How I Fall

by Anne Eliot

  I nod, too embarrassed to answer.

  He grins. “As long as you smile at me and talk to me and I could tell everyone you were mine, that would be enough for a very long time—like until we’re in college at least!”

  I cross my arms and raise one brow. “Please. I said one day at a time! Neither of us is allowed to talk about college again.”

  “I know. I know. But I’ve had a crush on you since middle school so I’m pretty sure a couple more years still has me over the half-way point of how long I’ve already waited to ask you out. The point of all this is not about college, it’s that I’m hoping you will understand my quiet perseverance and truly give me a chance.”

  I crack up. “If we’re being honest here, then I should also mention I’ve been eye-stalking your attractiveness since middle school as well.”

  “You have? Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  I crack up more, because he’s added in a little fist pump and touchdown dance to his excitement. “Yeah, but until last week I also thought you were extra dumb.”

  “What?” He stops the little dance.

  “Sorry. You should know the truth. For years I’ve stereotyped you into the dumb jock category.” I shrug, totally unapologetic. Thankfully he starts laughing as I go on, “When I saw your hundreds and hundreds of football test images in Miss Brown’s class, I’d actually decided you were more empty-headed than most, actually.”

  “Wow. Really?” As he throws his head back to laugh more, I scan his broad shoulders and square chin, and then my gaze gets stuck on his amazing smile. Suddenly all consequences and reasons not to date him are overshadowed by the single reason that if I say yes to this guy, I will get to kiss him, stare at his eyes, his face, his shoulders and make him smile like this as much as I want.

  And he’s so darn nice.

  *Pictures high school graduation, then university graduation. Wedding music plays. Ellen Foster goes mental.*

  When I don’t talk anymore, he drops his smile and sighs. As if to remind us both of what just went down, the wind spikes and stops suddenly again. Another deluge of bright yellow leaves rains over us. I blink. And blink. And blink, wishing for the right words—for any words—to surface here.

  His eyes go all sad again and he whispers, “Tell me what you’re thinking? Please?”

  “I—think—I want to go the bonfire tomorrow. Together. With you.”

  “Together.” The smile returns. “I’m so happy right now.”

  My heart twists and those butterflies surge again, because the expressions going across his eyes seem as vulnerable and as scared as I feel right now. He steps close, and I let him pull me back into his arms. Arms I’m becoming addicted to even though I know I shouldn’t.

  “But you have to promise me three things,” I say, breathing in his caramel scent and laying my cheek against his warm, wide chest. “Three things, or I’m running now.”

  “Anything. Anything!” His grip tightens around me like he thinks I’m going to bolt and I lose all of my anxiety because I can feel his heart racing against his chest.

  “First thing. I’m not a spontaneous person so don’t get all crazy with Facebook announcements or tweet about me, or add any photos on Instagram with #love #EllenFoster or go liking and favoriting a bunch of random stuff until we survive the bonfire.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “We are seeing how things go. That is all.”

  He places his chin on the top of my head and pulls me a bit closer. “Define what you mean because if I can’t at least hold you in my arms like this or closer while we’re sitting by the lake tomorrow, I’m pretty sure it will kill me. #cruel #secretgirlfriend.”

  I laugh. “We’re not secret. We’re talking to each other. We’ve got an obvious crush. We’re hanging out a lot. We kissed. That’s our current status. If that means people see that or if it means we cuddle up at the bonfire and someone comments on it, I guess I can handle that. But until we know each other more, I can’t say we’re dating. It’s not fair to you.”

  He sighs. “I’m only agreeing because my own personal life-garbage-pile is so huge it’s possibly not fair to you.” He furrows his brow. “Just know, if I could, I’d make you wear a T-shirt from this moment forward that screams: ‘Cam’s Girlfriend’ on the front with the words, ‘Already Taken’ on the back. I’m also fighting the urge to get the name ‘Ellen’ and some falling leaves tattooed over the center of my heart.”

