When We Collide

by A. L. Jackson

  Whatever it was that drew me to her, I knew I wanted it all.

  Managing to gather my senses, I cleared my throat and spoke to her for the first time.

  “Hi, Maggie. It’s nice to meet you.” My hand fluttered up in an awkward wave.

  Dropping her gaze to the floor, she muttered a timid, “Hi,” though she couldn’t hide the faint smile that graced her lips.

  My mother shattered our moment with a sudden urgency.

  “Here...let’s show you around.” Ushering Maggie toward the stairs, my mom began in nonstop, nervous chatter as she followed close behind the girl.

  I couldn’t look away as the two ascended the stairs.

  Maggie peeked at me over her shoulder, a flush of red coloring her cheeks, before she turned away.

  I watched as they vanished at the landing, Mom’s voice fading when they entered my parents’ bedroom.

  When I’d stared for too long at nothing, I finally retreated back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up. I tried not to focus on the echo of the footsteps above me, pretended the object of my every dream and every nightmare for the last four days hadn’t manifested before my eyes. I pretended she wasn’t here, moving through my home, moving through my heart.

  Shaking my head at myself, I rinsed the rag under the kitchen faucet. I was a fool if I thought I was going to get her off of my mind.

  Stupid.

  Two hours later, I lay flat on my back on my bed. I used one arm as a headrest and with my free hand played toss with a small rubber ball. I could still hear her—feel her—as she slipped in and out of rooms, the whoosh and crack of blankets as they were shaken out, beds remade, the intermittent roar of the vacuum, though even that somehow seemed subdued. How typical, I thought, for this girl to have the ability to hide even in the noisy clatter of cleaning.

  Earlier, Mom had snuck up on me in the kitchen, whispering that I should make myself scarce while Maggie was here. She said the girl was very shy and my presence would only make her nervous. Obviously, my mother had mistaken the tension in the room as fear. But I figured it was for the best, and I relegated myself to the confines of my room. I probably would have made a fool of myself and followed Maggie room to room had I been left to my own devices, anyway.

  I just hadn’t anticipated the kind of torture this would be—holing myself up in here when all I wanted was to be out there.

  I blew the air from my lungs, tossed the ball up again, and missed it when a light tapping sounded at my door. I jerked to sitting. “Yeah?”

  The door barely cracked open an inch, and Maggie peered through the gap.

  I couldn’t help the smile from tugging at the corner of my mouth, my voice a little rough when I wheezed out a relieved, “Hey.” I couldn’t see her face, couldn’t read her expression, but I felt the hesitation in her presence. “You can come in,” I said, shifting forward to sit at the edge of the bed.

  Shuffling in, she held her head low, insecurity woven through every awkward movement she made. Those locks of auburn hair I couldn’t get off my mind fell in a cascade around each side of her face. So soft, I’d bet. I fucking hated it that she used it as a wall.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she all but whispered as she trained her attention on the carpet and tugged at the hem of her shirt, “but this is the last room.”

  I looked around the bedroom I’d only inhabited for the last four days. I couldn’t stand the idea of her cleaning up after me. “It’s not really dirty. I’ve only been back for a few days.”

  “Oh…” Her eyes jittered around the room, never at me, the brief second of openness we’d shared earlier at the front door seemingly erased. She began to back away. “I’ll…just…” She stammered and motioned behind her before she stopped and squeezed her eyes shut in a visible cringe. Then she spun away from me and took two hurried steps toward the door.

  Shit.

  I’d embarrassed her, made her feel unwanted in the very place I wanted her to be.

  “Wait,” I called just as she reached the door. She seemed to waver between running and staying, her hand trembling on the doorknob when she stalled in the doorway. “Please,” I begged to her back, although I really didn’t know what I was begging for. All I knew was I couldn’t watch her go.

  Uncertainty stretched tight between us, a twisted ribbon taut with longing, fear, and need. Every part of me knew she was forbidden, that her heart already belonged to whatever shit she’d been put through in her life, but I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her to stay.

  Even from behind, I saw her breaths came in an exaggerated rise and fall of her chest, as if she had to put everything she had into each one just to stay alive. The movement felt calculated when she finally turned. She reached a hand out to brace herself against the jamb.

  “Thank you,” was all she said, but I heard so much more. Saw it in the warmth of her eyes.

  I pressed my lips together, trying to rein in the emotion that raced ahead of me.

  “I’d do it again,” I said, a promise from where I looked up at her from my bed. Standing up for her had been no mistake. I’d never felt stronger about anything in my life.

  Maggie chewed at her bottom lip and dropped her gaze, before she raised it to meet mine. “I know you would.”

  From across the room, we stared at each other. Tenderness filled her expression, the sadness that normally aged her eyes softening and warming.

  In the handful of times I’d seen her this week, I’d never witnessed her like this. Vulnerable, yes. But this was different. From behind the wall that she hid, I was able to see her, what I’d glimpsed from across the fire over the weekend.

  Shy. Sweet. Good.

  The fullness present in my chest for the last four days hummed and heightened, grew to fill places I didn’t know existed.

  Was it wrong that all I wanted to do was kiss her?

