These Dreams Which Cannot Last

by Matt Flickinger

  Charlotte waits on the bottom step, gripping the laces of her running shoes, looking down the empty cul-de-sac. Wrestling her phone from the cotton pocket of her sweats, she reads the text again, “We’re gonna hang.” She still has no idea what that could mean. A cool wind blows. She pulls the sleeves of the black running top her sister left behind in the laundry from her elbows, down over his wrists. She grips the sleeve ends and looks up to the night. Small clouds move and morph as they roll across the sky. It has all gone too quickly, she thinks. The last two weeks, the last two months. If she had known he was leaving, would she have, she thinks. Would she have what? Kept some weird kid awake, walking beside him in silence through the neighborhood, asked him about his mother and his art and his life? Yes, she decides. Invited him to parties and backyard shows and over to her house for barefoot carpet dancing? Maybe. Kissed him by the river? Run through the rain and everything after? Would she have run through it all, knowing that it would be the last time, every time, like just another passing desert storm, when all she wanted was for it all to keep going, drenching them in the promise of what might come. If they could just keep running, toward everything after, even if she knew it wouldn’t last? Would she have done it all? Charlotte stands and walks across the yard, looking down the empty street. She blows a big breath out at the sky, the clouds above flipping across the moon one after another like cotton tumbleweeds. Each one lit by the moonlight only briefly, then dark again.

  Zain considered not asking Charlotte to join, tell her he’d be over later, after, when it’s over (if he wasn’t sitting in the police station). But not asking her to come didn’t seem right. With all the pain and sweat and personal victories and losses with the team, so many of his favorite runs have actually been with Charlotte. Every one of his favorite escapes, running over rainy streets, away from the cops, or from afternoon classes, and then back to reality after the magical shores of their river, have been with her. If she doesn’t want to climb the stadium stairs or the press box, she doesn’t have to. He hopes she will, though. Before now becomes then, she should be here for the last one. One final escape in River Valley.

  When he turns the corner onto her street, he starts running. She is already waiting, looking up at the sky.

  Watching him run up the street, his long legs eating up the asphalt, smiling under the streetlights, she knows. Through all of it, she would have. Totally.

  41

  Between Here and There

  Zain is kind of freaking out. Charlotte doesn’t seem to be worried out at all, though. Through his hazy explanation of the night’s plan, and standing with all those strangers in a creepy abandoned house, listening to muscly-armed (muscles everywhere) Fernie walk the team through the details of trespassing onto the campus after dark, Charlotte isn’t fazed.

  The whole thing reminds Zain of a mini special ops mission. Fourteen runners (and Charlotte) stop at the gate, behind their leader, looking over the empty track. The stadium glows in the moonlight. Fernie gives the signal and they all run quickly across the field, then up the stairs as quietly as they can. While Fernie secures the ropes to the top bleacher, the first and second groups tuck gloves into their shorts. The upperclassmen whisper quietly about last year, about how it was so much colder, their hands shaking on the ropes through their gloves. Michael tells the story of how Ortega took the last twenty feet too fast, crumpling with a thud like a sack of shit. Zain listens to them whispering everything, even their laughter, but his eyes are on the sergeant. Behind the groups, Fernie finishes tying the ropes and ascends the press box, all of his movements impossibly fast. He military crawls out of sight, over the roof. A soft whistle from behind them a few seconds later stops the whispering and they all look up to the roof. Fernie stands on the press box holding up a single finger. First group, Zain thinks. It’s go time.

