How I Fall

by Anne Eliot

  Whistle blows. The clock is counting down.

  We all line up for a shotgun hike, and I meet the direct glower coming off number 56. I give him a little taunting nod that says ‘we’re-on’. I shout out the play sequence to get my team heading wide to receive the pass I’m never going to throw, “Thirty-one, twenty-two—hike!”

  The ball’s in my hands again and my heart rate skyrockets. My feet naturally skip-dance to the right side then back to the left. I keep moving, pretending I don’t see the defenders trying to reach me as I track number 56 blasting through our players like before. The guy’s like King Kong knocking down ants. I’m fighting against my impulse to go to auto-play, but still my eyes are searching for a way to pass to an open player. Thankfully, no one’s free! I let my glance flick back to number 56 again. He’s barreling toward me in such a way I think the universe just decided for me what’s going to happen because this set up couldn’t be more perfect. Even if my dad replays someone’s video of this, he can’t deny this take-down of me is going to be no one’s fault!

  All I have to do is hold, act like I’m about to throw and pretend I don’t see what—or who’s—coming.

  I turn away from 56, skip to the right—and pretend-focus far down the field, knowing I’ve got to gain some of my own speed and side movements to increase the pressure of the impact that’s to come. The guy is just about on me.

  I spot a small pathway, scoot to the side and head into the tiny hole of emptiness in front of me. I up my speed as I dart into another hole. Number 56 has anticipated my rush this time, and he’s already turned in my direction. He’s running parallel to me now. His eyes lock on mine as I leap and wind through another spot, legs maxed into full speed running. I’m heading for the long stretch of open space along the sideline. Break a leg! Just do it. Break a leg, a shoulder, blow out my knee—anything at all.

  Catch me…catch me.

  The crowd’s screaming as I gain yard after yard. I’m flying again the way I did before…and suddenly I can only hear the deep thud-thud-thudding of my heart.

  Somehow, I’m at the 40.

  I can feel 56 moving up behind, just how I want, but as I slightly slow down, I look back. Something you aren’t ever supposed to do. But I’m wondering how close he is and instead I somehow lock onto Ellen in the crowd. Unlike everyone else who’s jumping, dancing and shouting as loud as possible to cheer me on, she’s completely immobile. Clutched on to Laura’s arm and she looks so anguished I almost freeze in my tracks and leap up into the bleachers to see what’s wrong.

  I’m so jarred, my adrenaline surges twice as much and I’m spin-jumping over 56’s hands as he dives in to grab me. Suddenly I’m running faster than I’ve ever run in my life—and it’s because I’m not running to get away from my dad, it’s because I’m running to get to Ellen. Or at least to make her see that I’m okay. Wipe that look off her face, at least.

  30-Ellen

  20-Ellen

  10-Ellen

  5,4,3,2 and TOUCHDOWN!

  I’m dancing around the end zone and the crowd’s going insane.

  I risk a glance back to where I’ve memorized her seat and I spot Laura in the tiger suit, waving her arms.

  Ellen’s not cheering one bit. Instead, she’s grabbing at her things like she wants to leave. From here, it looks like the two of them are arguing, but that’s the last I’m able to see.

  Patrick, Coach and the guys rush in and crush into me—cheering! Someone’s dumping what’s left of the ice-cold side-line water all over me while everyone else is beating me on the back and on my helmet. I catch myself sharing what appears to be a real genuine smile with my dad who’s actually just hugged me more than once.

  Whatever.

  He doesn’t know that my smile’s not about the score or how our team just hit record statistics. I’m grinning like a fool because Dad’s not going to be able to resist letting me do whatever I want to do after this game!

  And what I want to do…is of course…spend some more hours on my awesome community service project.

  Down at the lake!

  ellen

  “Patrick and the others said they’d be here. I’ll be fine until they come. ”

  Nash is not buying it. “I’m not leaving until I have some sort of confirmation of other people showing up to hang out with you.” Nash is shaking his head at me like I’m a bad toddler. Now he’s wandering around under the willows, staring up—or should I say—glaring up at the awesomeness Cam, Patrick, Laura and I set up yesterday. “You kids have got to be kidding with this mess.”

