Adrenaline Crush

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll know when the time is perfect.”

  He’s perfect. “We’ll know,” I agree, and pull him down so where we’re completely hidden by the walls of the castle.

  He stretches out beside me in the shadows and I breathe in the familiar scent of his shampoo. Putting my hand on his chest I say, “I love you, Jay.”

  His eyes widen and he caresses my cheek. “Wow, do I ever love you, too,” he says, and moves in to seal it with a perfect spearmint kiss.

  19

  Workout Barbie is super-rah-rah-psyched about my progress that Friday. “I spoke with your doctor and ankle fusion is definitely not necessary.” She grasps my unwrapped foot and painfully tests my ankle rolls. “In fact, I think we can get that range of motion where it needs to be.” She takes me by the shoulders. “Dyna, with some extra pushing I believe you may eventually get full use.”

  Sparky is standing close by and calls out, “You hear that, guys? Dyna’s getting her ankle back all the way.”

  “Eventually!” Barbie clarifies. “And with a lot of work.”

  Rita gives a “Hell yeah!” and the others begin to applaud.

  “All right, okay.” I hold up both my hands. “No need to go into another drum circle. Please.” But I can’t keep the grin off my face.

  The human Barbie has been pushing me to try the treadmill ever since I came back at the beginning of the month. It’s almost October now, but I think I’m finally ready. Son of Frankenfoot is looking awfully worn and dirty, but I’m not quite ready to let the monster go.

  Standing on the stopped belt, I take a few breaths before bumping the machine slowly up in increments until I hit 3.6 MPH. I keep it steady there until I catch my stride. Even though I’m not walking all that fast, I hold on to the front of the machine until Pierce passes by and points out that hanging on the bar cuts my workout effectiveness in half. He’s wearing his running prosthetic, which looks like a large metal letter J from the side.

  I let go and try to straighten out my uneven gait until I find a comfortable pace. The whir of another treadmill across from me starts up, and by the time I get my rhythm enough to look over Pierce is already jogging smoothly along on it. I watch him run faster as he brings his machine up to a nice clip. With one leg.

  I feel like my treadmill may as well be blinking “Begin Workout Now.”

  I poke my speed button four times, and then when that doesn’t feel like much of an increase I give it two more. I’m at 4.2 MPH and now my long strides are hurried by the speed of the machine.

  Any faster and I’ll be jogging. A panicky feeling starts to rise in my chest as I fast-walk as quickly as I can. I look over at Pierce’s focused expression. Watch him sweating.

  I’ve drifted to the rear of the walking platform and realize I’m falling behind the treadmill’s pace. I try to hurry my way back to where I can grab the front if I need to.

  Son of Frankenfoot gives a strange stutter on the belt that throws off my stride.

  I cry out as I’m pitched forward.

  Pushing away panic, I have a split second to react.

  My good ankle twists,

  and I drop to the ground.

  It’s a good call. Letting myself fall is the best move for my ankle. Except that I’m on a treadmill and anything that falls on the moving belt gets dumped off the back end. Including me.

  I grunt as my body does an awkward roll and I’m spit out onto the floor.

  The dread washes over me and I am

  curled in a ball,

  helpless and broken all over again.

  My eyes fill. I knew this would happen. I’m gutted by defeat. And then,

  I get up.

  And I am fine.

  “Did you guys see that?” I laugh in disbelief through my tears as I rub my ankle and realize Pierce is right there. He must’ve rushed over as soon as he saw me falling. Was probably the one who hit the big red Stop button on my treadmill. But he didn’t help me up or try to comfort me. He waited.

  He’s still breathing heavily from his run as he watches me swipe at my eyes and pull myself together. He asks if I’m sure I’m okay.

  I look away and nod. And it’s with mixed emotions that I climb back on that treadmill and try again.

  20

  I’ve entered Sunday afternoon TV-trance-zone on the couch when Dad walks in the door announcing, “Heads up! I’ve got a surprise guest!” Over the years he’s done this thing where he’ll randomly bring home clients he finds especially memorable or unique. Usually they’re semi-famous musicians or superquirky artists who start out in his tattoo chair and end up at our dinner table. I look to the doorway.

