since earlier. “In all honesty I have no idea how many women I’ve been with because as cold as it sounds, none of them have mattered. What I do know is that if I ever got lucky enough to be with a woman like you she’d be the only one that counted.”

  Breanne squeezes my hand and pulls me closer. I squeeze her right back. “I was wrong. You are smooth,” she admits.

  “I wasn’t even trying.” And it’s true.

  She nuzzles into my arm before asking, “Aren’t you a little old for video games?”

  “Says the woman who eats baby food,” I retort. “You’re focusing on the wrong part of what I said.”

  I sense her smile as her head shifts towards me. “I already pegged you as loyal if that’s what you meant.”

  “Close,” I reply. The combination of her warmth and the rhythmic strum of the crickets outside pulls me towards sleep. I barely hear her talking.

  “I had no idea you were really listening,” she says warmly.

  “Every word,” I reply. No one could be more surprised than me.

  “You said your favorite color used to be blue. What is it now?” she yawns.

  I hesitate for a while, unsure if I should say the truth, plus she’s so quiet. I have no idea if she’s awake or not but I still tell her, “Hazel.” Like your eyes, I think.

  That night, I have one of the most restful sleeps I can recall and before I know it morning arrives. Chirping birds draw me to consciousness and for a moment I’m disoriented. The stiffness of my body on the floor and the cold air on my face remind me where I am and of the previous day’s events. The tingling sensation in my arm signals that Breanne is still in my arms, although in a different position.

  Instead of having her back to me, she is facing me with her forehead tucked under my chin. With every breath she lets out, there is a momentary burst o
f warmth on my neck, which evaporates quickly before the next burst comes. I feel her arms twisted around each other and pressed against my chest. My free arm is draped around her back, holding her tight.

  Heat radiates from every point of contact between us and it’s enough to make me forget the chills that cool every part of my body untouched by her. Funny, I don’t remember her shifting in the middle of the night. And then another thought enters my mind. This is amazing. Not the fucked-up situation we are in, but her, in my arms. This is the complete opposite of every other morning I’ve woken up next to someone. I guess the night was too. In a very real way that I haven’t felt before, I want to enjoy this. I don’t want to move. She feels like home.

  Breanne groans in her sleep and nuzzles her face into the base of my neck. Her arms shrug in a shiver and I automatically pull her closer and rub her back. Her nose travels up my neck toward my chin, like she’s drawing an imaginary line, causing a thrill to run through me; a thrill that causes other parts of my body to wake up too. Her lips part on my jawbone and I involuntarily moan. Shit! The fluttering of her eyelashes against my cheek indicates the moment is over and I’m left wondering what is going through her head. Her pulse is thumping through her back and she’s eerily quiet.

  “Good morning,” I say, slowly lifting my head to give her space. Immediately the warmth disappears. Cold takes over the skin where her lip had rested, and I fight the temptation to close the gap between us. I also fight the urge to press against her and pin her to the floor. Awkward silence fills the darkness, with the only audible sounds being that of the birds outside and our breathing. I wonder if she’s trying to figure out where she is.

  “Breanne, it’s Drew,” I remind her.

  Finally, she lets out the breath she’d been holding and I wonder whose arms she thought she’d been in all night. Reality dawns; she probably thought, or at least hoped it was her husband. In the absence of light to see her true reaction I’m left to draw my own conclusion, which is that she must be disappointed, and the thought bothers me. Not wanting to dwell on this unfamiliar feeling I decide we better get the day started. I roll over and toss the blanket her way. After adjusting myself, my hands travel up the wall in search of a window, which I unlatch and open.

  Through heavy fog, muted light filters through the tree house and I reflexively squint. My eyes adjust and I notice Breanne has pulled the blanket over her head. I lean over her and pull it down to see her eyes and laugh when she abruptly jerks the blanket back up.

  “Not a morning person?” I ask, amused. Even with her hair and makeup a mess she is still beautiful and I am still drawn to her.

  Through chattering teeth she manages “It’s…f…fr…freezing”. I give her arm a quick rub to relieve her trembling then slowly stand to stretch my stiff limbs.

  “I didn’t want to wake you but my arm was killing me. Your head is abnormally heavy,” I joke to distract her from what really woke her up.

