The Year They Fell

by David Kreizman

  Jack slid over to the low end of the piano, put his fingers on the keys, and started playing his bass part.

  Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada boom ba dada …

  “What are you doing? I really have to go.”

  Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada boom ba dada …

  “You’re just going to keep doing this, aren’t you?”

  Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada boom ba dada …

  “Fine. Make room on the bench.” I sat down next to him. It had been years since we played, but my fingers knew exactly what to do.

  Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada boom ba dada …

  Ba ba baaa dada dada dadaaa ba ba baaa dada dada dadaaa daaaa daaaa dada dada da da dada dada dada da

  Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada Boom ba dada boom ba dada …

  We never looked at each other, but our timing was as good as it had been when we were ten years old. He played those bass notes and I moved around inside them. The piano filled the house with the most music it had heard since the night of the party.

  When we were done, we sat there for a long time before Jack spoke. “I think we should sell the house, Soul. It’s too big for us, and I feel stuck here. Grandpa brought it up with me a few months ago, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I don’t know, for a while I thought we needed to hang on to it forever. That letting go of anything would be letting go of Mom and Dad. But the more we sit in here, the more I start to feel like I’m trapped. Like we’re living in this place where we were a certain kind of family, and pretending we’re still that thing. And it’s the same thing for me. I spent all this time trying to be what I was. I’m just finally starting to realize I’m not that anymore.” His words hung in the air. “Sorry,” he said, cutting through it. “I know I’m not making sense. There’s been a lot of that lately. It’s just the kind of shit I’ve been thinking about.”

  We’d been here forever. I thought this was the place we’d come back to on college breaks. Eventually, I’d return home with my serious boyfriend. My fiancé. My husband. My kids.

  That was all gone. It was different now. Jack nailed it. No matter how much we pretended, we weren’t that thing anymore. “It’s a good idea,” I said. “Siobhan’s dad is a real estate agent. We can ask him.”

  Jack nodded. “You should go. Have a fun girls’ night. I know Siobhan is psyched to have you back.”

  Jack walked me to the door and said goodbye. I’m not that anymore, he’d said. Suddenly, I had an urge to not just hear those words and feel them, but to see them. I took out my phone and typed them into a text. I sent the text to myself and watched it come back to me in a tiny gray bubble.

  You’re not that anymore

  YOU’RE NOT THAT ANYMORE

  Then I sent two more texts. One to Cody. And one to Archie.

  * * *

  The Sunny Horizons playground was mostly dark, but the floodlights from outside the school lit up a circle just around the swing set and on the stump where Archie was waiting, hands in his pockets and hoodie pulled up over his head. The lights reflected off his glasses.

  “Look, I’m wearing a coat,” I said, trying to sound cheery. “I’m learning.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. I started to explain that I wasn’t sure why I texted him, that I was supposed to go somewhere else, and something just told me that I needed to be here.

  Archie cut me off mid-thought. “I can’t do this, Josie,” he said, pulling the hood away from his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away what I found out about your dad. And I’m even more sorry that he wasn’t the guy you thought he was. But I can’t anymore. Thirteen years. You’ve been bouncing me around since I was four years old and I never complained. Because it wasn’t a choice for me. And for those moments when we were together and I got to feel what it might be like … It was worth it. You were worth it.”

  He kicked at the dirt. “Now you’re back at that table and dating that guy again and that’s great for you. You landed on your feet. And he’s … everybody says he’s the best. So I hope he makes you happy. But then you can’t text me and tell me to meet you here. Here—”

  His voice broke. Like he was choking on something. It was awful to see him like this, to know that I’d hurt him so much. And standing there in that same spot where he’d saved me three and a half years ago, I wanted him to know how grateful I was. How he’s the sweetest, most creative, special person I’d ever met. How much it killed me all of these years to stay away from him. It probably wouldn’t make sense to him. How it scared me too much to let him get close, but just knowing he was there, knowing that I could count on him if I needed to, meant more to me than almost anything in my life.