  “It’s my future scholarship. Look closer. What you see is the start of something huge. My whole future’s hanging in those ropes.”

  He pulls at one, watching the branch bend. “Whatever you think it is, this is not going to fly with me. Not at all.”

  “It’s not meant to be yanked on like that! And yes, it’s going to fly. It’s going to soar! That rope only needs to hold up the weight of a camera or one tiny iPhone.”

  He tugs the rope again. “Does your mom know about all this?”

  “She drove me to buy the ropes,” I say vaguely.

  “Does she know just how high these things are? Please tell me you threw the ropes over. Tell me actual people didn’t climb toothpick-bendy-branches to hang these things where they are now.” His frown darkens when I’ve got no response. “Tell me at least you didn’t place any of them!”

  I don’t answer again. Why talk when it’s really impossible for me to lie to Nash.

  “Ellen. No! Do you have any idea how dangerous some of these branches are? Or worse, do you understand the full impact on the human body falling out of a tree—if you—or anyone were to fall from heights like these? Lord, give me strength!”

  I turn away and fiddle with the rope nearest me. “I didn’t place the highest ones. Only the ones hanging over the shallow inlet. As you can see those are pretty low, and mostly I threw the ropes while Laura waded out to bring back the ends. Patrick and Cam did the highest ones.”

  Nash scans those branches and goes visibly pale right in front of me. “Holy crap! I’m going to have to tell your mother. I’m going to have to tell all of their mothers! Again. What if you fell or tripped or ended up in that water?”

  “We both know I fall all the time. So what? I can swim. You’ve made sure of that. Besides the lagoon is shallow.”

  “If there aren’t waves to knock you around. If it’s warm like today, then sure. But if it’s rough water…if it’s stormy? If it’s cold and you can’t stand up at all because one of your limbs is having a spastic response to something? If you can’t control it, if you can’t get the signals to work in time? Then what?” He points past the beach area to the almost glass-still waters Lake Huron’s mocking him with today. “And what if it’s post-storm conditions? Ice, wind, freezing temperatures plus possible huge waves? Isn’t that what you told me you were planning? This lagoon is going to be half frozen soon. Ice will be all over the sand! I can just imagine you waterlogged in a heavy coat, falling all around and landing on hard surfaces, possibly breaking a bone or something or sliding into the lake—no!” He’s sputtering. “I order you all to abort this project. As your—as your PT—as your mother’s best friend—and as your—your—”

  “You can say it. As the only dad I really have? Yes, I hear you,” I say softly, trying to calm him down. Nash is half Italian, so he gets all ramped up like this a lot. If you hold steady with your temper he eventually calms down.

  His voice softens and he runs his hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. “You know it’s because I care, right? I don’t just care a little—I care a lot. Ellen, you and your mom—you’re my whole world. From where I’m standing, this project seems insane.”

  “I know. And I love you back. But you’ve got to understand this projec
t is my whole world. It’s got my whole future riding on it.”

  “If your mom saw what I’m seeing right now, she’d be on my side. She’d make you take it all down.”

  I glance up, trying to understand why he’s so freaked. And…okay, fine…it’s true. The willow grove looks like a hot mess right now. I can see the last few ropes Patrick and Cam placed were very high and today, the branches seem skinnier than I remember. He’s also right about the consequences if I fall into the lagoon when the water’s turned cold—if there are even tiny waves to knock me around—if I got stuck on ice somehow. But I won’t. And these ropes are solid enough…they are.

  As if to call me a liar, the wind kicks up and the ropes sway wildly in the branches. Our eyes are drawn up while what sounds like every branch on each tree squeaks and groans as if they mean to crack off at any second!

  Nash starts muttering again. “Oh. For the love of-no!” He walks over to the farthest tree, staring up again. “I’m going to take down each and every one of these ropes now, before someone gets hurt.”

