Falling From Grace

by SL Naeole

  The answer was simple. I'd be dead.

  It was a reality that was difficult to accept. Even if someone had found me on the road shortly after being hit, I knew that the injures that Robert had healed before help arrived were not so easily repaired after as long a wait as we'd had for the ambulance. Time would have been my death sentence just as easily as the hit and run would have.

  But Robert had heard me. He had heard my cry for help, as weak as it was, and came for me. I hadn't questioned why...and really hadn't gotten much of an explanation on the how. I had been so relieved, so incredibly happy that he had found me, and that he was there, talking to me and holding my hand that I didn't think about what his reasons were for coming in the first place. I knew he trusted me. I knew that more than I knew anything else at the moment, and that helped me to push aside any other thought that was nagging in my mind.

  I didn't realize I had fallen asleep until I heard the doorbell ring. I sat up, noticing that I had been sleeping on the couch, covered by some hideous looking blanket, and made an attempt to stand. I was incredibly dizzy for some reason and nearly toppled over onto the coffee table. Janice, who had been on her way to answer the door saw me and rushed to help me back to a sitting position, calling out "Come in!!" to whomever it was standing on the other side of that damn bell.

  Janice was putting my feet back up onto the couch and covering them with that ugly blanket when a small cough alerted us to the guest who had allowed himself into the house at her request. It was Mr. Branke, the Octopus. He had a manila envelope in one hand, a bunch of flowers in the other.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Shelley. I came by to drop off your class assignments and bring you these." He handed both the flowers and the envelope to me, smiling widely, causing him to resemble a hyena circling what it thought was a wounded calf. I took the envelope and the flowers as quickly as I could, snatching them out of his hands so fast, flower petals showered onto the floor.

  "Um. Thank you," I said, trying--but failing miserably--to smile. Showing any type of affection was the wrong thing to do because as soon as he saw the corners of my mouth twitch up, even in strained measure, Mr. Branke sat down next to my feet and started to pat them beneath the blanket. My attempt to be polite had been received as an invitation of familiarity that was far too intimate for anyone...especially between a teacher and a student. I cringed, looking at those chubby, sausage like fingers fiddle over the blanket on my feet.

  Janice--thank God for Janice--seemed to notice my discomfort. "Excuse me, Mr..." she paused for him to tell her his name.

  "Branke. August Branke. I'm Grace's biology teacher," he replied, smiling. Like a crocodile.

  "Yes, well, Mr. Branke, Grace has been through a great deal, as you know, and she needs her rest. I will tell her father that you stopped by with her homework, and-" she looked at the quivering pile of weeds in my hands "-the lovely flowers. So if you don't mind, let me see you out." She waved her arm towards the door, in case he needed a visual as well as verbal cue that it was time for him to leave.

  He stood up, taking the hint as well as anyone would, and nodded at me. "I hope to see you back in school soon, Grace."

  I nodded back, but couldn't muster up enough to smile.

  Janice walked with him towards the door, and I threw the flowers he had brought me onto the ground. The manila envelope--now that I opened. Inside were assignments from all of my classes: those that I had missed, and those that I would miss for the next two weeks that I had been ordered to stay home.

  The assignments from French class were typical translation and description worksheets. Mrs. Hoppbaker from Calculus had us working on polar coordinates, while Mr. Branke wanted me to study up on the cellular structure of the human pituitary gland for a test we were having that Friday I'd be returning. Well sure thing, Mr. Branke, I'll just whip out my trusty ol' Guide to the Pituitary Gland right now!

  Mrs. Muniz in English Lit had chosen Edgar Alan Poe as the author of the semester and required us to choose a few poems to dissect in essay form, in no less than twenty pages, to be turned in at the end of the semester. I hadn't expected Poe. Last year's copy of the fourth year syllabus hadn't really contained any poetry in the book list, and I had never been a fan of Poe's woeful and dreary prose about love lost. But then again, that was before I had lost love myself.

  I had a new perspective on things, on life. I made a mental note to check out a few of Poe's collective works from the library as soon as I could.