  He reached under his sweatshirt and pulled out his sketchbook. A new one, with a shiny brown cover. He handed it to me. I took a breath and opened the first page to a sketch of me in Daddy’s office. It was drawn on Daddy’s letterhead and taped on four corners to the page.

  “I saved every drawing you ever gave me,” I said. “The way you draw me … The way you see me. I wish I could be that person.”

  “You are that person. Do you really not know that?”

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things.”

  “You’ve been hurt.”

  Our faces were close, inches apart. Our breath mingled in the air. Our legs brushed against each other and the electricity shot through my body. I shuddered. I was panicked again, feeling that instinct to shut down, to run away.

  “The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you,” he said.

  I reached up and took off his glasses and then pressed my lips to his. At first, he didn’t move and I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Then he slowly put his arms around me and he kissed me back. I don’t know how long the kiss lasted. We broke, but were instantly back together with even more pressure, more intensity. I grabbed the back of his head to pull him closer.

  This time I pulled back. Archie was breathing heavily. His eyes were shiny from the cold.

  “Everyone’s lied to me,” I said.

  “I lied to you, too. But I’ll never do it again.”

  “I’m scared,” I said. “Are you?”

  Archie nodded. “If this all goes away again, I can’t. I just can’t.”

  I reached out and took his hand. He looked down at it and then back up at my face.

  “Lucas is at my aunt’s,” he said. We never let go of each other as we walked down the street to his house. He took off my coat and led me through the kitchen and down the hall past his bedroom. We stopped at a small guest room with a sea grass rug, a white comforter, and billowy curtains hanging by the window. Black-and-white sketches of the beach hung on the wall. I knew Archie had drawn them. The room was simple and beautiful and clean. He kissed me, and I closed my eyes and felt him gently guide me down to the soft comforter. In between kisses, Archie tried to catch his breath. “I don’t have … I mean, I’ve never been with anyone…”

  “I know.”

  “You’re safe here.”

  “I know.”

  I couldn’t tell if I was shaking or if it was him. I put his glasses on the nightstand. He undressed me slowly and traced a finger along my back as if he were drawing me.

  14

  JACK

  Dad you lying hypocritical piece of shit

  During one of my follow-up visits with the neurologist, he said I might have some “underlying emotional issues complicating my recovery.” He handed me the card for a therapist. I went to see her in her home office, a cluttered room full of books and candles.

  “Jack, why don’t you try this,” she said, after listening to me talk for a few minutes. “Write a letter to your father saying all the things you wish you’d said to him while he was still here.”

  “Why only Dad?”

  “I get the sense that there are some unresolved feeling there.”

  “But he’s dead. What’s the point?”
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  “Give it a try.”

  “Nobody writes letters anymore.” As soon as I got home, I called and cancelled next week’s appointment.

  But then one day I was walking past Dad’s study and I stopped to look at the golden Man of the Year plaque he’d won from the New Jersey Bar Association. And in my head, I started to write the letter. But I was never any good at putting pen to paper, so I took out my phone and texted his disconnected number.

  Dad you cheating selfish poor excuse for a father

  Look a man in the eye and let him know your character. Act as if someone is always watching. Remember that shit?

  Fuck you.

  Not sure if this was what the therapist had in mind. But it was what I needed to say. Football was gone. At the gym, the lights were too bright. The music was too loud. And as soon as I lifted anything heavy, I got dizzy again. Without anywhere for it to go, the bad shit started to build. The pressure. So I texted a dead guy and told him to fuck off. I hit things. I broke stuff. Shattered most of the trophies and picture frames in Dad’s study. Put a couple of holes in the wall, too. Better than hitting a person, I guess. Or tearing up a sketchbook.

