Ripple Effect

by J. Bengtsson

  But how could I argue with her methods? It was Simone who’d set up our Facebook page. And Simone who’d arranged the first annual ‘swim’ meet and greet. And Simone who’d created the ruling body of the organization, claiming the role of president for herself even though no one had asked for a leader. When it came time to pick her cabinet members, it really just depended on how close you were in proximity to her when the positions were being assigned. I just happened to be walking by, and bam! Suddenly, I was Dani—the Lucky Swimmers’ secretary.

  Ross and Charlie had similar stories to mine. They’d committed the grave error of being seated beside her when Simone began asking for volunteers. Ross became vice president and Charlie, treasurer. Not that I was complaining. It was certainly no hardship to spend time with my two identically dreamy sperm brothers. Whoever said that guys made in a petri dish couldn’t be drop-dead gorgeous had never met the Kosinski brothers. See, while most of us had inherited an acceptable mix of DNA, or at least enough that small children didn’t scurry away in fear, the Kosinski twins proved that not all semen was created equal. I could only assume our father had been well rested and feeling fine the day he’d strode into the clinic and jacked out my glorious brothers.

  Sure, Charlie and Ross were attractive men, and yes, I was sometimes mesmerized by their charm, but my interest in the Kosinski boys was purely platonic—despite what some of my coy coworkers might have you think. Believe me, I understood well that the twins were off-limits. And not the type of off-limits one might find in a daring romance novel either. No, Charlie and Ross were the type of off-limits that produced children that looked like the monster in The Goonies.

  And then there was Conrad— Sergeant of Arms—and the only member of the Lucky Swimmers’ governing board to have freely volunteered for the position. Why? None of us knew. He didn’t seem to enjoy coming to the meetings, and his ‘duties’ consisted mainly of taking the opposite opinion of whatever decision the rest of us made.

  Unlike the handsome and agreeable Kosinski twins, Conrad had that gloomy, WTF factor going on. Where Ross and Charlie were easy on the eyes, Conrad was… well… not. Or, if he was, it couldn’t be determined under the dark eye makeup, black slicked-back hair, and signature trench coat—an accessory that had the ability to clear a room of skittish onlookers. I’ll admit to having checked for the nearest exit when I’d first met him too.

  Certainly, Conrad wouldn’t have been Simone’s first choice for a board member—or her last, either—but when no one else stepped up, Count Dracula did. No doubt he’d only volunteered because he knew no one wanted him—a challenge, if you will. He wanted us to kick him out, to prove we weren’t the inclusive group we claimed to be. But Simone refused to play his game. She wasn’t like me, the dum-dum who wasted way too much time giving fuel to Chad’s fire. She’d invited Conrad in. Made him one of us. Kept her enemies close.

  And a funny thing happened on his way to humanity. Conrad softened. His scowl relaxed. His heart started beating. Maybe, like the rest of us, he just needed a place where he could belong.

  I glanced down at my phone, checking the time. Oh, good. I still had two hours before the date tonight. Just enough time to do something bouncy with my hair. The idea was that my mood would magically match my hairdo. I know, it was probably wishful thinking, but I had to try something because it had become clear after I’d accepted his movie date this morning that I really wasn’t feeling Jeremy at all. He was just—how could I put this nicely? He was just… blah.

  I wished I could cancel the whole thing, but that would have been rude. Besides, in the era of online dating, where everyone wanted a hookup, you took notice when good guys came along. I was convinced that was Jeremy. So why, then, was I feeling so conflicted? I should want a good guy, right? But Jeremy? There was just no spark. Nothing at all. Maybe tonight. Maybe he would step up his game and absolutely knock me on my ass. If not, I was prepared to walk away.

  An image of Chad flashed through my brain. Now there was an ass-knocker if I’d ever seen one. Oh, no. Don’t you dare, Woodcock! I soured at the thought of that man getting even one more second of bandwidth inside my head.

  “So?” Charlie grinned in that teasing way I loved.

  “So, what?”

  “Did you take the package?”