  “Please. Listen. The hard work is done. That’s why we set it up early. On our freeze days, we only have to attach the cameras, pull them high into the trees, and shoot. No one is going to climb any more after today. I swear! To take them down, we just…pull,” I add confidently, squinting at each rope, wondering if what I’ve said is even true. Some look good and stuck up there.

  He shakes his head, still glancing up at the ropes hanging, swinging and blowing in all directions while a whole pile of leaves float-skitter-flip through the air, dropping into our hair and around our feet.

  I keep the confidence face locked on and say, “Watch me set up one basket and you’ll see.”

  He folds his arms and raises one brow. “Okay. Show me.”

  I grab one of the prototype duct-taped baskets out of my bag and place my iPhone into it. Next, I take the rope he almost dislodged and attach the basket to the pulley system. Unhooking the other side of the rope we’d secured into the limbs with a quick slip knot, I hold it steady and turn on my iPhone’s camera, making sure the lens is unobstructed by any duct tape before I flip a grin at Nash. “Here goes the first rope tests minus the ones I tried on the light hanging over our kitchen table!”

  In seconds, I’ve raised the basket high into the branches until it disappears into the flickering, yellow leaves above. “I’m not sure how the wind will affect the shots—and of course—when we take our final shots the setting will be different—but let’s just see. Okay?”

  Nash seems to calm down as I secure the rope by tying it onto a low branch and pull out the tiny remote that goes with the camera shutter app. Since I’m kind of afraid my iPhone is about to go to sleep, I fire and fire and fire the remote with my index finger. I’ve left the sound on and we can hear the fake-camera shutter sound coming off the phone way up high which has to be a good sign that it’s working. After about sixty shots a kink in the back of my neck is starting up so I say, “That should be enough.” I put away the remote and, acting as if I totally know how to do this, I turn to grab the rope to lower it back down. “Nash, could you stand under to grab the basket before it touches down? I still need to get one of those sand-proof iPhone cases.”

  “Are you trying to make me think you’ve thought this through with that statement? You know your mom will have a fit if that phone gets broken or worse!”

  “Knock on wood. I’m getting some birthday money next weekend and I mean to buy a waterproof/weather proof case.”

  A gust of wind drowns out his grumbling response. Both sides of the rope twist fast and now look like a tangled yo-yo string. I pause to try to shake it out just as the wind makes it twist more. The now double-weighted rope is pulling the branch down in the wind. That plus the tension wins against my puny arm strength and bad balancing skills. While I’m trying not to topple over and keep my good hand gripped on the rope, the whole rope pulls free of the pulley which makes the branch break from the released pressure!

  Bits of wood and leaves fall everywhere. It’s so fast I haven’t even turned to shout, because my mind’s focused on only one thing. My phone is falling! Eye on the basket, I command my body to reach the flat spot between where I’m standing and where my iPhone is about to hit, but of course, because I can’t run, my body does the opposite. It freezes, wobbles and heads backwards.

  “Ellen! Cover your head!” Nash shouts.

  I close my eyes and wrap my arms around my head and face, stumbling into a tree trunk as pieces of branch and the rope whistle-zips above me then makes this thunk-thunk sound as it slams on the ground all around me. Some of it’s so close that I’ve felt the air off it narrowly miss me.

  Nash blows out a very long breath. “Amazing. You’re darn lucky!”

  I think Nash is being sarcastic so I squeeze my eyes closed even tighter as I take a huge breath of my own, vowing not to cry when I have to pull the rest of the now obviously dangerous ropes down with him.

  But then a low, chuckling voice—Cam Campbell’s voice—is saying, “Football reflexes. I can catch anything that’s flying through the air.”

  I pop open my eyes.

  Cam’s on his back covered in sticks, wood bits, leaves and the end of the rope. Leaves are still landing all over him from the gust, but he’s grinning extra wide.

  Better, he’s holding my phone—my sweet-baby iPhone—and it’s safe and sound!