  Squinting at the silhouette beside my father, I see there’s something familiar in the way the stranger is standing. The shadowed figure moves into the living room with the hint of a limp and I nearly scream in surprise.

  “Hey, Dyna,” Pierce says, “what’re you doing here?”

  “Um, I live here,” I say, in such a way that I don’t need to add, “And what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Oh, wow.” Pierce looks amused as he glances back and forth between my dad and me. “Yeah, I guess I can see a little resemblance.”

  I glare at him accusingly. “I look just like my mom.”

  “Hey, Dyna Glider,” Dad says. “How do you know Private Pierce?”

  “Pierce goes to Ulysses,” I say tonelessly.

  “The home of inside-out healing,” Pierce confirms.

  Dad smiles. “I just finished giving him an extraordinary tattoo.”

  I wish Jay was here to block the judgmental way Pierce is looking at me. As if curling up on a couch to watch reality television in the middle of the afternoon is some sort of crime or something. I sit up, flip the switch mid-bitch-fight, and try to look as if I haven’t been in this same position for hours.

  The silence in the wake of the dramatic onscreen shrieking stretches out awkwardly until Pierce breaks it. “Your dad sort of insisted I come and meet the family. It was a little cold, but that ride felt amazing.”

  “You mean you…”

  “My first time on the back of a Harley.” Pierce laughs. “I may need to get one of those.”

  I squint at Dad and try to picture him riding with Pierce’s arms wrapped around his waist, his legs bent at uneven angles as they lean into the turns together.

  “Pierce was just telling me about his adventures overseas.” Dad claps him on the back. “I’m hoping some of his sense of honor rubs off on your brother.”

  I’m ready to escape the Pierce-worshipping party my dad is throwing here in our living room. Extracting myself from the couch, I stretch the stiffness out of my legs.

  “Tell your mom I’m cooking up an early dinner and there’s going to be an extra person at the table.” He looks at Pierce. “Want to lend me a hand, soldier?”

  Pierce gives me an apologetic shrug and the two of them head toward the kitchen. Best buddies in the world.

  As I move to the stairs Dad calls after me, “Send your brother down to help us with the cooking.”

  I turn to give my dad an aggressive eye roll but catch Pierce’s stare by accident. Dad’s already in the kitchen, but Pierce is watching me go.

  I feel the pull of him.

  Breaking free, I make my way up the staircase but feel his blue eyes burning as I limp away. My heart pounds and I stop to catch my breath as soon as I’m out of view.

  Finally, I hear Dad engage Pierce in a conversation about steak.

  “Unghhh!” I stomp my good foot in rage.

  I can’t believe that the guy I’ve been trying to keep out of my head is staying for dinner.

  “Dad’s back to bringing random people home to feed,” I tell Harley from the doorway of his bedroom. Nobody has brought up his eviction even though his month is up in a few days. He’s playing his air guitar in front of the mirror now and turns to face me as he continues rocking out.

  “Nice jamming,” I say,
“but you need to go help Dad cook.”

  Harley groans and I head to my room and close the door. Mom would understand that Pierce’s dangerous. I picture her trying to mimic Dad’s intimidation technique by lifting her dress and pointing to my birthdate tattooed on her belly. I imagine her asking Pierce aggressively, “Do you have any idea how precious my daughter is to me? Do you?” It would probably be pretty effective.

  I take a moment to wrap my ankle tighter before reaching under my pillow and pulling out the poem Jay gave me earlier today. Unfolding the thick stationery, I smile as I reread the perfect words he wrote for me.

  Love’s herald fell from rusty sky

  Night Star craved wildflower’s face

  True North did capture flower’s sigh

  Finding fit in petal’s embrace

  I have it memorized by the time Harley calls up to say the food is ready. Using my cane, I make my way downstairs and find everyone’s already sitting around the table. The only open seat is next to Pierce, who’s helping Dad serve up delicious-smelling skirt steaks with roasted asparagus and penne.

