Continuum

by Susan Wu

  “Me, too. When I was four years old, we were on a family vacation at the beach. My mom had her hands full with Scott and my dad was off doing whatever my dad does. I remember dragging my little red sand pail and shovel and singing this song to myself. I’m so into the song that when I look up, my mom and Scott are gone. My parents had drilled it into me not to wander around looking for them if I ever got lost. There was an older boy, probably like ten or twelve, with his parents and he noticed I was alone. So he invited me to help him build a sand castle. My mom was furious and terrified out of her mind when she finally found me. I just wanted to stay and finish building the sand castle.”

  We approach the exit for Lakeside and Fallon has relaxed marginally or at least become distracted by my story. I pull into the parking lot for Lakeside Lanes as the song ends. As I turn off the engine, she breathes a sigh of relief and her hands disengage from the armrests to unbuckle her seatbelt. Her hand resting on the handle and facing away from me, she says quietly, “This song is one of my mom’s favorites.”

  Fallon doesn’t pause before exiting, letting the door swing close behind her. I am scrambling out of my seat and hitting the lock button, scrambling to catch up as her long legs eat up the short distance to the entrance. I think I see her taking a quick swipe under he eyes as she waits for me by the door. Her hair hangs over her shoulder, effectively covering her face and her voice is strained, “Shall we join the festivities?”

  Without thinking, I reach over and sweep her hair off her shoulder tucking it behind her ear. Her green eyes go round and her nostrils flare at my touch and I immediately drop my hand. We are friends. We are friends. We are friends. I did always have a problem with impulse control. Damn hippy parenting techniques.

  Holding open the door, I mutter, “It’s cold. Let’s go inside.”

  I follow her down a narrow wood paneled hallway. It’s dimly lit and smells of lemon wood polish. Loud pop music pours out of the speakers mounted on the walls as we wait in an awkward silence at the counter for our bowling shoes. When I try to pay for her shoes, Fallon pushes my hand aside handing the cashier a ten dollar bill, “I can pay for my own shoes.” When the cashier steps away to get her change, she turns to me with a serious expression, “This isn’t a date.”

  “It’s just a three dollar shoe rental,” I reply exasperatedly. Shoes in hand, we enter the main bowling area. It’s more crowded than I would have expected for a Sunday night. Sam waves us over from lane eleven. I almost don’t recognize Sam without his letterman jacket but I guess we are technically in enemy territory.

  He clasps my hand and slaps me hard on the shoulder in greeting. He surprises Fallon by pulling her into another one of his signature bear hugs, lifting her feet off the ground. A blonde girl wearing a tight, low cut beige sweater clears her throat loudly and Sam sets Fallon down. He is grinning broadly at me, he wriggles his eyebrows at me knowing Fallon can’t see. She is flustered, straightening herself out from his enthusiastic greeting.

  “Samuel,” I say formally, a hint of warning in my voice.

  Sam’s smile doesn’t waver and he winks at me before turning to face his date for the evening. He definitely has diverse tastes in girls. “Cassidy Browning, these are my friends from Everest Heights, Ethan Hayes and Fallon Pierce.”

  Cassidy is blonde, not naturally, with blue eyes, also not naturally. Despite being very slender, she has curves where it counts. A hint of her impressive cleavage peeks out from the vee of her sweater. She unfolds her slender legs which are encased in tight black leather pants and stands up to shake our hands. Her stiletto ankle boots make her tower over Fallon. Geez, did Sam say she was still in high school?

  Shaking her hand, I return her polite smile. She gives Fallon the once over and her smile is less polite. Fallon returns with a less-than-warm smile of her own as they shake. I don’t really understand Sam’s tastes in girls. But I guess his appetite for girls is vast and this town was only so big.

  Cassidy’s forced, fake smile turns into a full-on megawatt, beauty queen smile as her attention returns to Sam. She wraps her arms around his elbow, tucking herself close to his side, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He chuckles and bends down to whisper in her ear and I roll my eyes as she swoons. They walk off arm-in-arm toward her group of friends, leaving Fallon and I trailing behind. Another interesting evening ahead. The four of us are bowling on one team against two other couples from Lakeside.

