Falling Out of Place

by M. G. Higgins

  I open the door to Jo’s apartment. Same booming music. I see maybe one or two new faces, but otherwise it’s the same. I wonder if partying ever gets boring. I step over people’s legs. There’s a bong underneath me.

  “Hey,” I murmur, holding out my hand.

  A guy hands it up to me with the lighter. I take a long hit. In a few seconds the smoke gets where it belongs. The floor rolls under my feet. My brain floats … nice. Really nice.

  I look toward the kitchen. There’s Evan, behind the counter. My heart beats a little faster. My brain smiles. I think my mouth does too. God, I like Evan. Except Evan is with someone. The blonde woman from that first party. She’s nuzzling his neck. His arms are wrapped around her waist. I march into the kitchen. Scoot by them. Pour myself a tall shot of vodka. Down it.

  I whisper in Evan’s free ear, “Hey.”

  He turns. Looks at me. Grins. He says something to blondie. She shrugs, winks at him, and walks away. Now I’m in blondie’s place. Now Evan’s arms are around my waist.

  “You made it.” His hot breath makes my ear tingle. Then we’re kissing. And my brain goes offline.

  I’m in the bathroom, puking. When my stomach is empty, I lean back, wipe my mouth. My knees hurt from kneeling. I wonder how long I’ve been in here. Someone’s pounding hard on the door. Dad? Where the hell am I? I hear music and talking. Jo’s. I’m at Jo’s.

  “Will you hurry up?” someone yells.

  I stagger to my feet. Flush the toilet. Rinse my mouth in the sink. Unlock the door and a girl rushes in, slamming the door behind her.

  The last thing I remember is kissing Evan. In the kitchen. Evan. God, I like Evan. I really, really like Evan. I head to the kitchen. He’s not there. Jo is getting a beer out of the fridge.

  “Where’s Evan?” I ask.

  “Where you left him.”

  I squint.

  She shakes her head. “You are so loaded.” Then she says, “In the bedroom.”

  The bedroom. Okay. I think that’s okay. Yeah, it is okay. This is why I came here tonight. To hook up with Evan. Get my mind on other things.

  I turn for the hallway.

  “Uh, just a warning,” Jo says. “Since I know you’re squeamish about this stuff. Becca got to him after you locked yourself in the bathroom.”

  What is she talking about? I walk down the hallway. The bedroom door is shut. I open it. Evan is on top of the blonde woman. They’re doing it. They’re having sex. I think about screaming. I think about walking in there. Pulling her out from under him. Punching her in the face. Kicking her. Scratching her.

  Instead I close the door. Stuff the image of Evan and Becca into the room in my brain. Close that door too.

  I stagger through the apartment toward the front door.

  “Gabby, are you okay?” Jo calls from the kitchen.

  Are you okay, are you okay, are you okay?

  “He really likes you,” she says. “But he likes a lot of people. That’s just the way he is.”

  I walk home.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Ishould be getting dressed for work. But I’m standing in front of my closet, staring at a cardboard box. Gabby is printed across the top with a Sharpie. Dad handed it to me after Uncle Mike’s funeral. Abuelita found it in Uncle Mike’s room. I set the box on the floor of my closet. That’s where it still is, unopened.

  I’m thinking about the last time I talked to Uncle Mike on the phone. He sounded okay. Happy, even. I don’t get it. If he was happy, why did he hang himself? I consider opening the box, like I have a hundred times. Maybe there’s a clue in there. But the fact he picked out stuff for me after he’d already decided to kill himself. I don’t know. That’s messed up. Not something I can deal with. I grab my shoes and close the closet. Fill up my water bottle and take it with me.

  I just make the 7:40 bus. It’s Saturday, so not crowded. I sit next to the window. My reflection stares back at me. For a second, I’m not sure who it is. The girl’s hair is dull and clumped. Her makeup doesn’t begin to cover the dark circles under her eyes. She’s got lines at the corners of her mouth from frowning. Thank God the bus comes to my stop so I don’t have to look at her anymore.

  I walk to the warehouse on autopilot. I should have a plan for what I’ll say to Evan. Can’t think of one.

  “Hey,” he says when I walk in.

