When We Fall

by Peter Giglio

  They swam after dinner, then laughed at Knight Rider for a while, until the weekend’s only episode of discomfort caused Ben to turn off the television.

  It started when he, innocently enough, asked, “What would your car say if it could talk?”

  At that, a pained expression swept across Aubrey’s face. After a tense silence, she said, “Talking cars are stupid. Let’s not watch this and say we did.”

  Ben could tell he’d hit a nerve. He was glad that it didn’t take long for things to go back to normal.

  As the sun was setting that night, Ben walked Aubrey home.

  “I had a great weekend,” she said, standing at her front door.

  “I did, too,” Ben agreed. “Best in a long time.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  The kiss she gave him then paled in comparison to Friday night’s hungry make-out session, but it was all Ben needed and more, letting him know she still cared. Perhaps, he thought, there would never be a great romance between them, but that didn’t change the love he felt for her, nor did it kill his good feelings.

  Walking home with the cool summer breeze on his face, Ben was happy.

  7

  Ben had set his alarm for 8:30 Monday morning, thirty minutes before Osco Drug opened, and the moment his alarm squawked, he jerked awake, jumped out of bed, and threw on his clothes. Double checking his pocket for the photo-counter claim ticket, he rushed into the dining room, where his mother momentarily stopped him.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry this morning?”

  Holding up the claim ticket, he said, “New film’s in. Gotta run.” Then he slid the door open.

  “Aren’t you going to have break—”

  But he was out the door before she could finish.

  In the garage, he popped the kickstand up on his old Schwinn ten speed, which his father had purchased for him two years earlier at a garage sale, and hopped on the tattered seat. Soon, he was peddling at top speed, warm wind in his face. It was a bright morning of limitless possibilities.

  Although he often wished he lived in a big city like Chicago or Los Angeles, he was happy that morning to live in a relatively small town. Traffic was minimal, and he made good time.

  A blast of arctic air greeted him inside the store, as well as a Muzak version of “Muskrat Love.” The air felt nice on his sweaty skin, and even the music, as terrible as it was, gave him the comfort of knowing he was in the right place.

  It took the girl behind the counter what seemed an eternity to find his film, and that made him worry the reel had been lost or delayed. He drummed his fingers on the counter’s glass and looked around the store. An old lady behind the perfume counter smiled at him.

  “Here it is,” said the girl. She had bleached-blonde hair teased a foot above her head, and she chewed a piece of gum like it angered her. When she slid a yellow envelope across the counter, Ben wasted no time ripping it open. He was always anxious to see what color case they’d given his film. Blue was the most common, but Evil Spirits III had arrived in a red case, and that had been his best movie ever. Perhaps red was a good omen.

  The new film came in blue. No big deal, he thought. Don’t be so superstitious.

  He slid the small film canister in his front pocket, threw the packaging away in the trash can by the door, then mounted his bike. On his way home, he pedaled even faster.

  When he entered the house, his mother looked up at him from a bowl of oatmeal. This time she didn’t try to stop him as he raced past.

  He set the projector on a foldout card table in the middle of his room, projecting it against the wall his bed was pushed against, which was the only wall in his room not cluttered with posters. Using the blade on the base of the projector, he made a round cut in the white leader strip, then snapped the reel into place. When the film glided from the rear of the projector, Ben used his fingers to guide it into the receiving reel. He then turned the knob to the off position, killed the room’s lights, and moved back in place behind the projector.

  “The moment of truth,” he whispered, shifting the projector to play.

  This marked the first time he’d zoomed in on each title card, mimicking the effect of the credits coming at the screen in films like Superman, and he was pleased with the effect, although he could clearly make out the bulb of his reading lamp. He made a mental note to tape tissue paper behind the title cards next time.

  The rest of the film blew Ben’s expectations away, particularly the levitation scene following Aubrey’s scream, in which he planned to draw evil spirits entering her mouth. He had done his best to pop off single frames with the trigger each time Aubrey jumped in the air, attempting to catch her in the same approximate position with each careful squeeze. The herky-jerky effect was brilliant, making it look like her body not only hovered but was also racked by insane spasms. After she fell back to the ground, he had stopped the camera, holding it steady, and told her to step out of the frame before he resumed filming. This created the illusion she’d disappeared, a trick he’d learned from old Bewitched episodes. He planned to draw a blue aura around her before she vanished and continue that outline when she was gone. He would then make the aura break into smaller objects that would fly toward the audience, not that he expected more than four or five people to ever see it.

  The role of the second victim was played by him, requiring Aubrey to do some of the filming. And, though the disappearance trick wasn’t as smooth with her behind the camera, he was pleased that she’d gotten all the shots right.

  The final scenes made him laugh. The third-to-last shot, a manhole, was nothing special. The idea was for the spirits to bore into the cover’s small opening. The next shot was of his father reading a newspaper. Lowering the paper, he turned to the camera and mouthed, slowly and clearly, I’ve gotta use the can. Then the last shot was a toilet; Ben planned to have one of the spirits peek out of the bowl before dropping back down.

