Where We Fell

by Amber L. Johnson

  The food I’ve just eaten is starting to sour in my stomach, and all of my rightness, all of my bravado is fading as I stare her in the face. Because I know she’s telling the truth.

  “Or maybe I shouldn’t say ‘boyfriend’ because you’ve never actually defined this, right? What we have. You keep me at arms’ length because you think you’re going to die.”

  “But I’m not,” I whisper. Her mouth opens a little and then closes as she narrows her eyes at me and lifts a hand to angrily wipe away the tears that have escaped onto her cheeks.

  “I get it. You got the good news. And now you don’t have to define this.” Her chin quivers and she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Message received, Oliver.” She turns to walk towards her car, and I can’t find the words to stop her. It’s spiraled too quickly. Suddenly, she turns back around and points to where I’m standing. “You had a good summer. According to that.” I know she’s referencing the photos. “You should know that you got one thing wrong in there though.” She doesn’t elaborate. She just walks to her car and opens the door.

  I watch her get in.

  I see her start the car.

  I stand at the threshold to my front door long after she’s out of my sight.

  It’s only then that I have the strength to open the book to see what she’s talking about, and I find it almost immediately.

  There, below the picture of the two of us at the water the night of my birthday, where I had written the words “Where I fell,” she’d crossed them out and written in huge capital letters “Where WE Fell.”

  It’s enough to make me lose my dinner in the bushes.

  13.

  THE STRANGEST THING ABOUT being a cancer survivor is that you feel like you’ve been given this second lease on life. That somehow, after all the chemicals and the battles you’ve won, after staring death in the face and coming out the victor, you’re led to believe that you’re bionic or something. But at the end of the day, you’re still human. No more, no less. You’re not some wonder of modern science. You’re just you, without cancer.

  The reality of my overwhelming humanness is a slap in the face. There’s nothing perfect or second-chance about any of this.

  I’ve ruined everything and I know it. But there’s something inside of me that won’t come to terms with the fact that it’s entirely my fault. I saw what I saw and I can’t rectify my wrongness in my brain. I can’t see Coco as the guy. Can’t stop seeing Hannah on the couch looking at someone the way she used to look at me.

  Our garage door makes this ungodly noise because it’s right beneath my bedroom. It shakes the floor and rattles the entire way up and down so I’m never surprised by my parents’ arrival. Tonight is no exception. They’re trying to be quiet when they come through the kitchen, but their voices carry up the stairs and into my open bedroom door where I’m braced on the edge of my bed, awaiting their return.

  My dad is the first one to clear the stairs and hit the landing. But he’s not the one I want to talk to. Given his occupation, he’s been known to have skewed reactions to certain situations. My mom, on the other hand, she has a tender heart. While she doesn’t cry much, or hadn’t until recently, she’s soft on the inside. I need a soft answer to this mess I’ve made.

  Leaning out of my doorframe, I wait for her to walk my way. She’s looking down at her purse and when I call to her, it makes her jump and drop it on the ground. Her hand flies to her chest and she makes this surprised gasping sound that causes my dad to reappear quickly. Always on alert. I’m just glad he didn’t pull his gun or anything.

  “Sorry. I was wondering if you had a second?”

  She gazes over my shoulder towards my dad, her expression one of even deeper shock. Maybe it’s been a while since I’ve asked for a heart to heart. I can practically see her chest tighten up right in front of me. Like I’ve just asked the most wonderful question in the entire world. She’ll be so disappointed in me after I’m done talking that I’m almost tempted to tell her never mind. But I need her.

  I need my mom.

  She slips quietly into my room and I’m almost embarrassed to start the conversation. My dad closes the door behind her with a soft click and I take a deep breath, pressing my fingertips into the thick denim seam of my jeans against my left calf. She’s worrying her hands again, and I smile a little at the fact that, even though I’m adopted, I somehow took on some of her most obvious mannerisms.

  Without stalling further, I take a deep breath and fix my eyes on my computer screen that’s sitting atop my desk. The screen is pitch black – reflecting my sorry face back at me.