  After we start eating Mom says, “I wasn’t sure if Jay was joining us tonight.” She glances at Pierce, and I realize I didn’t need to say anything to her after all. Pierce doesn’t flinch at the mention of Jay’s name. In fact, he seems completely comfortable as we all noisily praise the tasty meal.

  “I was just telling your dad how much I love this section of the woods,” Pierce says. “Having the trail right behind the house must make it easy for you to get out and exercise. You bike, right, Dyna?”

  “Ha!” Harley butts in before I can respond. “She hasn’t been on her mountain bike since the day of her accident.” I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at my big brother.

  “What’s up with that?” Pierce asks me. “I think I was back to biking sooner.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re a runner, too,” Harley tells him. “You should totally do a triathlon or something.”

  “Except that I can only swim in circles now.” Pierce laughs.

  Harley says, “Man, that blows.”

  “Yeah, but to be honest I’m extremely lucky. I have buddies who came home in boxes.” He looks at his hands.

  “That’s who the tat is for,” Dad says. “It’s four of his comrades’ names written in sand and big ole sandy angel’s wings on either side of them.”

  “It looks amazing,” Pierce says.

  Dad smiles proudly and the table is silent, as if my whole family is under the spell of Pierce’s presence.

  I blurt, “What about Easy Rider, Dad?” Everyone turns to look in my direction. “I thought you didn’t believe in war. In fact…” Lunging over the table I pull up the right sleeve of Dad’s T-shirt and reveal his peace-symbol tattoo that drips with the words “More Ink Less War.” “Aha!” I accuse. “You and Mom still move Bush’s autobiography into the crime section at bookstores.”

  “Dyna, we are not getting into a political debate,” Mom says. “No arguing at the table.”

  I look at her. “Are you kidding me? The reason we have a table is so this family has a specific location to argue!”

  “That’s not why I brought Pierce into our home,” Dad warns.

  “It’s fine,” Pierce says. “I’m up for a discussion. Here, I’ll even start us off. You know that saying ‘It’s a free country’?”

  “Yeah.” Dad looks wary.

  Pierce levels him with his eyes. “Well, I love that saying.”

  This gets a rise out of my father, and with a “Listen here, I love this country just as much as anybody…” the two of them launch into a heated dispute over politics that instantly makes my head hurt.

  “… greatest nation…” “… foreign policy…” “… Taliban…” “… weapons of mass destruction…” “… defend the weak…” “… *cough* Iraq *cough*…”

  “So much for polite conversation,” Mom tells me as words ricochet around us. Harley is busy listening and interjecting lame comments that support both Pierce and Dad at different times.

  When Dad’s face hits a shade of red that suggests Pierce is seriously poking the bear, Mom yells out, “Okay, enough! This discussion is done. Subject closed! New topic!”

  The two of them finally agree to disagree on ideology and aggressively finish their last bites of steak.

  When Dad’s face has returned to its natural color, he says, “Whatever my feelings on war, I do respect what you’ve done, soldier.” To Harley and me he says, “I brought Pierce home to get you kids thinking about how you’ll make your mark on this world.”

  “You know”—Harley runs his tongue over his lip ring—“to be honest I’ve always kind of imagined myself flying a plane.”

  “Here we go,” Mom says. “We are not paying for flying lessons. We took enough of a hit when you washed out of culinary school.”

  There’s an awkward pause, since everyone at the table knows Harley dropping out of cooking school is a sore spot. Everyone except for Pierce, that is, so he jumps right in. “You could learn to fly for free in the Air Force.”

  Mom and Dad both shift back in their seats, but Harley leans forward. “I never thought of that,” he says.

  Pierce describes the benefits of Air Force training, including the fact that once Harley’s time is served he can become a private pilot and see the world. “You love being in the sky, might as well get paid for it.”

  It turns out that a person needs to be pretty smart and have good grades to get into the Air Force Academy and qualify for pilot training. But of course, that’s not an issue for Harley.

  His eyes sparkle, and I feel the need to extinguish all of this. “You’ll have to lose the piercings, you know,” I say, but Harley just shrugs. “And they do drug tests on pilots all the time.”

