Landslide

by Jenn Cooksey

  “I could swear I drove past that creepy tree with all the roots showing and the private drive sign at the bottom of the hill earlier when I was looking for my turn, but…I couldn’t have because wasn’t your dad’s place in Lake Arrowhead? I think I might be confused about where we were.”

  “No, you’re remembering right. We just always said his place was in Arrowhead because Crestline isn’t exactly a well known spot on the map. It’s just easier and takes less explaining to people who need a more popular tourist town in order to stick a pin down on their mental map.”

  “Huh, that makes sense. But, God, I can’t believe I actually recognized the tree and everything…that whole trip seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “It sorta was, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it was,” I agree and try yet again rubbing my hands together to ward off the beginnings of frostbite.

  Appearing to not even think about what he’s doing, Cole takes both my bone-cold hands in his surprisingly toasty ones, blows his blessedly warm breath onto them and proceeds to rub his body heat into me via my hands.

  “Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do… It’s closing in on eleven now, everything but the bar is gonna be closed, so I can’t do anything about your car tonight. It sounds like you’re probably not far from my house though, so I’ll run back and get my truck, you text me the address of your place and get together whatever you don’t wanna leave over night. Payton and I will drop you there on our way home, and I’ll see what I can do in the morning. Does that work?”

  “Yeah, that would be fantastic,” I smile at him and swallow the giggle rising in my throat when I picture Cole as my Indian guide, with red stripes painted on his cheeks, feathers somehow braided into his close-cropped hair, and driving in the direction some kind of mystical Native American compass affixed to the dashboard of his truck is whispering for him to go in.

  “Alright, good, then get started, sport,” Cole tells me and follows it up with a light smack to my butt.

  I watch him take a few steps away and still having a hard time comprehending what he did, I ask, “Did that just happen? I mean, did you just…spank my ass?”

  He stops and turns with another cigarette dangling out of his mouth. “Yep. I think I did.”

  A “where the hell did that come from” look accompanies my single word query. “Why?”

  “Really? You don’t question anything else I’ve ever done to you, but you’re questioning that? Because, sugar, let’s be real for a quick second here…I’ve had my face between your thighs, so slapping you on the ass…? I’m thinking not a big deal in the grand scheme, you know? Besides, both seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” he answers with sarcasm inherent and a playful wink before lighting the cigarette, turning around again, and leaving me to my tasks with my mouth hanging open.

  30

  “Drops of Jupiter”

  —Cole—

  “Can I ask you something and get a real answer?”

  We’re standing on the porch of her rental house in front of the open door, waiting for Payton who just announced he wants to be the first person to break in the bathroom. What she’d chosen to not leave in her car all night, he and I carried in for her while she upended a backpack fruitlessly searching for her phone charger, and we checked out every square foot of the house inside and out, as well as walked the perimeter of the two-acre property looking for signs of ax murderers who might have or might still be squatting here when she made a joking yet clearly apprehensive comment about being slaughtered in her sleep by Jason Voorhees or Mike Meyers.

  At first I wanted to laugh and tease her for being worried. Although the creases etched in her forehead and nervous nail biting abruptly stopped being funny when an owl let out a foreboding screech somewhere in the dead dark, and every scary movie I’ve ever seen played through my head reel by reel at lightning speed. Automatically my eyes searched the blackened pine forest surrounding the house that’s closest neighbor is more than a quarter mile away. With the reality that her phone is almost dead, she hadn’t found the charger for it, and adding in the more than likely truth that no one would ever even hear a scream regardless of how loud it was, her joke became my legitimate concern. And quite honestly, no matter how farfetched the possibility, the potential for a massacre couldn’t be ignored and had me more freaked out I think than she actually was. So, I kept my mouth shut and set out to ease our more or less irrational fear by looking in every closet, cupboard, and nook and cranny even a mouse could squeeze into to make sure there aren’t any boogie men lurking around just waiting to get her in the night.

  “As opposed to an imitation answer?” I joke and chuckle at the look she bends on me that borders on exasperation and quite possibly could be taken as a prelude to her punching me if I don’t stop with the wisecracks and messing with her in general.

  Not that I’ve ever really minded Erica trying to beat me up, but the honest truth is, I’m beyond wiped out physically and to an even greater degree, emotionally. However, my body is more sore than usual thanks to moving furniture and appliances throughout most of the day, and my back has been screaming at me for hours now about the bottles of Flexeril and Tramadol with my name on them waiting for me at home. Not to mention how once or twice it’s whispered a reminder about the Vicodin I only take when it’s absolutely necessary.

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll try for a genuine answer, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “Has tonight been as weird for you as it’s been for me?”

  The question isn’t a surprise; it’s just one that I feel giving a straightforward answer to right this very minute could bite me in the ass. After all this time and the way she and I left our relationship, broken and seemingly beyond repair, it shouldn’t have been so damned easy for either of us to almost immediately settle into a kind of familiar rhythm with each other. And it unquestionably was. As if when happenstance had her traipsing back into my life, the planets had chosen to align perfectly just to offer one last shot for us to hitch a ride on the comet that I sincerely believed passed by even the most fortunate only once in a lifetime.

