Falling Up

by Melody Carlson

  “You re just jealous,” Marissa says as she finally peels herself off Robert. “You've been acting like a total witch ever since you and lover boy Ben O'Conner broke up. Get over it, will ya, Nat? He certainly has.”

  By the time Natalie turns around to face them, her face white with rage, Marissa and Robert have gone back to kissing.

  “You're such a tramp, Marissa,” Natalie says, standing. “I'm surprised you don't just do it right here on the table.” Then she picks up her half-full soda cup. “Maybe this will help cool you off.” And she dumps it right over the two lunchroom lovers.

  Okay, now I'm pretty sure we're going to have a catfight right here in the cafeteria. Marissa is so furious that she actually leaps at Natalie, who is looking a little scared as she moves back. Then Cesar and Jake grab Marissa, holding her at bay while Matthew and I whisk Natalie off to a safer location.

  “How could you be so stupid?” I ask as we escort her from the cafeteria. “You know Marissa won't take—”

  “I know Marissa is a tramp!” snaps Natalie. “And its about time someone stood up to—”

  “So did you want to get in a fight with her? Do you want to go back in there and roll around on the floor, clawing and scratching and pulling hair, while everyone gathers around to watch?”

  Natalie doesn't respond to that, and I guess it makes her think. I want to lecture her some more, but I suspect she'll be feeling bad enough before long. It seems like Nat really is her own worst enemy these days.

  Later on, Cesar talks to me about the little fiasco. “I've really been praying for her, but it's like she's stuck. Do you think it's just that she can't get over Ben…or is it something else?”

  Of course, I can't tell Cesar that it's because she lost her virginity and consequently thinks her life is over and is too embarrassed to take it all to God. Nat would kill me. “Yeah,” I finally say. “She is kinda stuck.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Besides praying?”

  “Yeah, I mean, is there anything we can say to her?” He kind of laughs. “Well, besides me giving up my non-dating vow and asking her out. That might cheer her up.”

  “Or not,” I say.

  He nods soberly. “I guess that was a little vain on my part.”

  “No, that's not what I meant. For all I know she might still have that old crush on you. But I think her problems are deeper than that now.”

  “Oh.”

  “I guess I could try to talk to her again,” I say halfheartedly. “I mean, it's been a while since I really had a heart-to-heart with her. And I know that she's still pushing God away. I could try to get her to rethink that.”

  Cesar looks encouraged. “That might be just what she needs, Km. And isn't it ironic?”

  “How's that?”

  “Well, she used to be the one who was trying to spiritually encourage you. Now the table has turned.”

  “Yeah, the table just keeps turning, doesn't it?”

  “I'll be praying for you guys,” he assures me as we both head to class.

  So on the way home, I tell Nat that I'm really concerned about her spiritual well-being. And what does she do? She just laughs. But her laugh is different now. It's very cynical and hard. Nothing like the Natalie I used to know.

  “What spiritual well-being?” she finally says.

  “Yeah, that's what I mean. It's like you've totally given up on God. And that just doesn't make sense. I mean, it's not His fault that you blew your vow, Natalie. But it's like you're blaming Him.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.” Then I try to bring it home by comparing her relationship with God to her friendship with me. I remind her that this thing with Ben has hurt me too. “And it's not like I had anything to do with it. But you've treated me pretty badly since it happened, Nat. How is that fair?”

  Now she doesn't say anything.

  “Because I want to be your friend,” I continue. “And I need you for my friend. But ever since you and Ben, well, you know, its like we're hardly even friends anymore.”

  “I was there for you when your mom died,” she says defensively.

  “Yeah, but that's about it. You were there that one night, and you were great. But that's where it ended. It's like you're not there anymore, Nat. Not for me and not for God. Even Cesar is worried about you. He thinks you're stuck.”

  “You told Cesar about—”

  “No,” I say quickly. “Of course not. I haven't told anyone. But everyone can see that you've changed. It's not like you're hiding it.”