  I smiled, and Maggie blushed.

  Oh God. So cute.

  I knew then, I’d give this girl anything she asked me for. I’d probably beg her to take it.

  The next Tuesday, the doorbell rang fifteen minutes earlier than it had one week before. From the kitchen, I yelled, “I got it.”

  I rushed across the room, hoping to beat Mom to the door.

  During the last week, I’d only seen her once—on Saturday night. Blake had talked me into going to one of his friend’s parties. It hadn’t taken much prodding, a night out with my brother and the chance of catching a glimpse of Maggie a win-win for me. Of course, I hadn’t counted on the way I’d feel when she walked through the door with her hand in Troy’s, trailing two steps behind him.

  Seeing the two of them together had sparked a possessive anger just as strong as what I’d felt the weekend before, and from the expression on Troy’s face, his anger hadn’t dissipated any, either. I’d had to endure a night of Troy continually glaring at me, as if searching me for wrong, while Maggie never looked in my direction. Even though I sought it, waiting for the perfect moment to approach her, none had ever come. She was closed off, a silent adornment affixed to Troy’s side. If possible, her unease had been greater than it was at the bonfire, her posture defeated and ashamed.

  From across the room I’d cursed and berated myself for being so stupid to believe there was some kind of connection between Maggie and me. I was beginning to think I left every ounce of common sense I had back at college, because I wasn’t sure if I’d had a rational thought since I crossed the Mississippi state line.

  Until I caught her face through the front window as she’d followed Troy out. Soft eyes locked on mine as she walked passed, shame still present in the heaviness of her shoulders, but that same tenderness abounding in her gaze.

  That tenderness had been directed at me.

  Raking my hair back from my face, I pulled open my front door.

  From behind the screen door, Maggie looked up. Surprise flitted across her features when she realized it was me, before a shy smile took its place. She chewed on the outside of
her bottom lip and rocked onto the outside of her shoes.

  She was nervous. And so unbelievably cute.

  “Hey, Maggie. Come on in,” I said as I stepped forward and opened the screen door, losing control of my thoughts when she glanced up at me from the side as she entered. She must have just showered. Her hair was damp, the smell of shampoo and soap and everything I wanted to sink my nose into powerful as she passed by.

  She stopped just inside, her attention bouncing around the living room before she turned to face me.

  I shifted, wanting to say so many things, but finally settled on a simple, “How are you?”

  She smiled her shy smile and said, “I’m all right.”

  It felt as if we’d shared so much, even though the only time we’d ever spoken had been in my room last week. The casual words we spoke seemed to mean more, like they ran deeper than a nonchalant hello.

  “Is your Mom expecting me?”

  “Yeah.” I closed the door. “She’s upstairs. She didn’t think you’d be here until noon.”

  Maggie blushed, this time she turned beet red. “Oh...I’m sorry. I was just—”

  “It’s okay,” I cut her off. I didn’t dare tell her she’d spared me the minutes waiting for her to arrive. “She’ll be down in a minute. Can I get you something? A soda or some water?”

  Maggie emitted an almost surprised laugh under her breath and shook her head. “No, but thank you, William. That’s really nice.”

  I shrugged. “Not a big deal. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  That tenderness came flooding back. The feeling it gave me was fast becoming addictive.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Inclining my head, I smiled, my fingers itching to reach out and run through her hair.

  “Oh, Maggie, I didn’t know that was you at the door,” Mom said as she appeared at the top of the stairs. She plodded down and stood at the bottom, giving me a look that said it was time I excused myself.

  Maggie fidgeted, a timid smile on her face as she looked between my mother and me.

  “I’d better let you get to work,” I finally conceded, making a move to cross to the stairs, pausing beside Mom. “It was nice to see you again, Maggie.”

  “It was nice to see you too.” She extended a little wave, and I smiled again as I headed upstairs, counting the minutes until I knew she’d come to my room.

  Mom wasn’t joking when she said I’d turned into a slob. By the time I gathered all the dirty clothes from the floor and piled them in the hamper, threw away the wrappers I left crumpled around the room, and made my bed, the vacuum was whirring in Blake’s room.

  Anticipation stirred, expectation igniting through my body as I thought of her being just down the hall. So close. I hated the blaring voice that reminded me just how far from my grasp she really was. The way she’d acted on Saturday night had proven it. Still, I wanted her near.

  That voice was forgotten when she knocked on my door.

  “Come in.”

  This time she wasn’t so reserved when she opened it, but allowed herself to quietly appraise my room.

  “You are either one of the cleanest guys I’ve ever met, or you just picked up your room before I got here so I didn’t have to do it,” she finally said with a slight tease winding through her tone. She glanced at me with the sweetest grin as she set a plastic bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor, then she stepped out to pull the vacuum in behind her.

  I dropped my head, chuckling under my breath, before I dragged my hair out of my face and looked up at her from where I sat in the middle of my bed. “No, not the cleanest guy in the world.”

  “Thought so.” There was still that timidity about her, a sadness that emanated in her movements and in her words, but something about her felt different today. It felt like maybe she wanted to show me the girl I’d already seen, the one she hid from everyone else.