  Sixth period theatre was going to pose a problem for me with regards to the class assignments because I wasn't able to be there; I couldn't rehearse any lines, which also meant I couldn't act them out either, not that I was complaining about such a thing, of course. But, when I looked for the sixth period assignment list, there was none.

  I held the manila envelope upside down and shook it. A little slip of paper the same color as the envelope fell out and floated onto the floor. I bent to pick it up and saw that it was a note. It read, "Your study partner for sixth period Dramatic Arts has been randomly chosen and will be by later this afternoon to provide you with your study material and assignment requirements."

  I tried to remember who was in sixth period to see what the odds were that I'd be paired up with someone who couldn't stand me. I knew that Erica was in my class, as well as a few of her blondemates. I wouldn't have much of a problem with the pimply boys, whose names I somehow remembered as Chad, Dwayne, and Shawn, or Chips, Dip, and Salsa as they preferred to call themselves. I did enjoy being in their group the previous week. They weren't as critical as I had feared, and Friday's performance had earned us a solid B+.

  There were a few other people I couldn't quite remember who seemed innocuous, and then there was Robert. Who would his partner be? Surely I wouldn't be so fortunate that I'd get him as my partner. Besides, he'd said he'd be gone for a few days, which meant there was no way he'd be coming over today.

  I sighed and hoped that I'd be partnered with either Chips, Dip, or Salsa. When Janice went to answer the doorbell that rang again fifteen minutes later, I swore never to hope for anything again; I'd just be let down.

  Following Janice into the living room was Erica. Janice had no idea who she was, so she seemed cheerful that more people were coming to visit me. I could see that Erica was also very glad to be visiting me, wrapped up on our old, ugly couch in an even uglier and probably older blanket.

  "Would you like something to drink, Erica?" Janice asked, looking very happy that I had another girl come to visit. "I have to get started on dinner, so it's no problem for me to get you anything. What about you, Grace? Are you hungry?"

  Erica and I glared at each other as we both responded "No thank you."

  Janice shrugged her shoulders and left, still beaming that, by all appearances, my social life was starting to look more and more normal.

  Erica was the first to speak as soon as Janice was out of earshot. "I see the rumors are true, you did go and get yourself hit by some car. Honestly though, if you think this little plan is going to get Graham back into your life, you're sadly mistaken."

  I fought the urge to deny her hidden accusation. She wouldn't have believed it anyway. "Why are you here, Erica?"

  She looked around the living room, taking in the sparse furnishings and smirked. "You and I were partnered up to write and perform a solilo-something, and since I'm too busy with Graham to really have anything to do with it, I brought it over for you to write up. I'll just pick up my lines later and then we'll perform them next Friday if you show up. If you don't, I'll still get an A, so please...take your time."

  She removed a bunch of papers from an obnoxiously large purse and tossed them onto the coffee table. "Those are the requirements. I don't know what it says, just that I sure as hell wasn't going to be writing that stuff out. I have a life." She put her hands on her hips, her tapping left foot sticking out from beneath a very impractical September-in-Ohio full length slip dress, and waited for me to pick up what looked li
ke half a ream of paper.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I hefted it onto my lap and started going over the requirements and the examples given, which made up the bulk of the packet. It seemed pretty cut and dry with the exception of one thing: the soliloquy I would read would be written by Erica, while she would read one that I had written especially for her. The part that made my stomach churn with apprehension and doubt however was that we weren't allowed to see the other's work until the day of our recital next week. As if it couldn't get any worse...

  I looked at her, wondering if she even comprehended what this meant. Did she even understand what a soliloquy was? I looked at her, remembering her struggle to pronounce "dormant" that first day back at school, and shook my head. Of course she didn't.

  "What? You're not going to write it?" she asked, a look of panic crossing her face.

  "Erica, we have to write soliloquies for the other person. I will write yours and you'll write mine." I explained.

  She stared at me, her face a completely empty slate. "What do you mean, I have to write yours. Your what?"