  “Do you think they know?”

  I consider this. “No, probably not. But I wouldn't be surprised if they start guessing. I mean, most people don't go through a total personality change just because someone breaks up with them. You know?”

  “So maybe I should start acting like everything's fine?”

  I sigh and shake my head. “I don't know, Nat. Wouldn't it be better if you got on your knees before God and made stire that everything is fine? Then it wouldn't just be a show. Don't you realize how much better you'd feel?”

  Now she gets quiet again. And soon we're on our block.

  “Maybe you need help, Nat,” I finally say as I pull in front of her house. “Maybe you should see that counselor that your mom—”

  “I'm not going to Marge!”

  “How about Pastor Tony then?”

  “Yeah, right. He's practically related to Ben.”

  “Related?” I'm trying to figure this out.

  “Caitlin's aunt is married to Pastor Tony,” she reminds me.

  Oh, yeah.”

  “Just forget about it, Kim.” She grabs her bag and climbs out. “This is my problem, not yours.” Then she slams the door.

  “Right,” I say as I drive away. “Like I don't get to share in your problem, Nat. Yeah, you bet.”

  Then I go in the house, and not for the first time, I desperately wish that the clock was turned back and Mom was puttering around in her kitchen. And I would sit down and tell her everything—even though I'd never really told her everything before. I would now. And while she might not have the answers, she would at least listen, and she would sympathize.

  But the house was quiet as a tomb. Mom was not here. I'd call Matthew, but he's working on a mural at the library. Our art teacher, Mr. Fenton, set it up for him. Matthew is going to be able to use it as part of his portfolio.

  “Does this mean you're still considering community college and then design school?” I asked him yesterday.

  “I haven't decided,” he admitted. “But I might as well keep my options open.”

  “How long until you have to decide?”

  “Noon on Friday.”

  So I figure all I can do is be supportive of him and wait. Fm not even sure what I'd want him to do, I mean, if it were up to me. Which it's not, thank goodness. I suppose the selfish side of me would like to have him still living here and going to community college—at least for a year. But the academic side of me would be proud to have a boyfriend who's attending an Ivy League school. More than anything, I'd like to have Matthew surrender his life to God so that He could do the leading.

  After walking around my silent house, I finally decided to practice my violin. Although I've memorized “Ave Maria” (the solo I'll be playing for Caitlin O'Conner's wedding in a couple of weeks), I know that it's good to practice it, to make sure that I've got it just right. Still, it's hard to play it sometimes…because it always makes me think of Mom. I first learned it so I could play it for her at Christmas.

  And as I played this afternoon, I wondered what Mom was doing and if she could hear me playing. I wondered about heaven and tried to imagine what it would be like not to be living in an earthly body anymore. Finally, I couldn't focus on the notes because of the tears, and once again, I had to just put my violin away.

  Then I remembered my mom's letter to me and how she told me to enjoy the sun and the birds and the flowers. So I went outside and walked
around for a while. And I have to admit that it felt better out there. The sounds of birds, cars, lawn mowers—all of it was comforting to me. Still, how long will it take for this ache to go away? Or will it ever?

  Then I heard the phone ringing inside and ran back in to get it. It was Natalie, and she was calling to tell me she was sorry. I asked her if this meant she was ready to get some kind of help, but she told me she didn't need any, and I just didn't know what to say to that. But I thanked her for apologizing, then told her unless she really wanted to talk, I had homework.

  Of course, she didn't really want to talk—not really talk. So we hung up, and I went online to check my e-mail. I've had posts from Maya almost every day. And for the most part, they were gloomy and depressing. Her life is really sad. Aunt Shannon is either bouncing off the walls or practically in a coma. Maya plays the parent role, and how she manages to do any schoolwork (and it sounds like she doesn't do much) is a mystery.