  Sam makes a show of limbering up and stretching while Cassidy giggles and watches admiringly. Fallon is watching them as she loosens the laces of her bowling shoes, some indecipherable emotion in her eyes. Jealously? Longing? Who can tell what girls are thinking?

  I kick off my boots and tuck them beneath the bench, putting on my rented bowling shoes. “Have you been here before?” I ask her as Sam enters our names into the computerized score board.

  “Yes, I did grow up around here,” she replies matter-of-factly. “There’s not really anything else out here. Bowling alleys are a popular place for birthday parties, family time, hanging out with friends, dates, pretty much everything.”

  Lacing up my right shoe, I pause, “How are you at bowling?”

  Fallon gives me a sly smile and stands up, “Not terrible.”

  Our names pop up on the screen above the lane. Cassidy is up first. She and Fallon are about the same height minus the ridiculous heels. She picks up a hot pink, six pound bowling ball. Smiling suggestively at Sam, she makes a show of rubbing the ball and then having him blow on it for luck. Without turning her head, Fallon looks at me from the corner of her eye and we both have to look away quickly, choking back our laughter.

  Cassidy wiggles her leather clad butt before dropping the ball at the start of the lane. It rolls slow as molasses down the lane before veering into the gutter halfway to the pins. Pouting, she crosses her arms, pushing her chest out. I almost spit out my soda and start coughing loudly as it goes down the wrong pipe. She shoots a glare at me before turning her attention back to Sam.

  Sam reaches across the table separating the benches and thumps me on the back, hard. He smirks knowingly, “You okay, buddy?”

  “Yep, I’m--I’m fine. The soda--soda is very cold,” I manage to sputter out.

  Wow, she is way over the top--worse than Mackenzie. Fallon’s eyes are fixed purposefully ahead at our scorecard but I see the corner of her mouth lift as Cassidy gears up for her second go. She’s a bit more successful this time and knocks down four pins.

  I’m up next. It’s been a while since I bowled. I weigh a couple different colored balls in my hands, settling on a fifteen pound black ball. I look back at our group. Cassidy is sitting practically in Sam’s lap, nuzzling his ear as he laughs. Fallon is watching me curiously. I hope I don’t make a total fool of myself.

  With the ball in hand, I walk over to Fallon and lean down so our faces are level. Against her ear, whispering low so that Sam and Cassidy can’t hear me over the music, “Do you want to blow on my ball for luck?” Her quiet laughter is a delicious sound in my ears. She covers her mouth with her right hand and blows on the ball.

  I straighten up and turn to face the pins, taking three quick strides before releasing the ball. I watch the course of the ball and resist the urge to punch my first in the air when I knock over nine pins. I don’t pick up the spare but I’m still satisfied with my turn. Fallon’s turn is up next.

  Her right sleeve is pushed up revealing her slender wrist which looks even tinier adorned with a variety of bracelets stacked almost up to the middle of her forearm. Fallon picks up a dark red, thirteen pound ball with surprising ease for someone so small. She raises her eyebrows at me before stepping up and releasing the ball in a swift, coordinated motion. It shoots off like a bullet down the lane, hitting square in the center of the middle pin.

  The pins trip over each other as they all fall down with a sound like thunder. Fallon looks over her shoulder and gives me one of her signature shy smiles before turning around and watch
ing her score appear on the screen. I shouldn’t be that surprised since she seems to be good at everything.

  Sam high fives her on his way to choose his ball. He picks up a forest green sixteen pound bowling ball. Squaring his shoulders, Sam charges forward and hurls the ball in an impressive show of strength. I stand up to get a better look at the trajectory of the ball. The boom is like canon fire as the ball makes contact with the wooden floor. Surely he put a dent in the floor, but the floor is unharmed and the ball continues its journey, knocking over eight pins.

  Sam turns around, a goofy smile on his face, flexing his right bicep. Sheesh, if Sam wasn’t my friend I would want to clobber him. I see Fallon smiling back at him and I have to sit on my clenched fists to fight the urge to punch something. He gives me pointed look inclining his head toward Fallon and back again in my direction before going to retrieve his ball. I scoot down closer on bench with the pretense of looking at the score so we’re sitting with our legs almost touching. Her breath hitches as our knees touch but Sam releases the ball, making her jump back at the deafening boom. He picks up the spare and our team is in the lead despite Cassidy’s lack of bowling prowess.