  At my first understanding of what is ultimately on the line yet again, I became almost desperate to trade my soul for a single look at her face in the hopes of seeing the shooting star of my forfeited dream staring back at me in her reminiscing eyes. Although predominately recognizing the signs of somber tears lurking behind them instead, I discovered I don’t have the confidence I used to in my former ability to absorb them within myself for her.

  I think I might be willing once more but, I’m also uncertain at this point if she would be even remotely receptive to me making an effort to turn myself into an emotional black hole where she can empty herself completely of every ounce of hurt, heartache, and sorrow she’s experienced over the years, including the ones from when I was dead to her. Simply attempting anything like that let alone succeeding isn’t something I really relish having to do; although I honestly think I’d still do it if going through that again would result in a life forever lived being loved by her.

  However, I’m not about to try swallowing all of what I’ve already had a considerable taste of when it would most certainly be in vain at this juncture, especially when aside from learning she chose to have an ante mortem memorial service for me, I haven’t received any clear confirmation that she’s even missed me at all, leaving me still quite undecided on what to do or how to proceed.

  The thing is, I need to figure it out—sooner rather than later because later kind of doesn’t exist for me. I’m working within an exceedingly short deadline and the clock is already ticking, which means wasting time playing games, though fun, probably isn’t the best way for to me figure out what I need to know in the time I have. Indisputably, she and I both have spent the majority of tonight’s chance encounter wearing life vests while testing the waters and so far, there hasn’t seemed to be a fatal riptide pulling at either of us.

  That doesn’t mean there isn�
��t one a little further upstream however, and my fear is if I take my floatation device off too soon, I’ll be battered and thrashed yet again. But if that happens this time, I have no doubt I’ll wind up being sucked into a void so immense, I won’t be able to even see the light above, let alone be able to swim to the surface before being truly lost at sea once and for all. So, rocking my head from side to side a little, I quickly consider my options in terms of how to respond.

  “Yeah…I’m not gonna lie, Erica, I don’t really know what to do with tonight. I haven’t processed it enough.”

  “Oh, I haven’t either. I mean you know me, I’ve never been all that quick at processing things to begin with, but, to be honest, I really had convinced myself that you were dead and I just…well, I guess I mean that this whole night and seeing you again has been pretty surreal for me. However, if there’s anything about tonight that hasn’t been unreal, it’s knowing that you’re alive and having to acknowledge to myself that I have missed you so, so damned much,” she sighs and smiles at me before reaching up to give me a hug.

  Bereft of them for as long as I have been, her arms around me only contributes to how it feels finally hearing that she’s missed me. The two combine in making me want nothing more than to allow myself to melt into her embrace…to sink bodily into the pool of elated hope springing up within me now from the well of certain knowledge that I was simply missed by her.

  That is, until her lips are unexpectedly on mine.

  At first, shock reigns supreme. Conscious hesitation follows quickly though, as the product of being hit by an instinctual wave of fight or flight adrenaline. My lips don’t seem to be aware of any misgivings the rest of me might be having however, as they almost instantly begin responding to Erica’s accordingly. They also remind me that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about eating her out. I mean, even more than her mouth, Erica’s vagina was fucking delicious and I’ve been craving spending some quality time with it to know if it’s still the delicacy I remember it as. Rationally I know it’s way too early for anything remotely like that, but truth be told, I’m starting to get hard now simply thinking about doing even the briefest of taste-tests. Thus having the decision essentially made for me already, I lift my hands and move to place them on either side of her face so that I can hold her lips to mine and truly kiss her like I’ve been dying to all goddamned night.

  Soul-stirring desire sparks inside me as I finally take her head in my hands, briefly removing my lips from hers so that I can drag in a deep breath, because if I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna fucking do it right, as I’m really considering the first kiss after seven long-suffering years to indubitably rank as a go big or go home moment of the highest order. Although that’s exactly when she abruptly pulls further away in addition to taking a step backwards, looking aghast and embarrassed with wide eyes as my hands fall back to my sides, and I start castigating myself for not going with flight when I had the chance…

  “Oh my God, I—I didn’t mean—I—it was just…habit I guess, but I won’t let it happen again, Cole, I promise, and I am so sorry.”

  Payton’s jovial voice coming from right inside the door declaring that the toilet works just fine stops me from doing anything aside from blurting out, “Yeah, um…well, it’s late and I’m beat so…uh, I’m gonna go.”

  I don’t even wait until Payton says goodnight to her before I get in my truck, start the engine, turn the headlights on, and throw it in reverse. And by the time he’s buckled up, I’m already a good half-way through the cigarette I lit up immediately upon my feet hitting the earth in front of the porch steps.

  “Dude. You took off so fast I thought you were about to leave without me… And, are you seriously smoking in here? What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks all uppity and disgruntled.

  I sum it all up with a monotone response that includes some self-deprecating sarcasm and is aided by rolling his window down for him, as one kiss gone wrong has evidently turned me into a chain smoker because I don’t hesitate to light up another cigarette with the cherry of the one that I feel burned down too fast for it to touch base with my anxiety whatsoever.