  I do my timecard.

  He’s in his usual position holding up the wall. Gripping a coffee cup. Eyes closed. I take the opportunity to stare at him. Drink him in. The graceful way he moves the cup to his lips. Those beautiful lips. Why do I still like him? After last night the sight of him should make me sick.

  But I still want him.

  Jo said Evan likes a lot of people. That’s just the way he is. I guess I don’t see anything wrong with that. As long as I’m one of the people he likes. Because he makes me feel like I’m worth something. No one else in my life does that. Tony used to. Randi used to. Uncle Mike used to.

  Evan swallows his coffee. Looks over at me and smiles.

  I smile back.

  “Sorry you left early,” he says. “We were about to have a good time.”

  About to? The part I remember was good. Wasn’t it?

  “Jo said you blacked out.”

  Blacked out. Isn’t that something that happens to hardcore addicts? “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  He pushes himself away from the wall. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much.”

  I stare at him, sort of disbelieving what he’s saying. “You drink. You even drink at work.”

  A look crosses his face. It makes my heart catch. Because it reminds me of my dad when he’s disappointed in me.

  “Yeah, I drink,” he says, “but I’ve never blacked out. Never. I know what I’m doing.” He crumples his coffee cup. “Get a grip, Talks-a-lot. Know your limits. It’s the only way you can hold a job and have a life.” He looks at the clock. “Jo is late again.” He heads to Jake’s office.

  I watch him and I’m six years old. Running after Dad. Begging him to pick me up. Wanting him to be happy with me again. Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I take a deep breath. Set my water bottle on the floor near the time clock. Slowly follow Evan to Jake’s office.

  While we’re there, Jo calls in sick. We’re slammed with deliveries. The store is running low on everything. Jake gets Hutch to come in on his day off. Evan spends most of his time at the loading dock. I’m in the store, stocking shelves. We don’t see much of each other. I’m back in Zombieland, just doing my job. Not thinking.

  By ten I’m feeling hyper. Antsy. A little shaky. On my way to break, I glance at my water bottle. Think of what Evan said. Leave it. Change my mind. Pick it up.

  Evan is already at the picnic table, smoking. I sit next to him. Close enough so we’re almost touching. Hope that whatever was bugging him earlier was just hangover pissiness. He likes me. I know he does. He pulls out his flask and takes a drink. Doesn’t offer me any. Glances at my plastic bottle. Suddenly, I’m seeing it like he does. It’s dented, the label is torn off. It’s well used. Overused.

  Evan sighs and sets his cigarette in an ashtray. Reaches into his pocket. Pulls out a plastic baggie and opens it. “Hold out your hand,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  I open my palm. He drops a pill into it.

  “Don’t mix this with what’s in your bottle,” he says. “Try it alone sometime. Broaden your horizons. Forget booze for a while.”

  I stare at the white tablet.

  He takes a drag on his cigarette. Blows the smoke out in a thin stream. “Jo told me to leave you alone. She said you’re too young. You don’t know what you’re doing.” He shrugs. “I thought you could handle it. But, as always, she’s right. You’re an amateur.”

  He gets up from the table. “Might want to brush your hair, Talks-a-lot. You’re kind of a mess.”

  I watch him walk back into the warehouse. I grip the p
ill in my fist. Gather my hair in my other hand and pull it back. Take a long swig from my water bottle. Then another.

  It seems like only seconds have passed when I hear, “Hey! Break was over ten minutes ago!” Hutch glares at me from the doorway.

  I get up slowly from the table. Shove the pill in my pocket. Pick up my half-empty water bottle. Think of walking across the parking lot, getting on a bus, and going home. But I don’t feel like sitting in my prison room with a box of stuff from my dead uncle. Then I remember today is the first day of basketball playoffs. I could go. Except I don’t know where it is. I don’t even know who they’re playing.

  That’s sad. So sad I think I might cry. But I can’t cry because I’m focused on my feet. Carefully putting one in front of the other, in a straight line so I don’t fall on my face. Which I picture in my mind. The picture of me falling is so funny it makes me laugh. Which is weird, because I was sad just a second ago. Wasn’t I?