  Still laughing, he rewound the film as he retrieved his supply kit from the closet. But before starting on the animation, he decided to watch the film once more. On second viewing, he noticed something strange.

  In the levitation scene, which he’d shot by the big birch—the same one from my nightmare!—there appeared to be a face in the tree for a fraction of a second. Ben stopped the film, reversed it, and watched more intently. Everything else, shot one frame at a time, moved erratically, but not the face. Stationary, the ghostly apparition belonged to Ryan Barnes.

  Ben turned off the projector and took a deep breath. Then he rewound the film and carried it to the window. Holding the film to the glass, he unspooled the reel until he found the scene, hoping that the dead child’s face would be gone. It wasn’t.

  Four frames featured Ryan Barnes.

  Four!

  He took the canister to his desk, flipped on his lamp, and held an X-Acto knife above the strip of film. I’ll splice the frames out and forget about them, he thought.

  But he couldn’t do it.

  This thing, whether it was really a ghost or Ben’s wild imagination causing hallucinations, wouldn’t just go away. He knew he had to face this, even if he didn’t know how.

  He put the blade down and ran out the front door. The tree was the constant—in his dream and in the film—and he had to study it. He ran his hands over the dry bark and noticed nothing unusual at first. Then, very low on the trunk, he found a large indentation; above that, a carved message read:

  BEN

  COME BACK AT NIGHT

  * * *

  Ben didn’t see Aubrey on Monday night. She was working the late shift at the video store. But that was for the best, he figured, since he, still in shock, needed to be alone with his thoughts.

  Lying in the dark with no intention of sleeping, he waited for his parents to go to bed. He was too consumed by fear to watch television or listen to music, and his thoughts, foggy and disconnected, provided little clarity. Bone-tired, he used his meager energy to fight sleep.
Then, an hour after his parents retired to their room, he eased open the window, unhooked the screen, and left the house.

  In the darkness, the park, with its many tall trees, was a dark and menacing place. Fortunately, the birch was close to the road, and Ben was able to skirt the park under sodium-vapor streetlights.

  Cricket night song, normally soothing, was unnerving, and as Ben approached the tree, an owl hooted, causing him to jerk back and look up. Golden eyes glinted from the shadow-rich branches above.

  Breath ragged and heart thundering, Ben crept to the dark side of the tree. There, he found Ryan Barnes, his arm fused to the trunk like a branch, and his gnarled, woodlike form seemed to mimic the appearance of the birch. If for no other reason, the deep gash in the dead boy’s head told Ben who this was. At that moment, strangely, Ben’s fear started to subside.

  Here he was, face-to-face with what—who—he’d feared finding, and the discovery brought two mercies: he wasn’t crazy, and this wasn’t a trick. Aubrey, after all, was the only person with the knowledge to pull such a prank, and part of Ben had dreaded, as irrational as it seemed, that her interest in him had been part of an elaborate joke.

  “I didn’t know if…you’d come,” Ryan choked in a dry whisper.

  “What do you want?”

  “To know…what happened…to me.”

  “You were hit by a car.”

  “I was…drunk one minute…walking home. Now I’m here. I can’t leave…this tree.”

  “Why should I help you, Ryan? You tormented me, and you were even worse to my best friend.”

  “The…gay boy—”

  “Don’t call him that!”

  “I…had it harder…I…I didn’t know how to act. Never beat you up…did I?”

  Ben shook his head and started away. He’d found what he came for, knew the truth now, and if Ryan Barnes had to spend eternity glued to a tree, Ben wouldn’t lose any sleep.

  “Wait,” Ryan croaked.

  Ben spun around. “What?”

  “I don’t deserve this. You’re the only one…who can help me. Don’t leave me like this.”

  “Why me?”

  “I…don’t know…I’m scared.”

  Just then, chattering voices bled from the dark belly of the park. A flashlight sparked to life, its beam cutting a path to Ben’s face. Ben flicked his eyes back to the tree for a moment. Ryan was gone.

  He expected a police officer to emerge from the gloom, and he was ready for a world of shit, but the figure that materialized was even scarier, setting Ben’s heart back into overdrive.

  Craig Winstead.

  “You talking to yourself out here, kid?” Craig asked. Others then stepped from the darkness: Max Tanner and two smiling girls Ben didn’t recognize.

  “What are you doing out here?” Ben asked.

  Craig laughed. “We’re out for a little stroll, that’s all. No crime against that, is there?”

  Ben thought better of pointing out the nearby sign, indicating that what they were doing was, in fact, against the law, when he realized each of them held bottles of beer. Max carried a red Igloo cooler.

  “I was just heading home,” Ben said.

  “What’s the rush?” Max said.

  “Yeah,” Craig said. “We were just heading over to the pavilion for a few laughs. Join us.”

  “I’d better not. It’s late, and I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Look,” Craig said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I just wanna talk for a few minutes, okay. Scout’s honor, I won’t hurt you.”

  “You were a Boy Scout?” Ben asked.

  “You kidding,” Max said, “this faggot here was a fuckin’ Eagle Scout.” He bellowed laughter while the girls tittered. Craig ignored the jab.