  “Of course not!” I punched him. “Now I’m offended.”

  “Hey, I’m not calling you a thief; I’m just saying I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Well, I didn’t.” I laughed out loud. “But the next one that drops at his door is mine.”

  Conrad sat up a little straighter. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Chad Woodcock isn’t who he says he is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t work. He hides his face. He’s being shifty. And his name is Chad Woodcock. That’s the kind of name you’d find on a frat boy’s fake ID. All I’m saying is, it’s a little too convenient. If you want me to come over there and rough him up, just say the word.”

  I scanned my brother’s long, skinny frame. There was no way he was taking on the mountain of a man Chad was—unless he was bringing a knife to the fistfight. I cringed. Yeah, that was probably what he was meaning. “Oh, that’s sweet of you, Conrad, but I can handle him. Chad is harmless, like a stink bug.”

  “You sure? Because I can squash that fucker. Just say the word.”

  Ross and Charlie exchanged alarmed expressions, one of them even kicking me under the table.

  “No, no,” I said cheerfully, pretending my sperm brother hadn’t just proposed contract murder. “I’ve got this. But thank you for the generous offer.”

  “You know,” Simone said, totally ignoring Conrad’s threat, “stink bugs aren’t actually harmless. They’ve caused significant yield losses in fruit and nut crops around the world.”

  “Right, but should they be exterminated from the face of the earth, like Conrad is proposing?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m looking out for my little sister. Is that so wrong?”

  “Not in theory, but I’m telling you right now, Conrad, I’m not going down as an accomplice to murder,” Charlie said. “So, if the stink bug population is significantly reduced this harvest season, I’ll know where to send the cops.”

  “Go for it,” Conrad challenged. “But you might want to go into hiding afterward, narc.”

  I shook my head, only barely following along. “Boys. My goodness. The testosterone is especially potent today, isn’t it? I’ll make this very easy for all of you to understand. No one touches Chad Woodcock. You hear me? I’m the only one who gets to crush that man under my shoe.”

  6

  Dani: Not Chad

  Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I spewed impatient curses at the woman callously making me wait for her parking spot in the underground garage of my complex. It wasn’t like I had unlimited time. My hair. My bouncy hair. I now only had just over an hour to make it happen. This motorist’s decisions could mean the difference between Jeremy getting the boot or becoming my future husband.

  “Move it, pokey!” I barked at the driver.

  I needed to chill. The confrontational mood I’d been in since my morning run-in with Chad had my panties all twisted in a knot. You’d think a day filled with sweet-faced first graders would be enough to unravel them from my ass, but no, Chad still held his grip. I could feel my blood pressure rising at just the thought of running into him in the hallway. How dare he accuse me of stealing! Or of being some old maid just because I enjoyed the occasional night in with a bowl of ice cream. I mean, please. Not everyone needed to live on the edge with 650 percent more protein than the recommended daily allowance.

  Now I wished I actually had stolen his package because then I could stomp it into submission. Submerge it in water. Then allow it to dry out before setting it on fire. Finally, I’d deliver his precious package all bloodied, bruised, and smoldering to his doorstep. Chad didn’t deserve nice things.

  Movement drew my
attention back to the woman in her car, taunting me with her lack of consideration. She knew I was waiting, but clearly she didn’t care about other living, breathing human beings. Her tire would roll half a rotation and stop. Half a rotation and stop. It was a good goddamn thing that I’d put my running shoes on after work today because I was going to have to take the stairs Rocky-style.

  Now we were in a holding pattern, painfully idling. This woman was wearing on my last nerve. Maybe she was related to Chad. I normally considered myself a very patient person; I even owned a Crock-Pot and everything. But this stop-and-go action was just uncalled for. I should already be upstairs reapplying my makeup and getting dolled up for my date with Jeremy, not down here in the parking garage slowly dying.

  The woman backed almost halfway out of her spot before inexplicably stopping again. I blinked once. Twice. Then I exploded.