  Ortega climbs up first. Then Forester, leaning over the edge when he reaches the top to help Laura, the fastest varsity girl. When she reaches the door, her foot slips off the knob, but Forester grabs her hand. Everyone on the stands lets out a collective breath as he pulls her up. Fernie pats Forester’s shoulder, holds up two fingers, and the four from the first group disappear beyond the roof’s edge. Michael is the first person from the second group up the wall. Erika is next. She rolls her short sleeves up over her shoulders, the stems of her rose tattoo extend around the sides of her big, brown biceps. There are two sets of numbers, one over, and one under the double stemmed rose. Zain has never asked about her tattoo. Erika is kind of scary. When Michael reaches down to help her up, Erika slaps his hand away and grabs the roof. Her arms taut as she pulls her body up over the edge of the roof, Zain can see the numbers more clearly. The top six numbers, separated into three sets of two digits must be a date, he thinks, just like the six below the rose. The top date is from last winter, the bottom date from just this past July. A life, Zain realizes, a short little life.

  “This is kind of amazing,” Charlotte whispers. It is the first thing she’s said since the run up the stadium. Zain watches the last person in group two, gangly Paul, pull himself over the ledge of the roof. “Yeah, totally,” he says. The whole thing was amazing, he thinks, kind of, before seeing Laura slip. Just then the ropes on the top bleacher tighten, gripping the metal, but holding. Zain knows what that means, the first group has started down. According to the veteran runners, the first lean is the scariest part. Over the edge. Another rope squeaks as it tightens. There is a light thump as someone kicks off the back wall of the press box. As soon as whoever it is gets down, he or she will jog around the side of the stadium to give their gloves to the next group, Zain and Charlotte’s group.

  “We’re up next,” Zain says, “you want to go first or me?”

  “Sure,” Charlotte says, nodding.

  “Which one?” he asks.

  “Me,” she says, looking up at the press box. “I’ll go first, but you right behind me.” He sees the fear in her eyes, but mostly excitement. “Maybe push me up if I need it?” she says. Zain thinks about how that would work. Probably have to put his hands on Charlotte’s butt. “Sounds good,” he says. Not that thinking about fear and sex at the same time is a new experience, but seriously, he thinks, now? Just then Forester comes around the corner of the bleachers. He sprints up the steps two at a time on his toes. Ortega right behind him, removing his gloves.

  “That shit was lit!” Forester whispers, holding out his gloves and harness. Charlotte takes them and moves up the steps to the door. “Keep it down,” Ortega says, handing his gloves and harness over. Zain tucks the gloves into the back of his warm up pants and puts his arms through the leg holes of the harness like a backpack. Charlotte grips the middle door hinge and steps up onto the handle. She crouches on the knob, her left foot on top of her right. Inching her hands up along the sides of the windowpane. Zain stands behind her on the stairs, waiting to give her a boost. As she stands, though, Zain sees the reach up from there isn’t too far. Her arms shake a bit as she lets go of the window to grab the roof’s ledge. Once her grip is secure, she crouches and hops, pulling herself up.

  Zain follows her path exactly, his arms and legs shaking the whole way up. Pulling himself up over the roof he kicks off the wall and almost loses his grip, but holds on.

  “You ok?” Charlotte says as he stands. Zain watches Michael lean back, then disappear over the edge. “Great,” he says. Just then the wind blows and the press box moves, shifting deeply from left to right under their feet. It feels like the whole stadium is moving under them. Charlotte grabs Zain’s arm, resetting her feet. Zain grabs her other arm, doing the same. As the wind stops, they look at each other.

  “Have I ever mentioned I’m scared of heights?” she says.

  “No. Have I?” Zain says.

  Charlotte smiles.

  “You ready?” Fernie is standing on the back edge of the press box, holding two ropes in one solid hand.

  Charlotte steps into her harness and waits with her ar
ms up while Fernie clips the rope to the carabiner at her waist. Zain looks out. The stadium backs up to the school’s outdoor basketball courts. A single streetlight at the top of an old wooden telephone pole in the middle of the blacktop reflects off the paint-peeled basketball backboards below. Beyond the school, the lights of the town stretch out all around. At one end, its four lanes snaking from the east to mingle with the town lights, the freeway enters town, splitting it in two. Zain follows the lights of the freeway through town and then out again, continuing on westward, a single line of lights disappearing into the dark. “You’re up.” Zain jumps at the sound of Fernie’s voice. Charlotte is already sitting back in her harness, leaning back over the edge. Letting out a small shriek as she steps from the roof to the wall.