  I breathe in, trying bite back the two hundred smiles that keep coming to my lips.

  Nash helps him to his feet while I execute a very calm and nonchalant expression. I’ve got to take it extra slow because he’s outside of my branch-holding and tree-balancing zone. I’m also trying not to limp as usual and working extra hard to pretend I’m not staring at my phone and feeling like a whole litter of live kittens was pulled from drowning right in front of me. When I reach him, he holds out the phone and my emotions bubble over. Going with what my horse-galloping heart wants me to do. I pull the phone next to my heart and then hug him as tight as my bad arm will allow.

  “Thanks,” I breathe out, voice shaking some. “Just, thanks.”

  “Sure.” He’s so tall his laugh hits the top of my head.

  I awkwardly step back as I go on, “I owe you. Anything you want—I owe you and I will deliver.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” Cam dips his head near my ear so only I can hear what he’s said.

  Nash’s brows have zoomed up extra high because of this activity so I back off and busy myself with pulling the phone out of its duct taped basket. “I should have at least taped in a baggie with a little cut out for the lens, huh?”

  Cam says, “No harm done, right? I bought one of those cases last night, so we can use my phone until you get yours.” He smiles, holding up his phone so I can see the clear plastic case he’s installed over his phone. “So…let’s…” He glances nervously over at Nash, suddenly aware as I am that our audience of one seems very attentive. “Can we…look at the shots?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” I say.

  He scoots in and crouches down until he and I are temple to temple. “We didn’t consider the wind at all, did we?” he asks softly against my ear. “Did the rope hit you?”

  I shake my head.

  Nash crowds in, looking over our shoulders and breaking us apart a little as he answers for me, “No, you kids did not consider the wind! Let’s look at the shots, Ellen. Unless there’s greatness on that phone, you know what I want to do.”

  Afraid to breathe, I click into my photos. The last photo taken is pure white sky—so it doesn’t count. I go to the next, but it’s just a blur of green-yellow-windy…nothing. The next isn’t any better. It’s worse.

  I look up and swallow. “Oh, well. It was a cool idea. Fun for a couple of days.” My heart has sunk to the bottom of the lake, and Nash’s face tells
me he is already making a plan for which rope he’s going to pull down first.

  “Hold up. Just wait.” Nash turns back as Cam takes the phone out of my hand. “We need to look at every photo. This is the first test in the first test basket.” He pauses and meets my gaze. “I mean, everyone gets to have more than one chance, don’t they? Mr. Nash, even if there’s nothing here, we at least deserve more time to tweak our ideas.”

  I shrug, acting like I don’t care. “I couldn’t see the phone’s position when I pushed the shutter remote. So…I don’t know. Maybe this is one of those ideas that’s cooler in theory than in practice.”

  “Patience. Patience. Let’s look at the first ones. Hopefully you got some before the wind hit.” He scrolls fast through the photos, but I refuse to look at the shots along with him until Nash gasps, then whistles.

  My gaze flicks to Cam’s. I catch the edge of his lips turning up in to his huge, devastating ultra-wide smile that always melts that little spot behind my knees.

  “Holy-mother-of-wow. How about better in practice than in theory. Look.” Cam’s breath is so close it moves the hair by my temple, causing a riot of goose bumps as he holds the phone over so I can see.

  Branches! Some so perfectly clear and crisply in focus! Others are twisting, and tangling in the wind—which is not going to work for the snow and ice photos I have in my mind for the final project, but this looks really cool. Interesting.

  He flips to the next shot. “Nice.”

  The basket was obviously spinning around up there, so it’s completely different, but still in focus. Leaves this time—flickering and caught in motion—some facing up, others flipped down, some lemon-yellow because they’re backlit, others in perfect silhouette. It’s captured exactly how the stems are delicately attached to the branch by mere threads, because they’re waiting to fall. It’s also so poster-perfect crisp I can imagine Patrick begging me to use this for the background of one of his inspirational quotes!