  I burst out laughing, and he pulls back a little so he can look down at my face.

  “What? I’d tattoo your name on my face if it would help make you believe in this.”

  “One creepy tattoo with my name on it goes anywhere near your skin, and you and I are done. So done.” I shake my head. “You’re back to sounding insane again.”

  “I can’t help it. You—this day—tomorrow’s bonfire—” He laughs. “I’ve waited so long to get to…” He winks. “This moment.” His smile and the way his eyes are going over and around my face like he, too, can’t believe I’m really in his arms right now is making those goose bumps trail down my spine and tickle behind my neck all over again.

  He’s so cute I can hardly stand it.

  Or stand—which is lucky—because, oh yes, he’s holding all of my weight so sweetly right now. I’m secretly wishing the T-shirt he described actually existed so at least I could have something real to touch later that could prove any of this conversation really happened.

  He drops his smile and goes all serious. “What’s the second thing? It can’t be more difficult than the first. Let’s hear it.”

  More gold leaves flutter and twirl around our faces as the red gold sunset sinking into the horizon fires beautiful red, orange and gold rays across the lake in our direction. He moves a strand of hair off my cheek that’s blown across my face, and lets his finger trail along my cheekbone, stopping at the edge of my lip.

  I bring my hand up and place it over his to stop it so I can stop melting and think.

  “The bonfire,” I start, wondering at the way I suddenly really trust him enough to tell him things that hurt. Things I would never admit to anyone yesterday. “You—you’re going to have to carry me all the way down to the beach. I can’t walk on deep sand without falling. Not even with a cane. That’s why I’ve never gone.”

  “Bonus!” He breathes out like what I’ve said is some sort of huge relief. “I’ve discovered I love carrying you around.”

  “You do?”

  “Heck yes! It’s the best excuse ever to get you all close to me. You always smell like a whole pile of flowers, and,” his face colors some as he continues, “Your hair…it’s always so soft. I love it.” He adds the ultra wide grin and those sexy little eye crinkles go deep. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”

  I nod and my heart settles into a steady calm beat. For the first time in a long time I’m not embarrassed or sad about my CP making things different for me, because he’s right…it’s the best excuse ever to get all close!

  “What’s the third thing?”

  “Um.” I swallow, staring up at him. “Two years to kiss you again seems extreme, so just let me take the lead for now and we’ll be fine…”

  I stand up on my tiptoes and put my lips against his beautiful smile and push him back against the tree.

  *Sighs: This is what kissing is…*

  cam

  “Perfect setting for our first official date, don’t you think?” I ask.

  “It’s not a first date if we’ve already kissed,” Ellen whispers, eyeing the crowd down on the beach. I can hear the panic in her voice.

  “It is. I formally invited you here and you can’t deny it. I also mean to say I have a crush on you to anyone who asks me. So be prepared, because we both know people are going to ask. My crush information will be followed with the
line about how we’re hanging out together a lot. And what was the other thing you said I could talk about?”

  “Oh, Gosh. I hardly remember. Let’s just go with the two you have? Isn’t that enough?” She swallows, glancing at the kids piling out of nearby cars.

  “What? We have to be comfortable calling it exactly what it is, right?”

  “In this setting, I’m calling it strange and very uncomfortable.” She pulls the end of her braid around her shoulder, twirling the tip of it in her fingers.

  I raise one brow as high as I possibly can and reach for her hand. “Can we both agree to call it…awesome from now on?”

  “Tell that to the nervous jitters in my stomach.” She squeezes my hand, but then lets it go as she pulls out her cell to scan her text messages. “Patrick swore not to be late. I’d much rather face the crowd down there with a small crowd of our own, you know?”

  I nod, my stomach doing flips of its own as I spot Tanner, Bella-Jane, Jennie and Paige down by the edge of the parking lot, heading toward the bonfire with blankets and camp chairs.