  CHAPTER

  20

  I’m in the household aisle inside the store. Craning my neck at the top shelf. Where the box of wax paper in my hand needs to go. I get on my toes, raise my arm. Lose my balance. Reach out as I stumble. Sweep boxes off a shelf. Fall on the floor.

  A customer runs over. “Are you all right?”

  I’m on my side. Push myself onto my hands.

  “That was a bad tumble.” She’s an older woman. Gray hair. Looks worried.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure? Do you need help?”

  “No, I’m okay!” To prove it, I get on my knees. Grab a lower shelf. Pull myself up. Sway when I get to my feet. The store spins.

  The woman is still watching me. Her eyes narrowed. I wish she’d stop staring.

  “You’re a little wobbly,” she says. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No. I’m fine.” I let go of the shelf. Try to stand straight. Like a person who hasn’t been drinking.

  She nods. Returns to her shopping cart. Pushes it away.

  I take a deep breath. Bend over and pick up the boxes of foil I knocked over. Throw them back where they belong. I glance up at the top shelf again. It’s like Mount Everest. It’s like, why do I give a crap?

  “Cleanup in bulk foods,” the intercom says.

  Oh, cool. That’s me. I leave the cart of wax paper in the middle of the aisle. When I get to bulk foods, it looks like the floor is covered with insects. Cockroaches. I shiver. Walk a little closer. No, they’re almonds. Under the nut dispensers. Customers are stepping around them. I slowly drop to my hands and knees. Start picking them up one by one.

  A guy wearing boots steps through them. Nuts crunch under his heels. Grind into the linoleum. He fills a plastic bag with peanuts.

  I look up at him. “Hey, do you mind?”

  He stares down at me, like I’m a cockroach. “Why don’t you use a broom?” Now he laughs like I’m an idiot. When he’s done with the peanuts, he walks back through the almonds again.

  I stagger to my feet. “Jerk!”

  He shakes his head. Flips me off. Keeps walking.

  I’m shaking. Balling my fingers into fists. I start to follow him.

  “Do you work here?”

  I twist around. A woman is pushing a cart with a kid in it. He’s swinging his legs. His feet hit the cart with a loud choing-choing-choing.

  “Do you carry gluten-free bread?” she asks.

  “What? I don’t know.”

  Choing-choing-choing.

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, if you did, where would it be?”

  Choing-choing-choing.

  I glare at her. “I don’t have a damn clue!”

  “Excuse me?”

  Choing-choing-choing.

  “I said damn clue. I don’t have one.”

  Her eyes bug out. “I’m talking to the manager. What’s your name?”

  I hesitate. “Mary Smith.” I head for the warehouse. Still shaking. Shove my way through the double doors. Walk straight to the time clock. Look for my water bottle. It’s gone. I search around. Can’t find it.

  Evan.

  I march to the loading dock. He’s driving the forklift.

  “Hey!” I yell. He doesn’t hear me. I run ahead of him and step in front of Big Bird.

  It lurches to a stop. “Jesus!” Evan screams. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Where’s my water bottle?”

  He hesitates. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do. Where is it?”

  “I said I don’t know. Get out of my way.”

  “Where is it?”

  Hutch walks over. His arms crossed. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s lost her water bottle,” Evan says.

  Hutch grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of Evan’s way.

  “Thanks,” Evan says. He drives past us.

  “Let go.” I yank my arm back.

  Hutch squints at me for several seconds. “You’re drunk.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yeah?” He reaches into his pocket. Pulls something out. Shows me a bronze-colored coin. “Five years sober last month. I know a drunk.”

  I squint back at him. “Good for you. I just want my water bottle.”

  “Full of vodka, right?” His voice softens. “Go home and sober up. I’ll tell Jake you got the stomach flu.”

  I didn’t cry after Uncle Mike died. For two months I haven’t cried. But now I feel tears pushing against my eyes. My throat tightens. I whisper, “What if I don’t want to sober up?”

  Hutch sighs. “You may not think you do, but you do. Believe me. If you want to keep your job, go home. Right now.”

  I don’t care about keeping my job. But I don’t want to stay here, either. I stagger away. Head for the door. See my water bottle. It’s where I left it. On the shelf next to the toilet paper. I grab it.