  “Remember, your back hand is your break,” Fernie says. “Squeeze when you want to slow down.” Fernie holds out the harness so Zain can step in, “Unclip at the bottom.”

  Zain pulls his gloves over his fingers and grabs the rope. Fernie finishes hooking him in and holds the rope straight in front of Zain as he steps back toward the dark emptiness. “It’s just a lean,” he says.

  Zain’s legs shake as he holds the rope in front of him, his back hand digging into his butt crack. “Good. Now sit back a bit more,” Fernie says. “Like your sitting in a chair.” Zain starts to lean back, but hesitates. He looks over the edge. Charlotte is near the bottom of the building about to step back into nothing. She doesn’t look up, just below her. Zain looks past her to the blacktop. The asphalt blurs, churning like dark water. Zain grabs the rope above him with both hands and Fernie pulls him back up. Zain stands upright. Fernie’s fingers dig into his shoulders. “Keep your brake hand behind you, always.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “You can do this, man.” He looks into Zain’s eyes, letting go of his shoulders. “Look at me,” he says, holding Zain’s eyes. “Everything you’ve been through, this ain’t nothing.” Zain looks into Fernie’s eyes now. Everything he’s been through, he thinks. Zain grabs the rope again, brake hand behind him.

  “There you go,” Fernie says.

  Zain backs up again, toes to the edge of the roof, ready to repel off the back of the high school stadium. “Now lean, dude. You got this.” Zain leans back. Like sitting in a chair, he thinks. The harness tightens around his legs and crotch.

  “Now step back,” Fernie says.

  Zain sits back a bit more and loosens his back hand to slide some more rope through his grip. Stepping one foot behind the other he steps down over the wall. “When you step off the building,” Fernie whispers from above, “look out. You’re between it all, man. Between here and there. Ready to step off into the mystery.”

  Halfway down the wall, Zain kicks his toes, hanging for a moment, free but secure. A second later he lands softly, back on the wall again. No problem, he thinks. When he gets to the bottom of the building, Charlotte is still there, looking down.

  “You ok?” he asks, pulling up next to her.

  “No more wall.”

  “No more wall,” he says, looking down. The surface of the blacktop beneath them is still and calm.

  “Kick out from the wall a little,” he says. “You don’t have to go yet. Just keep your back hand tight on the rope.” Zain illustrates, kicking off a few feet from the wall and landing softly again next to her.

  Charlotte looks over. Zain can’t help chuckling at the half pissed look she gives him. “Come on. You got this,” he says. “You went over the edge no problem.”

  “There was a wall below me.”

  “Better than me. I totally wussed out. Army Ranger Fernie had to save me.”

  Charlotte smiles. “Ugh,” she says. She gives a little kick, squeezing her eyes shut. For the littlest moment she floats, three inches of air between her toes and the wall, before she lands again.

  “Whoa!” Zain whispers. “Calm it down, professional rock climber.”

  Charlotte opens her eyes, her legs shaking. “Stadium repeller,” she says.

  “Come on, beautiful,” he says, kicking off from the wall. Zain loosens his hand, sliding down the rope. About fifteen feet below Charlotte, he tightens his grip again, swinging. It is an exhilarating feeling. Charlotte looks over her shoulder, staring past to the blacktop, then up at the top of the stadium. Zain’s rope stops swinging. “Charlotte?” he whispers, wondering what he will do if she doesn’t go. He watches as Charlotte gives a little kick away from the wall, further this time than the last time she tried it, landing again. Then she kicks off, sliding down her rope. For a second, it seems like she will stop next to him. She slows down a bit, but then, suddenly, she picks up speed. With a terrified scream that catches in her throat, she zooms past Zain. He can hear the rope zipping through her hands.

  “Brake!” Zain yells.