  “Where do you think those two are?” Ellen asks.

  “We’re talking about Laura London. Want to bet that girl is the cause of it? I’m sure they will be here soon.”

  “Yeah. But you and I are hiding here behind this giant car until they show up. Hang on and I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  As she fires off some texts, the phone lights up her beautiful face. I see that she’s got slight circles under her eyes that match mine exactly. We both woke up at sunrise, as promised, to meet Mr. Nash down at the willow grove to set up the safety ties.

  He was all satisfied with our hard work and dedication so after the work was done around nine this morning, Nash bought us Tim Hortons breakfast sandwiches and then swung us by to pick up Patrick and Laura. The four of us spent the entire rest of the day photographing in the new-and-improved safe willow grove until the sun started to set. Then we made it home to change and meet back up over here.

  Dad took my new car—a brand new Nissan Pathfinder—to the airport in Detroit. He’s left it there in a parking garage while he flies to Las Vegas. He has this thing about new car engines needing to be run on long stretches of highway before they are driven around town and the trek from here, across the bridge to the USA, and to the airport is about a two-hour drive.

  He can do whatever he wants to that car as long as he turns it over eventually. In the meantime, probably because my mom knows my dad won’t approve, I’ve been allowed to drive Dad’s over-tricked-out silver Hummer this weekend to pick up my ‘date’ to the bonfire. I never once lied to my mom about who my date is; but right now that woman assumes I’m driving around the Irish girl I always talk about, and has no idea I’m with Ellen Foster. For now, because of how they try to control everything, I want to keep Ellen all to myself and not have my family involved. Not yet. Although, I did tell Coco but she never bosses me around or tells me my decisions are stupid.

  Thankfully, Ellen didn’t seem to mind or make any comments about my obnoxious car, even though the Hummer was so huge and shiny in Ellen’s tiny driveway that it almost looked bigger than her whole house. Worse, Dad’s put monster chrome wheels and extra large tires and rims on the thing, so I practically had to toss Ellen up into the passenger seat which was really hard to do with her mom watching and grinning all happy at us through the front window.

  Dad’s been doing what he calls his coach networking. But really, he’s gone to his yearly ex-teammate meet up. It’s a weekend down in Las Vegas and they go every year. This means zero fights at home. My mom’s actually been smiling and kind of fun for the first time in a long time. It’s like a cloud has lifted between us. Add that to yesterday’s perfect day full of conversations I’d only ever dreamed about, plus Ellen’s amazing kisses and all those sweet whispered almost-promises in the back of my mind. I’m about the happiest person alive right now. I’m sure of it.

  Today, I had the chance to work harder and longer than ever on my photography. I learned tons from Ellen who spent the day telling me she’d learned tons from me. After a bit of a rocky start, mostly because Ellen and I didn’t know how to act in front of Patrick and Laura until we finally came clean that we liked each other. After Patrick glared murder-bullets at me and Laura applauded and twirled about, gleefully cheering us on, the four of us settled down. By the end of the day we’d come up with a way to export and catalogue our test images so we can make the best use of our time during digi-photo tomorrow.

  I’m tired as heck, but I’ve never been more excited or had more inspiration for my own photography goals. Goals I’d never been brave enough to voice before now. I told Ellen, Patrick and Laura something I’ve never told anyone today. That photography is more to me than the little hobby my parents think it is. It’s what I eventually want to do with my life—my job—my career.

  With Ellen’s feedback on my shots, plus the way Miss Brown swears I’ve got some sort of natural talent, I’m suddenly believing it. Believing in me. I’m also making plans for my future—once I get myself out of football and my dad off my back, that is. I’m going after a degree in the area of Fine Arts combined with industrial design.

  My chest twists with impossible dread, because even though my mind’s now completely set and focused, I know my dad’s mind won’t ever be able to wrap around any future that doesn’t involve football. I swear I can hear the guy shouting, hell-no or, no-art-for-my-boy all the way from Las Vegas just for thinking what I’m thinking.