  Here’s the thing about being the biggest guy in every room. Nobody feels sorry for you. Nobody thinks you need looking after. Jo was tougher than me from the day we were born, but she was half my size. Archie wore those thick glasses and babbled when he got nervous. Harrison was wound tighter than a baseball and looked like a strong wind could break him in half. But the scary guy with the bald head—the guy doing the blocking—he can take care of himself. People worry about him. They don’t worry for him.

  I hate you for what you did to Josie

  You were her hero

  You didn’t embarrass her when she made a mistake. You didn’t make her feel small

  All she ever wanted was to make you proud

  So she never told you when that monster took advantage of her. Better not disappoint Daddy. You had no clue your little girl was suffering

  Only I knew

  The night she slept out, I knew she wasn’t going to hang with Siobhan, but I thought she was going to see Cody. Most of the time, I stayed out of her way when it came to guys. Josie was a pro at not letting herself get hurt. Cody would be like the rest. Once he started getting too close, Josie would lift the hammer and end it quickly. No harm, no foul.

  As soon as we got to school that Monday, I saw that Cody was history. But whatever had happened that night was different.

  “You don’t have to walk me to class,” she said.

  “Who says that’s what I’m doing?”

  “You have math. It’s in the other direction.”

  “Maybe I’m lost.”

  “You’re definitely lost.”

  That’s when Archie came around the corner. As Jo turned to smile and wave, it was like I wasn’t there anymore. Suddenly I realized she hadn’t gone to be with Cody at all. It was Archie. Archie, who’d worshipped her his whole life. Archie, who’d taken care of her when I couldn’t. And that scared the crap out of me because I knew she could get hurt for real this time. What I did to Archie’s sketchbook was shitty, and I still felt bad about it. But I’d never feel bad for trying to keep Josie safe.

  At lunch, they both ate at Dayana’s table. Harrison, too. After everything that had gone down between Jo and Dayana, I was sure Archie was the one who convinced her to sit there. I watched as he made her laugh, and I hated it. I saw the danger. Archie was a good guy, but he was not good for my sister. We were all not good for each other. Look at what happened since the crash. Fights, suspensions, trouble. And all that conspiracy bullshit? Where would it lead? “The Sunnies” was not some fun after-school group. We were not the glee club. We were a bunch of messy, fucked-up people whose parents just happened to die on the same plane. When we were together, I always saw the cloud hanging over us. It was like spending your whole life at a funeral. I didn’t want that for Josie.

  Since my injury, Siobhan and I had gotten back together and broken up a dozen times. She’d try her best to help me feel better, and I’d pick a fight. Or I’d get lost in my own head and ignore her for days. Then I’d text her in the middle of the night, wanting to hang out and hook up. I asked for a lot and gave almost nothing in return. For some reason, she kept coming back.

  Guess I’m not so different from you, Dad

  This was the worst part of the relationship, the part where I had to lie. To her and to myself. “It’s gonna be different this time,” I’d promise. “I learned my lesson. I missed you.”

  You’d be proud of that line of bullshit

  I’d buy her flowers or put together a playlist of special songs. I’d Instagram some place that was meaningful to us and write a sweet message for all her friends to see. For about a day and a half she’d play hard to get. Eventually, we’d have yet another teary reunion that would last until the next breakup.

  Every time I pulled Siobhan back in, I felt worse about what I was doing to her. I’d blast Dad in a text and then act just like him. Valentine’s Day fell during one of those getting-back-together periods. I stayed away from Siobhan for most of the day. And then nighttime came, and Josie left to meet Archie. I sat alone in the house and poured myself a shot from Dad’s bar.

  Look at me Dad. Drinking your whiskey. Sitting on your stool

  Only thing missing is Mom fixing you a drink

  So civilized. Such a great couple. Everyone said so.

  I’m not like you

  I’m not

  A few minutes later, I was speeding to the drug store to pick up a card and a lame gift for Siobhan. When I pulled into the strip mall parking lot, it was mostly empty. Just a few cars bunched together under the light poles. I parked near the store, slammed my fists against the wheel, and took out my phone.