  Just before she hits the ground, Charlotte slows a bit. Her feet hit the cement with a smack as she crumples to the pavement. The bleachers pound with feet above them. Zain releases his brake hand, the wind tearing over his ears as the rope burns through his glove. Someone zooms past him, down the third line, landing on the ground just ahead of Zain. Charlotte coughs, her hands releasing the ropes, Fernie unhooking beside her.

  Zain lands with a thunk beside the two, the pavement sending waves of pain up his legs. He hears Fernie telling Charlotte to stay down. She lets out another cough, turning her head. She groans, her pained face shadowy in the yellow light from the blacktop light pole. Zain unhooks and pulls the rope from between his legs.

  “Charlotte,” Zain says.

  Fernie raises his hand at him before Zain can get too close. “What hurts?” Fernie says.

  “My leg,” Charlotte says.

  “Can you move your fingers?” he asks.

  Charlotte moans and Zain watches her wiggle her fingers, “Yes.” She breaths deeply, exhales shuddering from her chest. A piece of asphalt clings to her cheek.

  Fernie places a hand gently on her back. “Can you turn over for me?” Fernie asks.

  Charlotte groans again and turns over onto her back, shaking.

  Fernie moves his hand down her back, tracing her spine. “Turn back over,” he says. “Which leg?”

  Zain crouches next to her, “are you okay?”

  She lifts her left leg, “Ah!”

  Lifting her foot gently, Fernie presses along her ankle. “Wiggle your toes.”

  The toes of Charlotte’s shoes rise and fall.

  “Anything else hurt?” Fernie asks.

  Charlotte lays her head on Zain’s leg. “I don’t think so. I’m just shaking.”

  Fernie smiles then. “I bet,” he says, “you just made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs.”

  Charlotte laughs. It is the best sound Zain has ever heard, even if he has no idea what they are talking about. “I didn’t take you for a Star Wars guy,” she says.

  Fernie nods. “She’ll be alright. Just a sprain,” he says.

  “What?” Zain says.

  “Keep that shoe on ‘til you get home though. That shit’s probably gonna swell,” Fernie says, pointing at right her foot.

  Charlotte slides back until she is sitting. “That sucked,” she says.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Zain asks, wiping black specks from her cheeks.

  Fernie waves up at the top of the stadium and jogs off across the blacktop.

  “Help me up?” Charlotte says.

  “Are you sure? We can just sit here for a second.”

  “I’m okay. It just scared me.”

  “Me too.”

  As Zain helps her stand, soft clapping comes from the top of the stadium. Zain looks up, Charlotte’s arm draped over his shoulders. Everyone is gathered at the chain-link fence next to the press box. Charlotte hobbles a few steps and settles into a limp as they cross the blacktop around the stadium’s side.

  “I think it’s okay,” she says. Zain wraps her ribs tightly and she leans in. “How humi
liating,” she says.

  “Nah. Everyone falls sometime.”

  “Thank you, oh wise one.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I started to slow down and then I tried to readjust my back hand and the rope just slipped.”

  “I’ve never been that scared,” Zain says. “Not like that.”

  “Me neither.”

  “How about that Fernie dude?” Zain says.

  “I know. I landed and then he was there.”

  “He came down face first.”

  “What?” she says.

  “Ya! I was coming down and the dude passed me like I sitting still. It was totally bad ass.”

  As they start up the stairs, Greyson and Michael and a couple of the girls start down to meet them. Charlotte takes the stairs one at a time, “I’m sorry I ruined your last night with the team.”

  “What? You didn’t,” Zain says. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  Charlotte smiles, “Me too. Even if I almost died.”

  The group arrives then. “All good, rock girl?” Michael asks.

  “All good,” she says, taking the stairs slowly, wincing a bit with each step.

  “Go up with your good leg,” Greyson says. Charlotte does and it seems to help. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. ACL surgery last year, lost the whole second half of track season,” Greyson says, shaking his head. “Up with the good, down with the bad. That’s what the doc told me.”