  He can say what he wants. I’ll wait, and eventually I’ll have my chance.

  Then, hopefully my dad can back off and let me live my life instead of his.

  I sigh, drawing a glance from Ellen, who’s leaning against the Hummer. She’s texting away with only her good hand—one thumb to be exact—a feat which impresses me every time I see her do it. She says it’s an adaptation to her CP, but if this is an adaptation I’m simply envious of it. The girl is faster with one digit typing on that phone than I could ever be with two full working hands!

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Not sure. Hang on. Sorry.” She starts typing so fast that the little worry-crease settles between her eyes. She’s also doing that cute ankle turning thing she does with her left leg again. I already understand her spinning that ankle is only cute to me. To her, it’s actually not cute at all. It means her Cerebral Palsy is acting up on that leg and she’s stressed about something.

  Today, thanks to Laura’s over-active curiosity, and because I also wanted to know, we asked her tons of questions. First she gave us all a lot of facts about CP in general. She told us how she got it—a random stroke—something that happened to her as she was being born or possibly in the womb is what set her fate. She also told us why she never complains about anything. It’s because after meeting so many other kids with more severe forms of hemiplegia and hemiparesis—some with and some without CP—she considers herself extremely lucky. She can walk, she can go to school without an aide, she can learn at a normal rate, and because her speech is hardly affected at all except when she gets really nervous, she simply feels grateful for every single day.

  She took the time to show us her hand. Explain the reason her fingers on her bad hand are so stiff and curved. Why her hand and arm jerk around how they do. Though she hides it well, her leg does it also. Her muscles just don’t flow easily like ours do. Instead, they tense up and jerk around or freeze, or execute a combination of all three. It’s called spasticity. And it can hurt when the muscle refuses to release or pulls too hard. This is partly why Nash was so freaked out down at the beach. And why she moves so slowly, falls down—all that stuff. Her bad leg is weaker and more unpredictable than any of us had thought.

  She showed us how one of her shoes is smaller than the other because her feet didn’t grow at the same rate. The left side shoe is alwa
ys worn out, sometimes down to having holes in it, because of how she often gets tired and her foot turns in which means she has to slide her bad foot along the ground when it won’t lift as high as she wants. Then she showed us this trick as to how she ties her laces with only one hand! None of us could do it, and Patrick and I tried for a long time. Not even close.

  After that, Ellen gave us this impish little smile and asked if we wanted to see the best tying trick ever. Of course we all said yes. None of us were prepared when she slowly walked over, turned her back to us and shook out her thick braid until hit hung down her back in this beautiful waterfall of shiny heart stopping amazingness I almost died. Literally. Died. I’d actually gasped out loud, and if it weren’t for Laura making a bunch of noise and calling out how beautiful Ellen was with her hair down, I’m sure all of them could have heard my heart galloping against my chest.

  Because that hair—and Ellen standing there so proud, happy and trusting in front of us—was so beautiful I could hardly believe it. When she had her back turned I was hit with a wave of longing and serious love for this girl that I thought Patrick was going to jump me and kick my ass! He could probably read what I was thinking in my face, which was a combination of how very hot she was, and how extremely jealous I felt watching the ends of her hair curling next to the part of her waist that curves in every time she moves. That’s because, after yesterday, I now have this irrational idea that the sweet, warm and very sexy curve of her waist belongs only to my hands. I actually had to cross my arms over my chest and lock my knees from walking over to her.

  Who wouldn’t have the urge to touch that hair? Even with Patrick and Laura looking on, it’s all I wanted to do! Luckily Ellen distracted us all by expertly dividing her hair into three sections. Then, holding one of the three sections static, she wove the other two in and out between the fingers on her weaker hand. With her good hand she moved her fingers from her good hand in between the strands like lightning—like she was playing a harp—instead of re-braiding her hair into a perfectly balanced line.