  She pulls down the blanket just enough for me to see her glare. For effect, I massage my upper arm and let out an exaggerated groan. Small lines form in the corner of her eyes and I know she’s masking a smile. I have successfully diverted an awkward moment.

  “Come on, it’s a little after 7 o’clock. We should eat and then go.”

  “Ok,” she sighs, throwing me the blanket.

  I toss the jacket she wrapped around her feet at her and fold the blanket. The blanket, still warm, transports me back five minutes in time to her body pressed against mine. Smiling to myself I stuff my jersey into her purse, but not before removing the soda and two remaining cereal bars. Breakfast of champions, I muse to myself, and instantly regret it. The images of the other passenger who are not lucky enough to be eating anything, ever again, enter my mind.

  “It’s not coffee but it’ll get us started,” I say, taking a swig and passing her the bottle. How does she take her coffee, I wonder.

  We eat in silence and pack the rest of our belongings. As Breanne starts to rise, she groans in legitimate pain. She grabs her head and stumbles to the tree house floor. I steady her and then search for the small container of pain reliever, and twist open a bottle of water.

  “Take this,” I suggest.

  While she’s recovering her equilibrium I find her shoes and slip them on her battered feet. The space is small, but I find myself tracing every square inch of the tree house to make sure we’ve left no trace of our presence. Satisfied, I open the door and examine the area to ensure there is no one around. Then, I drop to a sitting position and slide my legs out the entrance.

  I roll onto my stomach and begin lowering my body when I lock eyes with Breanne, and am frozen with concern over the panic on her face. Shit. If she had trouble standing how the hell is she going to make it down the tree? I sigh and make my way back up towards her. I sling her purse over my shoulder so she has one less thing to throw her off balance, and force her to make eye contact.

  “You can do this. I’ll stay close to you. I promise I won’t let you fall.”

  My promise is convincing, despite not being fully convinced myself. The more I move, the more aware I become of how much my elbow truly does hurt.

  To my relief she scoots towards the door and I back out the entrance once more. Breanne lowers her left foot to the two blocks of wood above mine. I instruct her to move her hands to the rungs below mine so that her body is incased by mine. Like this, we rhythmically move down the tree in sync.

  But just as we reach the lower third of the tree, her foot slips and we both fall backwards toward the ground.

  Chapter Nine

  Catch Me If I Fall

  Breanne

  Control, or rather lack of control, over my body, over this situation, over anything it seems; this is what goes through my mind as my foot slips and my stiff arms react seconds too late to get a good hold on the ladder.

  For someone who, up until two years ago, felt like they had control over many aspects in life it’s unnerving to be continually reminded that there is so little anyone really can control. Apparently, even climbing down a ladder is too much to ask.

  I feel my legs slam into Drew’s body, knocking him down and for a moment I’m able to grab onto one of the rungs. But I’m not strong enough to hold it and too soon the second is over, and I follow right behind him. As I fall backwards my cloudy vision slips further from my grasp and into darkness, speckled with shooting stars. I imagine that the tree house, the fog and the surrounding world have been vacuumed up, leaving only a black hole behind.

  With jarring force, my backside slams into Drew’s midsection, followed by my head crashing into his collarbone.

  “Ahh!” I cry.

  Though slight in comparison to the pain yesterday’s injuries caused, this new trauma to my head sends waves of excruciating pain ricocheting off the back of my eyes, against the inside walls of my brain and down my neck. I slowly roll off of Drew and onto the cool, damp ground, clenching my head in both hands and apply pressure at my temples in hopes that it will alleviate the sensation. To my relief, I find that by lying completely still in the fetal position the stabbing pain gradually recedes and my vision has somewhat returned. Cautiously, I sit up.

  “I thought you wouldn’t let me fall!” I exclaim, breathlessly.

  “Technically, I didn’t,” defends Drew in a garbled voice. “I caught you.”

  It’s not until I hear the strain in his voice that I stop to consider that he is hurt. I was fortunate; his body broke my fall and absorbed much of the blow. But judging by his tone he must not have been so lucky. The dual impact of the ground and my body must have knocked the wind out of him at a minimum. I silently pray that’s all it is.

  As my equilibrium is still not right, I sluggishly roll onto my knees and crawl to his side where he’s doubled-over in a ball, groaning.