  “The street is where cops patrol,” Craig said. “We’ll be safer in the pavilion.” He gripped Ben’s shoulder, leading him into the park.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said.

  “Only a few minutes,” Craig said, “I promise.”

  * * *

  Located in the center of the park, the pavilion was a brick structure, open-ended on each of its long sides and filled with picnic tables. Max thumped his cooler down on a table while the girls lit candles. Craig sat across from Ben, shadows flickering across his face in the sparse firelight.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Ben asked.

  Craig wasn’t quick to answer; instead, he turned to Max and said, “Snatch a refreshment for our new friend.”

  Max popped the cap off a bottle and slammed it in front of Ben.

  “Drink up,” Craig said.

  Ben was no stranger to beer. Johnny’s older cousin worked as a delivery driver for Coors and had, on two occasions, scored them several dented Keystone cans. That led to Johnny and Ben getting drunk in the drainage channels that skirted the south side of the park. Good times, because they were doing something they weren’t supposed to, and doing it together. But this was different. Ben didn’t want to drink with people he didn’t trust. All the same, he took a long pull from the bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Good stuff,” Ben said. Then he tipped the bottle, draining the rest in four deep swallows. His spectators gawked at him like something in a carnival freak show when he slammed the empty bottle down. Turning his attention to Craig, he said, “So, what the hell do you want to talk about?”

  Craig grinned. “Looks like we’ve got a tough guy here?”

  The buzz from the beer hit Ben fast, and when Max uncapped another bottle and placed it in front of him, he sipped rather than guzzled.

  Turning to Max, Craig said, “Can you take the girls for a walk and give me a few minutes alone with the kid?”

  Once Max and the girls were gone, sadness lit Craig’s eyes, and his always-present smile took leave. It seemed his guard was down now.

  “Did I scare you?” Craig asked.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted to do?”

  Craig shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Look, if I scared you, I’m sorry. A guy like me has to…well, I have to put on a brave face.”

  Unsure what to do, Ben reached for his beer.

  “You don’t have to drink that to prove anything to me,” Craig said.

  Ben took a sip anyway. “Who says I don’t like beer?”

  “You’re all right. You even remind me a bit of my little brother, Kip.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Yeah, he’s not like me. He’s a smart kid. My parents send him to public school where there are more…well, don’t take this the wrong way, but where there are more nerds like him. Greenfield makes sense for a guy like me. I’m good enough for varsity 1A, but at Parkview, I wouldn’t see much playing time at all. A real school has stuff like AV and Chess Club, and…well, you know, stuff that’s more your speed. You’d probably like it there a lot more than Greenfield.”

  Ben nodded. He’d often asked his parents if he could go to public school, which would save them a lot of money and make him a lot happier, but his mother was convinced he’d fall in with the wrong crowd. The charming company he was keeping tonight made her argument all the more ridiculous. That aside, this was a side of Craig he hadn’t seen before. Maybe the jock wasn’t all bad. “So,” Ben said, “what do you want to talk to me about?”

  “First off, what are you doing in the park at night? You really shouldn’t be out here.”

  Ben snickered. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “Fair enough. I guess you have your reasons, just like me.” Craig seemed to drift off for a moment, gazing into the distance, then he asked, “What’s going on between you and Aubrey?”

  “We’re just friends. She lives across the alley from me.”

  “I miss her.” He turned his attention back to Ben. “Does she ever talk about me?”

  “No. Did…did something happen between you two?”

  “You could say that. But…damn, I really miss her.”

  “Have you t
old her that?”

  “Yeah, I’ve told her.”

  Ben flashed back to Aubrey on the back deck of her house, a sad look on her face as she talked on a cordless phone. Her moments of darkness suddenly made sense. Ben bit his tongue for a moment, then said, “I think she misses you, too.”

  Craig’s expression brightened. “Really?”

  “Sometimes she seems sad, and I really didn’t know why until now.”

  “Thanks for that, kid.”

  “Don’t mention it, but now I really have to get going.” Ben stood up.

  “Can I ask you a favor before you leave?”

  “I guess.”

  “Will you talk to her for me? You don’t have to rush into it or anything, but if you could talk to her when the time seems right, I’d really owe you one. Who knows, I might get you into a few parties, and we can hoist a few brews as friends.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good enough,” Craig wheezed in a sad whisper.

  “I’ll try,” Ben said. “But, look, I can’t promise she’ll want to listen to what I have to say.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” Craig said. “I think it would mean a lot more coming from you.”

  As he trudged homeward, Ben was filled with a flood of conflicting thoughts and emotions. On one hand, he loved Aubrey, but he knew his parents would never accept him dating—really dating—a senior in high school. The natural order was girls like Aubrey dated guys like Craig. Now, if Ben acted in a selfless manner, maybe he would shine brighter in Aubrey’s heart. Nobility, perhaps, might help him forge a relationship with the girl of his dreams down the road, when it mattered most.

  And then there was the matter of Ryan Barnes.

  Ben didn’t mind helping people, but his dead tormentor and the star quarterback of the Greenfield Blue Jays were the last people he’d expected to reach out to him.