  “Oh…my…god,” I articulated each word in a low growly threat. “I’ve seen baseball games played faster!”

  My hand hovered over the horn, just daring me to blow the whole operation.

  Breathe, I lectured myself. You can’t afford to piss her off—not when you’ve come this far.

  But maybe if I could tap the horn lightly enough, it might actually make her aware that I’d been waiting on her long enough for the earth to orbit the sun. Just one tiny honk. Surely she wouldn’t take offense to that—a friendly toot that said, Hey, sorry for bothering you, LOL, but are you backing out anytime soon, you fucking bitch?

  Whoa… where had that come from? Now I really needed to chill. I knew as well as every other person in this apartment complex that patience was key to a successful changing of the parking guard. Parking swaps were a delicate dance, and I couldn’t for one second forget the fluidity of the situation. Turtlepoke over there held all the power. She was, for lack of a better term, the man in this particular cha-cha. And if I did anything even remotely off-putting to her, she might deny me the spot I’d been waiting so impatiently for.

  This right here, the parking lot hunt, was the worst part of my day, and that included run-ins with Chad. I’d honestly rather have conversations about his bushy twig and berries than try to find a parking spot after work. I equated the experience to that of the old carnival game, the Cake Walk. You know, the one where everyone is circling as chairs are removed, and then when the music stops, anyone left standing scrambles for that one open spot? This right here…this was my daily Cake Walk.

  The brake lights flickered, and as slowly as a snail creeping through peanut butter, her tires again began to roll. Here we go. Almost home. My eyes darted in every direction, checking for lurking adversaries. There was a car one row over, but it was too far away to be a real contender. No, it looked like I might be home free. My mouth began to water.

  Squealing wheels snapped my head to attention. What the shit? Oh, no! The non-factor car over on the other aisle had suddenly come into play and was angling to ruin my day. My heart rate quickened as the vehicle sped around the bend.

  “Oh, no… no, you don’t,” I warned, flicking my blinker on and inching closer to the woman’s car. It was then I saw who was trying to steal my spot—and of course, it had to be booger-flicking, name-calling Chad Woodcock. The woman pulled free of the cars on either side of her, and it was then she made the fateful decision to turn her bumper in my direction—blocking me from the spot and essentially welcoming in the weasel with a heart of coal.

  “Don’t do it!” I hollered, heat hop-skipping up my spine. Our eyes locked, mine flashing him a warning and his not giving a crap. I swear I saw him grin as he swung a hard right and slid effortlessly into my spot.

  Oh, he was so dead!

  Pulling my car up until my front bumper nearly touched his back one, I flattened my palm against the horn and I held it down in one continuous fuck you. I could even see Chad inside his vehicle holding his hands to his ears, and I pictured him laughing. I’d had enough of his bullshit. This was war.

  But before I could take matters into my own hands, I felt my car jolt like it had been hit by solid steel.

  Had Chad backed into me? My god, the dude was just asking for dismemberment. I checked out my driver’s side window, puzzled. Our bumpers were right where I’d left them…still a good inch apart.

  Another jolt.

  “What the…?”

  I checked my mirrors, but there was nothing behind me. And then it started. Violent shaking so intense it scrambled my head with confusion. Another jolt, but this one unlike anything I’d ever felt in my lifetime. There was the sudden sensation of dropping, as if the undercarriage of my vehicle had completely given way. The swaying walls in the parking garage rumbled and quivered, chunks of concrete breaking free from their berths and crumbling onto the cars below.

  “What’s happening?” I cried out, even though I knew full well what this was—a Richter scale-busting earthquake. And I really couldn’t think of a worse place to ride out this once-in-a-lifetime event than in an underground parking garage…with Chad. The standard recommendations of hunkering under a table or taking shelter in a doorframe did not apply in this setting. The only thing I could do now was wait for relief… and hope and pray I would still be alive once the earth had had its way.

  The sound of ripping steel caught my attention. I swung my head around just in time to see the upper floor near the garage exit come crashing to the ground a hundred feet behind me. I watched in shocked horror as smoke from the collapse billowed toward me like a rampaging beast. Covering my head with my hands, I closed my eyes as fast-moving projectiles slammed into my car with the force of a bomb.