  I drink what’s left as I’m walking across the parking lot. Drop the empty bottle on the ground. Realize I forgot to do my timecard. Don’t care.

  When I get on the bus, it’s hard to see the girl in the window. She’s a blur. I think she’s crying too. I hope she is. I mean, I don’t like thinking anyone else is this miserable. But I want the company. So I’m not so friggin’ lonely. A chicken in a pig pen. Or is it a pig in a chicken coop. Crap, Uncle Mike. Now I’ll never know. Why did you kill yourself? I dig my fingernails into my knees. Dig harder and harder and harder.

  When I get to my room, I open the closet. Reach behind my folded sweaters. Pull out the vodka bottle. It’s two-thirds full. I hope it’s enough.

  I take the white tablet out of my pocket. Pop it in my mouth. Down it with a swig of vodka. Drink the rest of the bottle as fast as I can. I hardly ate anything for lunch. There’s nothing in my stomach to get in the alcohol’s way. Which makes me wonder if I planned this. Maybe. When Evan gave me that pill, part of me knew it was my way out. My guarantee.

  I should write a note while I can still move. I grab my notebook and a pen from my desk. Carry them with me to bed. I sit there. Nothing. I have nothing to say. To anyone. I just want this to be over with. I lie down.

  As I rest my head on my pillow, I figure something out. About Uncle Mike. Why he was happy the last time we talked. It’s because he knew all the crap in his life was about to end. He’d made up his mind what to do. He didn’t have anything to worry about anymore. He was at peace.

  I get it, Uncle Mike. I finally, totally get it.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Ihear people talking. Their voices are loud. Rushed. I think of opening my eyes. But my eyelids are too heavy. I’m so sleepy. Please stop talking. I want to sleep. Just let me sleep.

  There’s a hissing sound. And a beep-beep-beep-beep. I wish the noises would stop. It’s annoying. I try to open my mouth. To tell the room to shut up. But I can’t part my lips. It’s like they’re glued shut.

  I’m in my backyard. Practicing the waltz for my quinceañera. I want the steps to be perfect. Cannot make an ass out of myself on my big b
irthday. I’m dancing with Tony. We twirl around and around. Feel so silly we start laughing. Fall into each other’s arms.

  Now I’m waltzing with my dad. We’re surrounded by friends and relatives. Randi is there. So is Celia. Uncle Mike. Everyone is smiling as us. At me. Dad’s looking into my eyes. His smile is bigger than anyone’s.

  “Gabriella,” Mom calls.

  I stop dancing. What?

  “Gabby!”

  I open my eyes. The light is bright. It hurts. I close them.

  “Gabby, por favor, stay awake!”

  I open my eyes again. Squint into the light. Turn my head. Mom’s face is inches from mine. She looks so worried. Now she’s crying. No, Mom, don’t cry. She’s petting my head. Squeezing my hand. I squeeze back. It’s okay, Mom. Whatever is wrong, it’s okay.

  I wake up. It’s dark. Night? My head hurts. A lot. There’s a little light in the room. Coming from the doorway. I’m not lying flat. My back is raised. I remember seeing Mom a while ago. Did she prop pillows behind me? Then I hear a beeping sound. A hiss of air. There’s something in my nose! I reach up to touch it. But there’s a painful tug on my arm. I reach with my other hand. There’s a tube attached to my wrist. And a tube in my nose!

  I start to panic. The beeping goes faster. I hear rustling nearby.

  “Gabby?” It’s Dad. He stands over me. His forehead is creased with worry.

  “What’s wrong! Where am I?”

  “You’re in a hospital. You ….” He doesn’t finish. He starts crying.

  I what? Why is Dad crying? Then I remember. I tried to kill myself. I drank vodka and took a pill. It didn’t work. My emotions crash into each other. Regret. I so wanted it to work. Embarrassment. Mom and Dad must hate me for doing this. But they seem sad. And that makes me sad.

  Mostly, I’m tired. I am just. So. Tired. I cannot deal with any of this right now.

  “I need to sleep some more,” I whisper.

  Dad nods. Kisses my forehead. One of his tears drop on my cheek.