  "My soliloquy. It's a type of dialogue where we speak to ourselves. I have to write yours, and you have to write mine," I said, exasperated. "We-have-to-write-them-for-each-o-ther."

  She nodded her head, her face running through several emotions, finally landing on glee. Her eyes actually twinkled. It would have been beautiful if I didn't notice the sinister grin that accompanied it. "I get it. And we have to read what each other wrote, right? No matter what?"

  I grimaced. I knew exactly where this was going, and so did she. "Yes."

  Satisfied with my answer, she turned and headed towards the door. "I'll try not to be too honest," she called over her shoulder before leaving.

  It was then that I knew she had known what the assignment had entailed the entire time, and had merely wanted to hear me say it out loud. There was no going back now. But, would I be able to be kind to her? Or, would I write what I felt, what I knew to be the truth?

  I knew that she'd do her worst, be as absolutely cruel as possible with me, and I had to brace myself for that. I had to expect Graham to be the focus of her writing, because that was where she knew she could hurt me the most. I had no control over what she had planned for me, but I could control how I responded to it. I wasn't going to go to pieces over this. I had just survived a hit and run, right? Erica would be a piece of cake!

  Solid in my assessment, I called for Janice to bring me a pen and my binder from my backpack. I wasn't sure when Graham or Stacy would get off their respective practices, so I had to get as many of the thoughts that I had running through my mind jotted down so that I wouldn't forget them.

  I wrote until the pen's ink started skipping, which required that I get up and find one that wouldn't. I wrote until my hand started cramping, and then realized that was because I was gripping the pen too tightly. I wrote until the sun started going down and I needed to flip on a light.

  I was so engrossed in the free flow of thoughts to paper, I almost didn't notice when Graham, a sub sandwich firmly wedged between his lips, a giant cup of Coke in his hand, and stinking of sweat and grass, plopped down next to me. It was his stink that gave me enough warning to close my binder before he could see what I had been working on.

  "Ugh, you reek," I complained, falling back into our old routine like a foot falling into an old shoe. He proceeded to shake his head, spraying me with sweat, and we both convulsed into laughter. I couldn't know if he felt as comfortable as I did, but I hoped he did, even though a part of me told me not to. Especially when the words that were written beneath my hand seemed to be screaming to be found out.

  FIGHT

  When Stacy arrived, Graham had already finished his sandwich, his coke, some pot roast that Janice had made for dinner, and a bowl of ice cream. She commented that his side of the couch seemed to be dipping disproportionately to mine, and she was right. I'm sure I could have placed a bowling ball in my lap and it would have swiftly rolled to his side due to the sharp incline. He, naturally, took this as Stacy calling him fat.

  "And that's what you are, lard-boy. Now move. I want to sit next to Grace and ask her about something important," she said contemptuously, her hands on her hips and a menacing gleam flickering in her eyes. She looked intimidating, dressed in her black and white uniform, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, perspiration shining on her face. I admired her, and envied her.

  Graham, however, didn't seem all that intimidated, or envious. He looked annoyed. I could smell a fight coming, and while normally I'd want to be as far away from it as possible, the idea of witnessing these two go at it intrigued me.

  "Who the hell made you queen, huh?" he mocked.

  Stacy smirked. "I'm sorry. Did you want that title for yourself, Princess?"

  Graham's face grew rigid. "I'm not leaving. This has been my spot since forever so you can find yourself someplace else to sit. Grace might be your friend now, but she's been my best friend for my entire life."

  Stacy looked smug then. "You mean your entire life up until you started dating Erica Hamilton behind her back and dumped her in the middle of your street, right? Your best friend."

  With what sounded like a herniated snarl, Graham stood up. His sudden movement sent me jerking back into the armrest of the couch while Stacy assumed an anticipatory stance, her face suddenly calm, her features feline, suiting her quick and lithe motions.

  "You need to get out of my face, little girl. Grace and I worked things out. Bring it up one more time and I'll shove that belt down your throat."