  I knew what the town said about her and about her family. How much of it was true and what had been fabricated to sate the gossips’ thirst, I wasn’t sure. Clearly, she was shy, self-conscious, and insecure. But Maggie was no cliché.

  “Do you want me to get out of your way?” I asked as I scooted back further in my bed, having no intention of making good on my offer and praying she’d want me to stay as much as I wanted to.

  “It’s up to you. You’re not bothering me.” She knelt down to plug in the vacuum. “Just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  She laughed when I returned her words. “Stay as long as you need. You’re not bothering me.”

  “All right, then.”

  She flipped on the switch, the vacuum a dull roar as she pushed it back and forth in an overlapping pattern across my floor, every few seconds glancing up at me, that bottom lip between her teeth.

  It was all too much, and not nearly enough, Maggie in my room, the energy in the air charged but relaxed. A heated calm. The motor hummed, and I leaned against my headboard and watched as she moved. I could feel it radiating from her, everything I felt, this invisible bond being forged between us.

  She flipped off the switch.

  I smiled, but the gentle playfulness it held earlier was gone. My head lolled against the headboard, and I stared at this girl I was desperate to understand. My voice rasped. “How old are you, Maggie?”

  Frowning, she inclined her head, her eyes searching. “Eighteen. Why?”

  A woman. Grown. She seemed so much older, but younger somehow. I couldn’t place it. God, she had me mixed up.

  “Just...I don’t know. Are you going to go to school? Get out of this place?”

  Maggie laughed, but the sound was completely devoid of humor. “No, William. Girls like me don’t go to school.”

  “What do you mean, girls like you? Look at you”—I sat up—“you’re smart...and...and you’re...”

  Beautiful and kind and deserved so much better than this.

  She shook her head and leaned down to grab a dust rag and spray from the bucket. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Did she understand how much I wanted to?

  She turned her back to me and began stacking the notebooks and papers piled randomly across the top of my dresser that sat against the wall, across from the end of my bed. I could see her reflection in the mirror. The sorrow was back, the sadness that made her look old. She sprayed the dresser top and wiped the rag over the surface, keeping her head bowed when she spoke. “I’ve always taken care of my mom and sister. I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  The distance was too great, the girl too far, and I edged down to sit at the end of my bed. If I reached out, I’d be able to touch her.

  I rested my elbows on my knees and tilted my head up so I could see her face through the mirror.

  “But if you had the chance...the choice? Would you go?”

  Maggie looked up at me. “Of course.”

  I’d been right that night. Maggie wanted more.

  Pressure filled my chest, something that felt unbearable but good.

  “Why Troy, Maggie?”

  She stilled, her throat bobbing when she swallowed. It felt like an entire minute had passed before she answered. “I don’t know...it just...happened.”

  “He’s an asshole.” I couldn’t stop myself from spitting the words.

  “People aren’t all bad or all good, William. He’s had a rough life.”

  “Does that make it okay for him to treat you the way he does?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, of course not,” wheezed from her mouth. “He hasn’t always acted the way he’s been acting lately. I just...”

  Silence followed, filled up the room with words neither of us knew how to say. Maggie opened her eyes, stared at me through the mirror.

  “Do you love him?”

  Mom suddenly poked her head in my doorway.

  “Are you okay in here?” Concern laced her voice, her attention darting between Maggie and me.

  Sighing,
I sat back. Mom always had perfect timing.

  Maggie surprised me by answering first. “Yeah, we’re just talking about school and stuff.”

  “Oh.” Mom stepped back a fraction, seemed confused as she searched Maggie for discomfort. “Well, I’m just right down the hall if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Marsh.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mom looked at me again, her lips a thin line, drawn up at the side. It was a warning. Then she nodded and walked down the hall.

  Maggie turned around and forced a smile. “I think I’m finished in here.”

  “Maggie—” I leaned forward.

  “It’s okay, William. Really...I’m okay.”

  We both knew it was a lie.

  “Listen,” she said as she glanced behind her, “I have some more cleaning to do downstairs. Would you mind carrying the vacuum down for me?”

  Maggie was waving a big, huge stop sign in my face. She didn’t want to talk about it.

  Sighing, I climbed to my feet. “Sure.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was soft.

  She didn’t seem to mind that I followed her room to room for the rest of the afternoon. She’d laugh as I joked and did anything I could to wipe that sadness from her face. We talked about nothing, everything light, never verging into the topics that weighed so heavily on my mind.

  And for a few hours, Maggie was mine.

  William ~ June, Six Years Earlier

  Tuesday had become my favorite day. I awaited each with barely constrained anticipation. Those mornings, I found I couldn’t sleep and would wake with the first call of the sun bleeding in through the narrow slit in my drapes. Then I’d pace the floor until she arrived.

  Just like I was doing now.

  The rest of the week was agonizing, caught in the paradigm of hoping I’d catch a glimpse of Maggie while I was out, all the while praying I wouldn’t. Almost every time I did see her, she was with Troy. Her hand would be wrapped up in his as if it belonged there, even though it was so obvious to me that standing next to Troy was not where she wanted to be.