  Only after the wave had passed over me did I dare open my eyes. My back window was shattered, and I was blanketed in glass and dust. And still the earth continued shaking. I wasn’t going to survive this. This underground hell would very likely become my grave. Then, in what I believed to be the final moments of my life, I thought of him—Chad—the man I was about to die with. Our feud seemed so childish now, so petty. I wished I could take it all back. Start anew. But we might not have that chance…ever again.

  It was his face I focused on seconds before a concrete slab ripped free of its mooring and dropped from the floor above.

  My body settled as the earth ceased its quaking. The car alarms, which had been going wild a few seconds before the collapse, seemed to have leveled off into a polite whimper—their final cries as they lay dying under the weight of thousands of pounds of concrete.

  It was as if the earth were observing a moment of reverence for what it had destroyed. I sat stunned in my car, the strange unnerving moans giving the sensation of being underwater. I kept my eyes closed, too afraid to face what lay ahead.

  Open your eyes, Dani. I had to know what I was dealing with. I had to find my strength.

  Reaching up with shaky hands, I cleared the dust from my eyes before slowly opening them to the new world order. Nothing looked familiar. The landscape around me had totally shifted in a matter of seconds, and now I was in a desolate wasteland, covered in destruction. The ceiling, once a healthy distance above, was now bearing down menacingly, trapping me in an eerie gray igloo of exposed rebar and crumbled pillars. It felt like I was in a hole, as if the ground had caved in and the ceiling was chasing after it.

  Oh, god. Dragging in a raggedy breath, I tried to keep it together, but I was slowly unraveling. How could this have happened? Buildings didn’t just fall. A quake this size could have taken out the whole city. Tightness spread through my chest. Breathe, Dani. Now was not the time to panic. A clear head, that was what I needed. And instead of focusing on the truly horrible situation I was in, maybe I should be grateful that somehow, amongst all the destruction, I’d been spared. Was this my wake-up call? Had I been handed a second chance to become a better, calmer, more introspective person? I could fall back on the weaknesses that held me back before, or I could look forward with strength and perseverance.

  Not that I really had any choice. If I didn’t find my inner bra
very, I would surely die here in my car…or what was left of it. During those few short seconds of shaking, my Subaru had split in two. Where there had once been a dashboard and an engine, there was now just open space. The beam that had decapitated the hood of my car had worked like a seesaw, and now the mangled wreckage was elevated off the ground. I was still strapped in my driver’s side seat, my legs dangling over the edge like a rider on one of those inverted roller coasters.

  There was no safety plan for this, no accompanying handbook. This was all survival stuff—instinctual. If I wanted to get out of this, I needed to think like a wild animal caught in a snare. First things first: did I still have access to all my body parts? Just because I was feeling no pain didn’t mean I’d escaped unscathed. Shock was a funny thing, tricking the body into thinking things were all hunky-dory when bits and pieces were actually hanging off you.

  I took stock of my limbs, systematically testing various body parts for malfunction, and was relieved to find them responding properly—or at least they were from the waist down. Waist up was another story. Shards of glass were embedded in my skin; I must have looked like a shiny porcupine. Gritting my teeth, I went to work gingerly extracting those I could, even gathering the bravery needed to dislodge the one in my cheekbone. But a particularly jagged blade of glass rooted deep in my left arm proved to be beyond my level of expertise. Plus, if it was working as a stopper to prevent an artery from bleeding out, my instinct was to let it stay.

  Slipping my right arm out my lightweight sweater, I used that as a tourniquet, tying it tightly around my upper left arm with my teeth. That would have to do until help arrived. If it did. I wasn’t naïve enough to think my apartment complex was the only scene of destruction in this city of millions, nor did I think first responders would head here first. If it was this bad here, I couldn’t help but wonder what a quake this size had done to the rest of Los Angeles. To my students. To my school.