  I try my best to encourage her, but it feels like a lost cause. I think the best thing for Maya would be to go to school and just let Shannon take care of herself and clean up her own messes. But every time I say as much to Maya, she gets defensive. So then I think, maybe she likes her life just the way it is. But if that's true, why does she complain so much?

  Now that I think about it, she reminds me of Natalie. Neither one of them are happy with their current status, and yet they don't do anything to change things. I don't get it. And so after I finish my homework, I answer some letters, and one of them is sort of along this line. The funny thing is, with my column, I can answer people's questions, and for all I know they actually take my advice. Anyway, that's what I tell myself And so I suppose my column is kind of like a comfort zone—like I have some control—although Fm pretty sure its just a delusion.

  Dear Jamie,

  My grandma came to live with us last year because she “couldn't take care of herself anymore.* At first I felt really sorry for her and helped out as much as I could. But now Fm onto her game. You see, she sits around all day, acting as if she can't do anything for herself. She has this walker and needs help to do everything-like getting dressed, bathing, eating, you name it. But I caught her once when she thought no one was home, and she was up and moving around and acting perfectly fine. But when she saw me, she acted like she was about to faint and collapsed in the nearest chair. I told my mom, but she thought I'd imagined it. I told my grandma that I wasn't going to “play along/' and she can do things for herself. But what I want to know is, WHY DOES SHE DD THIS? Why does she want to Uve like an invalid when she's not?

  Confused Granddaughter

  Dear Confused,

  I'm not sure why your grandma does this. But for some reason people get stuck in strange behaviors sometimes-and the reason they continue is because they think they are getting some kind of “payoff? For your grandma it might be attention. Or maybe it makes her feel loved to have your family caring tor her. I suggest you ask her why she's doing this. Of course, she might not tell you, or she might continue to deny that she's even doing it. In the meantime, hang in there. And instead of being hard on her, why not use this as an opportunity to get to know her better. You might be surprised at what she has to offer. She might be surprised too!

  Just Jamie

  I learned about that “payoff' thing on a “Dr. Phil” show. And I have to say it made sense at the time. So now I have to ask myself, what is Natalie's payoff in keeping this wall up between her and God? Especially considering how tight she used to be with God. What can she possibly get from this kind of isolation and self-punishment? I think and think about this, and finally I come up with something. Okay, I could be totally wrong, but its all I've got at the moment.

  Pride. I hate to say it, but I think Natalie always had a fair amount of pride when it came to being a Christian, or what her megachurch was doing, or even in her own beliefs and convictions. And I think it hurt her pride to fail in this area, like she sees herself as this fallen, unredeemable person now. As ridiculous as it seems— when you consider how Jesus is the only One who can remove our sins—I think its her pride keeping her from coming to God. Like if she stays away, she won't have to admit that she's blown it.

  Okay, that sounds really lame, and I'm probably just spinning my wheels, but it's the best I can come up with at the moment. Anyway, I might just ask her about it. Well, when the timing seems right. Which might not be ever.

  Seven

  Saturday, May 18

  Matthew took me over to meet his grandparents tonight. I was really looking forward to it and was all ready to be impressed since I know that: 1) they are very wealthy, and 2) they are very into really good education. And call me shallow, but those two things definitely get my attention.

  Its not that I'm unimpressed with Matthews mom. I mean, she's a nice person and all, but she's so totally different from me and my family. Maybe its just her artsy, creative ways, but she's kind of weird too. It's like she enjoys getting noticed—whether it's for her strange sense of style (she likes to wear clothing from other countries) or the Bohemian way she decorates her home or the theater crowd she hangs with. She's just very different than what I'm used to.

  So when we pulled up to the elder Barclays house, make that mansion, I felt myself being instantly pulled in. You enter through a big metal gate, and their home is a stately white colonial-style house with big round columns and a circular driveway paved with bricks— kind of like a scene from “Gone with the Wind,” but we don't live in the South. The grounds were immaculate with large trees, some that were blooming, growing in just the right places. Really beautiful.