  By the fourth frame, the rest of the group is antsy. They stop to take a break and get some snacks. The game is taking longer because Cassidy is sitting on Sam’s lap and they are locked in a passionate embrace, making out unabashedly. Just like I had predicted.

  I peel my eyes away from the entangled couple and turn to Fallon. Her cheeks redden as our eyes meet. The impulse to reach over and stroke her face makes my fingers tingle. My hands are almost numb from being curled into tight fists all night and I command them to stay still.

  I try to lighten the mood, “You’re really good at this.” Fallon is leading the pack with 67 and Sam is a trailing behind her with with 59. She is creaming my paltry 51 points. My bowling luck is starting to run dry.

  Fallon shrugs modestly, starting down at her intertwined fingers, “It’s all about physics.”

  Lifting my right eyebrow, I repeat skeptically, “Physics?”

  “Yes, physics is really important to bowling. You have to take into account friction, gravity, momentum.”

  I deadpan, “And you apply the principals of physics to bowling?”

  She tilts her head, the corner of her mouth lifting into a crooked smile, “Everyone does, Ethan. I just use the principals of physics to my advantage. Plus, I got a lot of practice applying these principals. I used to be in bowling club in middle school.”

  This girl never ceases to surprise me, “You were in bowling club?”

  “Yes, that’s how Sam and I...” She trails off but I finish her sentence in my head. That’s how she and Sam started dating. Yikes, I really don’t want to go down that road right now. Especially with Sam and Cassidy making out a few feet away.

  Instead, I change the subject, “Do you want to get some nachos?”

  “I would love some,” she practically leaps off the bench.

  It is almost 10:00PM as I pull up to Fallon’s house. Just as before, she sighs with relief and unbuckles her seatbelt as soon as the engine is off. This time she doesn’t reach for the door handle right away. Instead, she is wringing her hands together on her lap and gnawing absently on her bottom lip. She’s nervous for other reasons now.

  I don’t want her to feel weird around me because of what happened at Homecoming. I interrupt her fidgeting, “I had a really good time tonight, Fallon.”

  “Me, too.” She sounds surprised.

  “I’m glad. You really kicked butt at bowling.” We had slaughtered the other team thanks to Fallon’s final total of 193.

  Her quiet laughter is enchanting, “Thanks. It’s all about the technique. How you release the ball.”

  I grin in response, “Apparently, I suck at that part. Maybe you can give me some physics lessons because I’m pretty sure I never learned any of that.”

  “You could use a few pointers,” she smirks. I like lighthearted, teasing Fallon. It’s so easy to talk to her. This is uncomplicated. I can do uncomplicated if that’s what she wants.

  Shaking my head, I reply, “Probably more than a few.”

  “Maybe you should try imagining the ball making contact and knocking down all the pins. Envision the outcome you want.” I roll my eyes at her suggestion. That technique has already failed me. I have spent many hours imagining the outcome I want with her, but so far no success.

  “To be safe, I’ll carry around my lucky rabbit’s foot and wish on the next falling star I spot.”

  Fallon glances at the clock on the dashboard, “I should go. We do have a quiz first thing in the morning.”

  Groaning, I unlock the automatic doors, “Don’t remind me. Let me get your door.”

  I step around to open her door and offer her my hand as she steps down from my mom’s massive SUV. That electric tingling dances under my skin but she releases my hand as soon as both feet are firmly on the sidewalk. We walk silently down her driveway and up the stairs onto her front porch. She turns her key and unlocks the door but doesn’t turn the knob.

  Her green eyes are wary as she turns to face me, her silhouette outlined by the bright red backdrop of her front door. I take a step closer and she moves back until her back is pressed against the door. Her eyes are wide and her jaw is tense, but she doesn’t say anything as I slowly lean forward. Impulse control, my brain whispers.