  “Not a problem.” He grins at me and I can see he’s serious. I look to Mom and Dad, but they seem equally lost for a way to make it clear that Harley cannot possibly join the Air Force.

  Especially since, as Pierce is explaining, it seems that he certainly can.

  “Hey, Pierce?” I pat him aggressively on the shoulder with the gauze that must still hurt from Dad’s tattoo. “My brother’s doing just fine without your help. Thanks.”

  Pierce doesn’t flinch as he looks at me. “You told me he was a brilliant student who turned into a total pothead right after graduation.”

  Harley starts coughing loudly but I’m focused on Pierce. “He can’t do this.”

  “You can’t stop him,” Pierce says. “I hate to break it to you, Dyna, but life is one giant risk. Stepping out and trying is the biggest risk a person can take, but it beats doing nothing.”

  I just stare at him.

  “Sounds kind of like the family motto.” Dad grins at Mom.

  I stand up, pick up my plate, and start scraping the scraps into the garbage. “Mottos are stupid.”

  “Fine, but your brother’s not.” Pierce glares at me, and I resist the urge to stab him with my fork.

  I clatter around the table, haltingly clearing the dishes. Pierce stands to bring his plate to me at the sink and I snatch it from him and lean in. “What makes you think you can just show up here and start messing with my family?”

  “If I were here to mess with your family,” Pierce says evenly, “I’d start with you. I’d tell you that accident didn’t cripple you, Dyna. You’re the one who did that to yourself.”

  “Now wait just one minute—” Mom says.

  “I apologize,” Pierce interrupts. “But I can’t stand watching her hold so much back.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I shoot.

  He locks in his gaze. “I know you possess huge passion that you’re working to keep bottled up because you’re frightened by the intensity you’re capable of.” He leans in closer. “I know that when we were alone you saw the depth of something so powerful it scared you and sent you scurrying to some emotional cave you imagine keeps you safe.” He runs a hand through his
hair, making it stand up in tufts, before whispering intimately, “Don’t you ever think about that day?”

  My heart flaps helplessly for a moment before I’m aware of my family, looking up at us with open curiosity.

  I turn to Mom and say, “I’m sorry.” As if I cheated on her instead of Jay.

  Harley tries to start a slow clap, but Mom gives him a withering look.

  “Okay, bro.” Harley rises and thumps Pierce on the back. “That’s the cue for me to give you a ride home.”

  Mom nods. “Sure, we’ll lift the grounding for you to drive … Pierce home.”

  I refuse to look at him as he thanks Mom and Dad and apologizes for the way things went. Dad says, “No need to be sorry.” Which is total crap, because on top of the giant political blowout, Pierce has just tried to ruin Harley’s life and accused me of hiding from mine. Very bad dinner guest behavior.

  I dart from the table, passing the boys on their way to the door. Thundering unevenly up the stairs, I ignore Pierce when he calls, “Dyna, wait…”

  As Harley’s Jeep pulls out of the driveway, I hear Dad through the air vent telling Mom, “I predict we’ve just met Dyna’s first husband.”

  “Ha!” Mom says. “I don’t know why you don’t like Jay. He told me in confidence he’s thinking of going to Vassar instead of Columbia next year so he can stay close to Dyna.”

  “What a wuss,” Dad grumbles.

  I don’t have the energy to shout down that I can hear them. Their discussion continues as if we live in a culture where they have some sort of say about my love life. Thank god we don’t.

  “Dyna’s been through a lot and has gotten used to Jay being around,” Dad says. “I just hope she doesn’t mistake that for true love.”

  “Well, Pierce scares me,” Mom says, then after a pause she gives a strange giggle.

  “Don’t you remember I scared you when we first met?” Dad’s voice is deep. Ugh, I try not to imagine them kissing. Downstairs goes quiet and I put my pillow over my head.

  I can’t believe Pierce brought up that day in front of my whole family. We were supposed to pretend that kiss never happened. I turn over and stare at my smooth ceiling until I hear Harley come back home. “Whoa, guys, get a room!” he says, which sends Dad’s laugh booming through the house.