  “Mom, I screwed up.”

  Her spine stiffens as she closes her eyes and inhales slowly. “Is Hannah pregnant?”

  I laugh so loudly that she jumps, her eyes flying open at the sound.

  “Mom! When would we have even had the opportunity? I mean . . . oh my God.” Rubbing my neck with shaking palms, I can finally breathe. Relief surges through me at an accelerated rate and I relax onto one elbow to look at the confusion on her face. “No. This isn’t a sex talk. I don’t think.” The smile on my face slips a little as I state the truth. “I went to see her and when I got there she was dressed up for Halloween and there was a guy with her—”

  “No.” My mom’s reaction is cute, actually. She’s frowning like a cartoon tiger.

  “I thought it was a guy. It turns out it was just her roommate, Coco, dressed like a guy. But you should see this girl, Mom. She’s a swimmer, I guess? And she’s got these shoulders.” I sit up and show her the width between my palms. “I knew it was a guy. I could have sworn she was cheating on me. And it just,” I stop, feeling my heart speed up at the memory. “It wrecked me. I had all of these thoughts, like why did I survive cancer just so that I could feel like I was dying anyway?”

  My mom’s lips are pressed in a very thin line as she thinks about what she’s going to say. With a quick movement of her hand, she gathers a lock of hair in her fingers and tucks it gracefully behind her ear. “You know, when we adopted you, you were this tiny little thing. We didn’t even have all of your family medical history. Which is why it was so hard when you got the diagnosis.”

  “I know.”

  She swallows quickly, nodding. “We didn’t know your birth mother. And she didn’t know who your father was. So, you know, we’ve always raised you as ours. And while I’m not sure your birth father was an idiot . . .”

  “Hey,” I interject, but she rolls her eyes and holds up a hand to stop me.

  “I can tell you that your dad was a bit of a jerk around your age.”

  “No.”

  “I know. Shocking, but true.” Her smile is infectious. “Here’s a story for you. I was in honors choir way back when. And one day, after your dad and I had been dating for a good while, he snuck out of his math class early to walk me to French. I had no idea he’d done that, and it was towards the end of the year, when all of the concerts were over and there was really nothing left to do but hang out with friends and whatever.” She has a far-off look in her eyes, and I settle onto my bed, trying to imagine the entire thing.

  “Anyway, that day I was talking with one of our mutual friends, Chris. He was going on about this girl he had a thing for, and I knew she was out of his league, but the way he was going on and on about her, I couldn’t help but listen. Now Chris was pretty touchy-feely, but he had never crossed any lines. He shared a locker with your father, for God’s sake. He was talking about this girl and he’d reached over and put his hands on my hips, talking close so that no one else would hear. But his attention kept going in all kinds of directions,” she pauses. “This was before a lot of people knew about ADD. Just so we’re clear.”

  I nod because I want her to continue.

  “He was looking around the room and I grabbed his face to get him to focus and that’s when we heard the choir room door slam shut.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her
head in exasperation. “He didn’t know the whole story and he took off down the hall. I ran after him and he refused to talk to me. He didn’t exactly say it, but I could just tell that he was about to break up with me. And I was young. In love. I didn’t want him thinking I’d cheated on him. It was a mess.”

  “How did it get worked out?”

  “I told him I was sorry because it probably did look bad. I mean, I know it looked bad. But I still, to this day, wish he would have known me better than to think I’d cheat on him. Especially with a friend. And especially in public.” A sigh lifts her chest before she settles back on the mattress to look me square in the eye. “Now that I know you’ve made the exact same mistake, I guess I can come to the conclusion that boys your age are all a flock of idiots.”

  “Well, that doesn’t help.”

  “Sure it does. I’ve been on Hannah’s end. If you think you feel bad, she feels a million times worse.”

  With a groan, I flop back onto my bed and rest my arm across my eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “If I had a time machine, I would have gone back to that day and shoved my finger in your dad’s chest, telling him that he was wrong. I would have made him make it up to me. Because I wasn’t in the wrong. He was.”