  Her back is flush with the door and I place one of my hands on the door so I’m standing close but not touching her. I kiss her softly on the top of her head. I close my eyes for a moment and inhale. She smells so good. My lips against her silky hair, I murmur, “Thank you again for the great evening. Good night, Fallon.”

  Pushing off the door, I turn away and march back to the car before she can reply. Before my control lapses. Before I can do something truly stupid. I slam the door of the SUV closed. She has already escaped inside by the time I’m back inside the car.

  I press my forehead briefly against the steering wheel and put the key in the ignition. We are friends. We are friends. We are only friends.

  Fallon

  Come Monday, it is like our botched Homecoming weekend never happened. Neither of us mentions anything that transgressed and we carry on our strange little routine. We sit together before the morning bell, spend lunch in the art room, and then Ethan walks me home after Psychology. We spend countless lunch periods and walks home discussing our favorite artists, books, movies. I haven’t talked this much throughout my whole high school career as I have these last few weeks.

  It feels so effortless to be around Ethan that at times, I even feel normal. But every once in a while, I catch a burning intensity in Ethan’s eyes that makes my stomach knot up with a hunger that has nothing to do with food. When we are together, I try to convince myself that everything will work out. But at night, when I am alone again, I worry about the consequences of my actions.

  One Friday afternoon as Ethan is walking me home, the heavens crack open. In an instant, we are thoroughly soaked. We both run through my front door, teeth chattering, water dripping into our eyes and off our clothes onto the floor. I leave Ethan in the living room as I go to pull some towels out of the linen closet. I pull a clean sweatshirt out of the dryer and quickly change out of my wet shirt and dump it into the hamper next to washing machine.

  When I return with the towels, I have to stifle my gasp. Ethan has taken his shirt off and lain it on the back of a chair to dry out. His broad muscular back is facing me and I can see a long scar that stretches the length of his spine. The small muscles in his back ripple as he runs his hand across the mantel of the fireplace.

  Wordlessly, I hand him a towel while drying off my hair with a towel in my other hand. He runs the towel through his hair making the muscles in his stomach stand out. I try to focus my eyes on the blank wall next to him and fail. His lips split into a huge grin as he says casually, “So this is where you live.”

  He walks around the living room eag
erly, like a dog that's finally been let inside the house. I try to act just as casual, but having Ethan shirtless in my house has me on edge, “Uh-huh. You walk me here almost every day.”

  Twisting the towel in his hands, he wraps it around his neck as he walks around the room. Ethan pauses, wrinkling his brow as he finishes his journey around the living room. He snaps his fingers like he’s having an epiphany, “This is where you live, but this isn't really your home though.”

  I swallow my surprise, “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, there's no photos. No trinkets. No mementos. This is just a place you live. A house, but not a home.”

  I try to shrug it off, but Ethan has a tendency to be overly observant. He already knows me more deeply than I ever intended him to. My eyes scan the house I live in. The walls of the living room are white and unadorned. Long, gauzy gray drapes hang along the bay window.

  In the center of the room is a pristine white couch, not a single dent in any of the cushions, a perfectly fluffed, light blue pillow perfectly centered on each cushion. A chunky knit, off white throw not so much as draped but placed mathematically over the back of the couch. The couch is flanked by gray linen wingback chairs with yellow flowered silk pillows. On the raw wood coffee table are neat stacks of various books on architecture and my school books.

  The arrangement looks more like a showroom than a living room. I had never really noticed how cold and empty this room feels. My mind is racing as I think about the first day I stepped into this house. I study the grain in the hardwood floor as the silence swells.

  Unexpectedly, it comes out of me, “My father bought this house Freshman year, after my mom died. She was the trinketeer. She picked out all the things in this room. I never had her eye for arranging things.”

  I look up from the floor as Ethan’s face drops, his eyes are horrified. His long legs eat up the distance between us and he surprises me by suddenly pulling me into his arms. My hands lay limply on his bare chest. I rest my face against his shoulder and inhale deeply. He smells of fresh rain and I have to resist the urge to turn my head and press my lips against his bare flesh. His voice is quiet and sincere as he murmurs into my hair, “I am so, so sorry, Fallon. I didn’t know... I didn’t know what I was saying.”