  I hate that I keep doing this

  I hate that I hurt her like you hurt Mom

  And Josie

  I hate

  I hate

  Climbing out of the Jeep, I noticed a guy in jeans and an old leather bomber jacket walking out of the Liquor Emporium. Holding a huge bouquet of roses in front of his face. Juggling his keys and a box of candy. Bottle of wine in a brown paper bag. Poor bastard forgot Valentine’s Day. Trying for a last-minute save, just like me. As he stepped off the curb and into the light, he adjusted the flowers in his arms and I saw his face. He had a beard that had come in half gray. His face was puffy and his eyes were red. But it was the same face I’d tried not to think about for four years. Mr. Murphy. Josie’s coach. Murph.

  Suddenly my whole body got warm. The sound of rushing water in my ears, like before the first whistle in a football game. Time slowing down. My vision narrowing so that I could only see what was right in front of me. My heart slamming against my chest. Every muscle in my body tensing at once. Murph walked toward me, balancing the wine and the flowers. He clicked his keyfob and the car beeped twice. His shiny blue Mustang—right next to my car. The same car I used to see almost every night on my street. In front of my house. The one he picked her up in. The one he …

  He was almost right in my face before he recognized me. “Jack? How are you? It’s good to see you, man.”

  I couldn’t speak. There was so much building in my body. Acid rising in my throat. I could see my shadow shaking in front of me. Vibrating. Like it was going to spring up and attack him.

  Murph’s face cracked into a sad smile. “How’s my girl JC doin’?” he asked. “Tell her I said hi and I’m thinking about her.”

  My body, as if on autopilot, charged forward. I hurled myself shoulder first into his chest. Murph let out a shocked grunt as his back slammed hard against the side of the Jeep and his head snapped back. The roses crunched in his hands and the candy box sailed onto the roof. The wine bottle hit the ground and shattered. Struggling for wind, Murph rebounded off the car and collapsed forward into the dark red puddle. And I was on top of him, raining down blows on his head. There was blood and wine and glass everywh
ere, and I couldn’t stop myself from hitting him over and over and over. I could hear a woman screaming in the background, and Murph was begging me to stop, then whimpering. Then he wasn’t making any noise at all.

  Someone finally grabbed me and yanked my arms behind my back. I looked up into the bright parking lot light to see two police officers shouting for me not to move. A beefy cop, almost as big as me, pushed me down and slapped handcuffs on my wrists while the other checked on Murph. I finally blinked, and the rest of the parking lot came into focus.

  Murph was motionless on the ground, his face a misshapen mess. But he was breathing. I was almost surprised to see that I hadn’t killed him. The officer pulled me to my feet and I was suddenly exhausted by the effort it took to stand. I could barely keep my head up. A small crowd had gathered around us. On the far side was a plain, middle-aged woman holding a shopping bag. Mrs. O’Meara, the librarian at the middle school. After the crash, she’d sent us a nice card with an angel on the front. She looked terrified.

  One of the cops recognized me. From football or “The Sunnies,” I don’t know. “We’re gonna have to take you in, Jack,” he said as they loaded me into their car. “Tell us who you want us to call.”

  Guess you won’t be picking me up from the station this time, Dad.

  My hands throbbed. My pants were shredded and my knees were cut up from the broken wine bottle, but I slept more soundly in that jail cell than I had in a very long time. Most nights, I’d wake up with my heart racing. The only way to get calm was to walk down the hall to Josie’s room to make sure she was safe in her bed. But on this night, on the lumpy cot of a brightly lit jail cell, I closed my eyes and crashed.

  Officer Tobias, the beefy cop, woke me with a cup of coffee to tell me my visitor had arrived. I looked at an old clock on the wall: 1:37 A.M. The officer led me into a private room with no windows where Vanesa was sitting at a metal table, rubbing her hands together.