  “You still married him.”

  “Young and dumb.” She rests her hand against my chest and sighs. “Hannah’s not like me, though. She won’t just let you off the hook for this. And you know you were wrong. So, maybe you can tell her that. Admit it. With as much as it hurts, you need to be the one who mends it. After all, I don’t know any other girls that would fall in love with a boy during his cancer treatments.”

  “She’s not in love with me,” I whisper, because I know it’s true now.

  “Please. If there’s one thing I know, it’s a young girl in love. If she hasn’t said it yet, she wants to. Or wanted to before you acted like—”

  “An idiot. I get it, Mom.”

  She smiles and I think maybe, for the first time, my mom might know what she’s talking about.

  “Go and tell her you’re sorry.”

  “Now?” I glance at the clock and back at the sarcastic look on her face.

  “Not now. Tomorrow. Take tonight to think about what you’re going to say. Get some rest. And then prepare to grovel about it for the next twenty-five years.”

  After she’s left my room, I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling wondering if I’ve been given just that—another twenty five years to make up for this.

  14.

  TIMING IS IMPERATIVE.

  But timing is a bitch.

  I’ve never been one to feel the need to rush anything. But the overwhelming panic that seizes me as I try to go about my morning routine lets me know that this isn’t an everyday case of getting somewhere on time. I just need to get to Hannah and tell her that I’m sorry. No grandiose gestures of a thousand origami flowers. No pre-written words. Just me saying that I’m sorry I was an asshole and hoping it’s enough. But I have to wait, because it’s Saturday, and I don’t even know if she’s awake yet. I don’t know anything about college life.

  It’s like I don’t know anything about anything anymore.

  Getting dressed takes forever and I allow the minutes to go by at a snail’s pace because I deserve it. November mornings are cold, and require long sleeves, so I opt for a dark gray thermal and my favorite jeans that have begun to fit right again. And even though my hair has grown back enough to not warrant it, I put on the hat she gave me in the hospital, so that maybe she can see it meant a lot to me. Even if I never told her.

  My mom, standing in the living room window, gives me an encouraging smile and a wave as I pull out of the driveway. It’s the image that’s seared into my mind as I make the short trip to Hannah’s apartment. The weather is perfect, a chill slipping between the seal on my driver’s side window that adds to the beauty of the scenery I pass at sixty miles an hour. All of the trees have turned; their golden and red hues rushing by in a quiet blur while I drive. It calms me somehow. The inevitability that the changing of the seasons happen no matter what’s going on in one person’s insignificant life gives me hope. Change is constant. There’s always change.

  Her apartment is quiet as I stand outside her door and contemplate whether to knock or just try the knob. I hope she’d be smart enough to lock her doors, but there’s a small piece of me that feels it would be somewhat romantic just to walk in and crawl into bed with her and whisper my apologies as she begins to wake.

  That image is shattered from my psyche the second her door is jerked open and a disheveled Coco appears before me. Holding a frying pan. In her pajamas. With a panda hat on her head.

  A red panda, if I’m not mistaken.

  It’s such an odd choice of headwear that I’m momentarily struck dumb, cocking my head to the side in contemplation. She’s as tall and broad as I remembered, but her face is so feminine—the combination is unnerving. Her eyes are light green and wide-set beneath really thick lashes. And her lips are big and puffy, like Angelina Jolie’s. I can’t stop staring at her and wondering how I ever, in a million years, could have thought she was a boy.

  “What?” she asks, looking me up and down, holding the pan aloft. “What are you staring at?”

  I raise my hands to stave off any frying pan attacks she may have planned for me before choking out, “I’m Oliver.”

  “I know who you are, Dickup.” She lifts her chin higher and widens her stance. But she’s still wearing that damn hat, and between it and the pink flower pajamas she has on, I can’t stop from laughing.

  “Did you just call me Dickup?”