  I had never seen Graham so angry before. He was fuming, every part of his face red, from his eyes to his ears. I looked at Stacy to see if she was as worried as I. Of course she wasn't. She didn't know Graham, so any change in his mood was new to her and absolutely meaningless.

  "Try it, Princess. I'm sure you're just dying to prove how macho you are, considering that you weren't even the one who saved her life," she jeered, her weight shifting from one foot to the other as she awaited his response.

  Graham's face turned a very brilliant shade of purple at Stacy's taunting and I watched as he lunged, his hands reaching forward, fingers outstretched, ready. "NO!" I cried out, but didn't know who I was directing it to, because his reaction set Stacy in motion, and like a cat swerving to avoid a spray of water, she agilely stepped around him, his momentum causing him to plunge headfirst into Dad's recliner. Stacy was quickly behind him, turning the recliner's handle and causing it to lean back into a horizontal position which, coupled with Graham's weight and continued momentum, resulted in him being flipped over, landing on his face behind the chair.

  It happened so quickly, I wasn't sure if it had happened at all. Then Janice appeared, her face full of concern...for the chair.

  Graham groaned on the floor. "That's the second time today you had me on the floor."

  Stacy shrugged her shoulders. "I was being nice. Piss me off and I'll make sure you never leave that floor again." She stepped around the coffee table and then took his place on the sofa by my feet. "So, how was your day?"

  I stared, my mouth open, my eyes wide at the calm, serene expression that was on her face. She just felled an angry footballer nearly twice her size who had charged at her in a fit of rage, and she didn't even have a hair out of place. "Are you some kind of super woman?" I managed to get out while looking back and forth between her and Graham, who was still on the floor, probably trying to figure out how to salvage his pride.

  She laughed at me, at my surprise. "I'm just used to being picked on and attacked by guys twice my size. I have five brothers, six uncles, and a dad who runs the do jang, my Tae Kwon Do school. Graham pissed off doesn't scare me at all. You want to see me scared? Make my mom mad!"

  It was easy to laugh with Stacy, I realized, as I started laughing, too. I hadn't realized that life was much bigger and broader than the little world I had built around my relationship with Graham. Again, I felt a strange bit of gratit
ude for the hit and run, because without it, I wasn't sure if my relationship with Stacy would have progressed past the library meetings we had. I remembered the image that I had conjured up that morning about her as my bodyguard, remembering how comical it had seemed then. Not so, anymore. She had a skill that made her definitely capable of filling that imaginary role. It was something that I admired greatly, desperately. Suddenly, I had an idea.

  "Um, Stacy, do you think it would be too late for me to start learning Tae Kwon Do?"

  Her mouth dropped open, obviously shocked at my question. "No, Grace. I think it's about time you started learning!"

  I smiled. "How much are the classes? I want to start as soon as I get these stupid casts off. What do I need, when can I start? How tough is it?" I was excited now.

  Her eyes closed as she concentrated on something. "I think I could probably get you the family discount, and you can borrow most of my stuff. I have a lot of doboks that might fit you. They're long on me, but they should be just right on you, and you'll get your first tti when you start." She clapped her hands together. "Oooh! I get to teach you! I just remembered that my dad asked me to teach the beginners class! You'll be my student!"

  Suddenly, I wasn't so excited. "Um...you're going to be my teacher?"

  I saw the corners of her mouth turn down as her mood darkened at my question. "Yeah. Why? You don't want to be taught by a girl?"

  Realizing that just how quickly and easily I could end up on the floor next to Graham, I shook my head. "Oh no. It'll be great. Yeah." I tried to sound cheerful. I even managed a toothy grin.

  It seemed enough because she grabbed my binder and reached in to tear out a sheet of paper. "I'm going to write the directions to get to-" she stopped when she saw what I had been writing. She turned to look at me, her face a mixture of shock and mirth. "You have Mr. Danielson." Her voice sounded affected. "The second verbal assignments are always soliloquies. Hmm...and this one looks like it's going to be great...fun...is she writing yours as well?"