  “Wow,” I said to Matthew as he parked his old pickup in front. “This is very nice.”

  Matthew nodded, seemingly unimpressed, but then why should he be since he's grown up around this? Still, it caught me by surprise since its so totally different from how he and his mom live. As we walked up to the front door, I was glad that I hadn't worn jeans. It was such a nice sunny day that I'd opted for a skirt and top, actually one of the outfits Aunt Shannon had foisted upon me during her visit. But according to her, it was very chic. And after I tried it on again at home, I think I could almost see it.

  Matthew didn't ring the doorbell but just walked right in. Naturally, I followed. But before we were halfway through the foyer (a room as big as our living room with marble floors and a staircase that swept in a wide circle like something out of a movie set), we were met by a maid.

  “Matthew,” she said with a smile. “Your grandparents are out on the terrace.”

  I suppressed a giggle—out on the tenace—I really was beginning to feel like I was in a movie and even wishing I had a script! We heard voices as we walked through a beautifully furnished room and toward the open doors that led to the terrace, and I realized that we weren't the only ones invited to dinner.

  “Who else is here?” I asked Matthew, suddenly feeling even more nervous.

  “Some friends of my grandparents,” he said absently. “Someone he wanted me to meet.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don't worry,” he said quietly. “That'll just make it that much easier for us to slip out early if we get bored.”

  Then we went outside and suddenly introductions were being made. The “friends” of his grandparents turned out to be the dean of Mr. Barclay's alma mater, as well as a law professor and the two distinguished men's wives. The group seemed to be enjoying a happy reunion, and I couldn't help but feel like an intruder, not to mention excess baggage. All attention seemed riveted onto Matthew, and to my surprise, he seemed to enjoy it. It was obvious that this was a well-planned mission to talk him into attending their prestigious school.

  Occasionally, I'm sure out of politeness, a question would be directed to me such as: “What are your plans for college?” or “Do you have any extracurricular interests?” And while I did my best to answer in an intelligent fashion, I was under the distinct impression that they couldn't care less.

  The fun
ny thing about all this is that my GPA is higher than Matthews, and my chances of getting a music scholarship for violin are probably better than Matthew's would be for art. Also, if I wanted to blow my own horn, I could tell everyone that I am the famous writer of a syndicated advice column. Instead, I was forced to say that I had recently been interested in journalism as a major.

  Then Matthew mentioned that my dad was the managing editor of the local paper, and they all smiled indulgently, as if that was a “nice little occupation,” although not nearly as Impressive as their illustrious careers in law and education.

  It turns out that Matthew s grandfather recently retired from “the bench.” After a successful law career, Mr. Barclay became a high-level judge. If I'd been paying attention or been in trouble with the law, I should've been aware of that. I'm guessing my dad knows who he is. I suppose I should've asked. Oh, well.

  As dinner wore on, I wondered why I felt so thoroughly disengaged. Almost as if I were on the outside just observing. Was it because Matthew was the center of attention and I was a little nobody? Which actually seemed odd since I don't usually like the limelight anyway Or was it just that I felt like such an alien in their somewhat exclusive world of wealth and influence? And that didn't even quite fit, because I think in some ways I could fit better into that than Matthew.

  Then it occurred to me that I was the only one in the group of different ethnicity, and I got to thinking perhaps that was it. Or maybe it was because I was the only Christian in the group. Or at least I assumed that was the case, based on the consumption of alcohol and some of the language and off-color college stories I was hearing.

  But the truly amazing thing about the whole evening was how Matthew seemed to be getting more and more pulled in. And finally when the dean really pressed the question to him, reminding Matthew that they'd already extended the deadline and this was absolutely his last chance, Matthew said that he'd made up his mind.

  “I think my grandpa is right.” He turned to Mr. Barclay. “I should go ahead and accept this generous offer.”