  She shrugs, lowering the pan a little. “Rhymed with Bishop.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Go away,” she says, trying to be ferocious. “I’m too tired to hear your shit. And I don’t feel like being insulted today or having to stay up again until four in the morning consoling my roommate because you’re–”

  “An idiot,” I finish for her. Her eyes go wide and she presses her lips together as she glares at me and shakes her head.

  “Nope. Not good enough. Say you were an asshole.”

  “I was an asshole.”

  “Okay.” She lowers the pan and leans against the door frame. “Say you were wrong.”

  “I was completely wrong.”

  Coco looks smug now. “Say I don’t look like a man.”

  “Oh, well . . .” I start and she lifts the pan a little higher. “In my defense, you were dressed in a male doctor’s outfit. And you had your hair all slicked.” I move my hand to imitate it on my own head. “But, if I’d seen you from the front, I never, ever would have thought that. Because you’re really pretty.” My heart is hammering in my chest at the admission and I wait with held breath until she sighs and throws the pan into the kitchen.

  “I am really pretty. Right?” She raises both eyebrows and the red panda hat crinkles, like it’s judging me, too. “I’m totally telling Hannah you were hitting on me. You drove all the way up here for that?”

  “Coco.”

  She smiles for the first time, and it makes me feel even worse. The girl is just this side of stunning—on a Saturday—before noon.

  “I’m kidding with you, Oliver. I won’t tell her that. Your crush on me can be our little secret.” She motions for me to follow her inside and then holds up a hand to stop me in my tracks. “I’m going to tell Hannah you’re here. If she says you need to go away, you need to leave. Got it?” I nod, hoping above hope that Hannah will give me the chance to say I’m sorry to her, too. Waiting in their living room feels so foreign to me that I start losing my nerve.

  Until Coco emerges from Hannah’s room.

  “She was getting out of the shower. Said you can go in after a couple of minutes so she can put some clothes on.”

  “You guys just talk to each other in the shower?” Girl friendships seem to have no barriers.

  “Yeah. Why? I’ve seen her boobs more
than my own since school started.”

  “Then you’ve got one up on me,” I joke.

  Coco pats me on the shoulder. “Probably could’ve seen them a couple of days ago, but . . . ya know. You showed your ass and all that.”

  “Hey, thanks for the reminder.” I give an awkward thumbs up and she purses her lips, pretending to give me sad eyes.

  “Just sayin’.”

  I’m tired of waiting so I take the first steps towards Hannah’s room, forcing a smile when Coco whispers an unenthusiastic ‘good luck.’ Pushing the bedroom door open, I stall and take a second to look around. While I’ve seen where she lives via a computer screen, or from the other side of an iPhone, being in the middle of Hannah-ville is an entirely different experience.

  It’s colorful chaos. I know she wasn’t expecting me to show up, so her multi-colored quilt is bunched up in the middle of her bed exposing blue paisley sheets. Her clothes are scattered about, some notebooks are open on her white desk, and a couple rubber bands, tangled in a knot, hang off a cork board by the white curtained windows.

  Everything is so very Hannah. It’s like stepping into her brain.

  “Hey,” she calls quietly from the open bathroom door. “I wasn’t expecting you, so—”

  I shake my head quickly and step inside, closing the door behind me. The distance between us is so minute I could close it in less than two seconds. But I hover by the door instead, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness of her room. Of seeing her fresh from the shower, hair still wet, and cheeks bright pink from being scrubbed clean.

  She looks so small. And broken.

  It dawns on me just how hurt she is and it makes my stomach begin to tighten.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out much faster than I intended. It makes me flinch at how loud my voice sounds in the space between us.

  She shrugs and looks away, rolling the handle of her hair brush between her palms. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I had no reason to think that you’d do what I said you did. And you were right. I never defined our relationship because I was afraid of hurting you more if I didn’t make it. But I did and then I ended up hurting you anyway. And maybe worse. Because there was a chance for us and I ruined it. Hannah,” I call to her to get her to look at me. When she does, I cross the space between us and reach out to pull her to my chest, pressing her damp head under my chin. “I’m sorry I waited until it was too late to tell you. I’m sorry I never said it.”