  “She kissed me. I kinda got myself geared up. She apologized for doing it out of habit and promised it wouldn’t happen again. Now it’s awkward.”

  “Huh. Didn’t you tell me that she gave you the best head of your life?”

  With my face remaining front and center, my eyes slide over to the side to glare at him. “Your point?”

  “Well, big picture here, man. I mean you know, even if it was or wasn’t habitual on her part, how awkward can a kiss really be after you’ve already had your dick in her mouth?” My face turns to meet up with my eyes and joins them in pinning him with a look that displays how much I regret ever letting him in the Erica vault, and possibly, being friends with him in the first place. He either doesn’t notice, or more likely, he simply ignores me. “I’m just saying, you gotta look at things in the grand scheme.”

  It takes everything in me to not break my hand on Brokeback Mountain’s know-it-all face the whole way home…

  31

  “Dive”

  —Cole—

  “Honey, I’m home!”

  Fantastic. He’s a great guy and I trust him with my life and everything I hold dear; however, if he says another word about that fiasco of a kiss, I’ll put the barrel of my shotgun down his throat and pull the trigger. I mean the inescapable introspective droning in my head is irritating enough on its own.

  Like, I get it, I do. I’m short on time and I’ve admittedly let two and a half days slip through my fingers without making an attempt to see or even talk to Erica because of one awkward moment, but… What if it wasn’t just an awkward moment? What if it was an indication or a sign of some kind that the home-fire of our past relationship has been snuffed out once and for all? Or even worse, what if the chemistry we had was a product of my imagination? It’s entirely possible. After all, aside from Friday night and maybe two or three times in the past, I was the one who initiated all the physical intimacy, which begs the question of whether she was just going along with all that out of any number of things, like being lost in grief and not knowing what else to do, or how to put a stop to it without hurting my feelings or possibly even alienating me somehow.

  In theory, that’s certainly plausible, as Erica had always put others ahead of herself whenever feasibly possible and sometimes, even when it wasn’t. Although, some standout moments from our summer together lend to heavy doubt on how much truth there is in that idea. A person can convince themselves of many things when they want to believe something exists badly enough; however, there were instances that even if I had the most exorbitant of imaginations, I couldn’t have mistaken her response to me for anything other than what it was.

  The thing is though, even if I could rely on that truth which was proven in crystalline moments long ago, I only received a brief texted thank you in response to the note I left for her when I dropped off her car early Saturday morning. So, I’m thinking maybe I read the signals wrong Friday night and I should just leave it alone until I hear from her again. I’ll have a better idea of where we’re at if I wait, because if seeing or talking to me is low on her priority list now after seven years, chances are that kiss was just a force of habit for her.

  It’s just… Damn. In the moment, it really felt like she was kissing me because she wanted to, not because it was what we used to do when she was hit with melancholy. Again, I know it’s been years, although the fact still remains; I used to be able to feel the difference in her lips. I guess I can just add yet another thing to my rapidly growing list of uncertainties and inabilities the long gap of time has seen fit to write for me.

  Time… Man, it’s a ball buster.

  Ain’t that the truth.

  I can accept that I’ve undergone some pretty dramatic life changes since I walked away from Erica, so I’m sure she has too, but, I’m not a different person; I haven’t changed. Not really an
yway, and I don’t think time has changed who she is as a person either. After all, it’s not as if it’s been something like twenty years. Then maybe I could see how changes in our lives or who we are could’ve been brought about that would make us incompatible in a significant way or unable to be together.

  Like a husband.

  Now that would be unfortunate and keep us apart. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, though. And I looked. Twelve gazillion times. There also wasn’t a tan line on any of her fingers to indicate that she’d worn a ring long enough for it to remain visible even after she’d taken it off. Still, I guess she could be divorced. Enough time has passed for a failed marriage—more than one actually. She could also be someone’s mom already. Even without being married once.

  God, this sucks. Not knowing what I’m dealing with and whether or not too much has come to pass since we’ve been apart, and, if any of it will continue to keep us apart.

  All I know for certain now is, I hate constantly checking my phone for texts or missed calls. I feel like a girl.

  Speaking of…

  Payton bustling around in my kitchen putting groceries away quickly with a deliberate intensity I’ve only ever seen him have in combat has me wrinkling my forehead and suspiciously narrowing my eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “Oh, there you are! So, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says and clasps his hands together in front of him in an overtly feminine way, reminding me of his extremely laughable and overdone flamboyancy in the bar Friday night when we were—er…when I was texting him unbeknownst to Erica and the guys.

  Payton had returned from the bathroom only to come to a surprised halt across the room when he saw Doppelgänger Jen standing at our table. I met his eyes over Erica’s shoulder and gave him a look that told him to get his gay ass over to the table, pronto. His response was to point at her and excitedly mouth, “Oooh, it’s Doppelgänger Jen!” That’s when I slid my phone from the table and holding it in my lap, I sent him a text that read, “Yeah. I know her as Erica though. FML.”