The Upside of Falling Down

by Rebekah Crane

  My clothes are still wet. The dampness chills my bones. I don’t deserve to feel bad for myself. I knew this would happen all along. I just fooled myself into thinking it would be different—that I could change the inevitable. But lies are lies, even if the truth doesn’t make sense.

  I hover over sleep, focusing on the dark just outside the windows. Light has to come at some point. Night can’t stay here forever.

  When arms grab around my waist and hoist me off the couch, I’m sure I’m dreaming. The familiar smell of Kieran fills me with comfort, and I think the nightmares have finally stopped. I curl into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

  “My God, you’re freezing, Bunny.”

  “No . . . I’m pig and cow parts. You thought I was a bunny, but I lied.”

  “You need to get out of your wet clothes.” Kieran sets me down on his bed. My head swims, and my teeth chatter. He pulls my shirt off me, but there’s no hint of intimacy.

  “Please take a moment to locate your nearest exit,” I say. “In some cases, your nearest exit may be behind you.” I lie down on the bed, aching for heat. Kieran slips me out of my jeans. “But there’s no exit to this story. I can’t get out of it.”

  “Bunny, you’re delirious.”

  I turn my face into the warm sheets, breathing in Kieran. If this is my last night here, I want to remember how it felt to be surrounded by him.

  “You said it today. Planes are built to fly. They aren’t built to crash,” I say. “Why did it have to be my plane? My life? I survived only to lose everything.”

  Kieran kneels down in front of me. “I don’t know why life happens the way it does.”

  I reach for him, almost believing that he won’t be there, that I really am imagining all of this. But when my skin connects with his, my hand finding his cheek, when he turns his mouth into the palm of my hand, and I feel his breath meet my skin, I know it’s real.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you down with me.”

  “Bunny . . . ,” he says. This is the most we’ve touched since I laid out my truth for him. I’m desperate for him to stay. Kieran takes my hand from his face. He traces my fingers with his own, as if studying my skin. When his eyes lock with mine in the dim room, the blue of his is practically iridescent.

  He climbs into bed with me. My whole body is tired, but alive at the same time. I can’t believe this is actually happening. He’s warm as his legs edge their way between mine, his arms pulling me to his chest. I lay my ear on top of his heart and listen. That’s how I know this is real.

  Kieran lifts my chin toward his face. I see the boy I met in the hospital, the fearless wonder who taught me how to surf, who danced with me on my birthday, who kissed me as if breathing didn’t matter, who showed me I could fly again.

  “Dare accepted,” he says. Kieran places his warm lips on mine, and I melt.

  CHAPTER 26

  It was real. I didn’t dream it. The sun has returned, making my eyes squint and water as I wake up in Kieran’s bed. I knew that morning had to come, but the dread I felt as I lay on the couch last night is gone.

  Kieran accepted my dare. I don’t know what the future will bring us, but now I know we’ll be together. There are no more lies between us.

  I roll over to find a hot cup of tea on the nightstand, and—just like my first days in Waterville—a note.

  First tea. Then shower.

  I add internally: then forever.

  When I finish my tea, as instructed, I take a long shower. Steam fills the bathroom, the opposite of the cold rain that fell on me last night. But the rain never lasts in Ireland. The sun comes out eventually.

  As I brush my hair, I contemplate what color I’ll dye it next. My mind starts to wander over all the possibilities with Kieran. Maybe we’ll escape to the northern part of Ireland. I haven’t been there. Or west. We can find a small town, like Waterville, on the ocean. We can surf during the day and sit out at night, listening to the waves.

  I dress in a fresh outfit and walk out of the bedroom, needing to see Kieran. Craving him. For too long last night I thought I lost him. I thought it was all over. But he changed his mind.

  Kieran is in the living room, freshly dressed, but the picture is off. What I see is so unexpected it startles me.

  He’s not the only one here.

  Two other people sit on the couch—one I recognize, the other I know.

  Stephen and my dad sit, gazing out the window at the Dublin sunshine. When they hear my footsteps, both come to their feet. I’m paralyzed, wondering if what I see is actually happening.

  The truth hits me—Kieran didn’t change his mind. He tricked me into believing he did. He went behind my back. Pieces start to fit together. Kieran asking me about my dad. Me telling him about Stephen. With that information, all it would take is a call to the hospital in Limerick. But when did he do it? My stomach turns as I realize that Kieran brought me into his bed because he knew this was coming. He knew it would all be over today.

  He stares at the floor. “I’m sorry, Bunny. There was no other way.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I say. My head starts to hurt, and the room spins slightly.

  “He did the right thing, Clementine,” Stephen says. “We’ve been worried sick.”

  Sick. That’s how I feel right now. Like I’m on the world’s most horrific roller coaster, with no ups, only perpetual downs. Gravity pulls, my bones ache to their core, and I can’t fight it. A humming starts in my ears, like a broken engine that makes too much noise. I grab my head, just wanting it all to stop.

  When Stephen and my dad take a step closer, I use all my might to move. Before anyone can stop me, I’m out the apartment door, running for my life. I press the elevator button as someone yells after me, but the elevator will take too long, so I divert to the emergency exit. That’s what I need right now—this is an emergency, and I need out. Tears fall down my cheeks as I push the stairwell door open and start down, counting the flights as I descend.

  Nine . . .

  “Wait! Please!” someone shouts behind me.

  Eight . . .

  He’s gaining on me, but I pick up my pace.

  “I’ll just keep chasing you!”

  Seven . . .

  Six . . .

  “Teeny, for the love of God, would you just slow down! I’ve got a bad knee. Running down these stairs isn’t helping!”

  “Well, you should have listened to the doctor when she said you needed physical therapy!” I yell back.

  “You know how I feel about that!” He sounds winded.

  “Yeah,” I scoff, mocking my dad’s voice as I run. “‘The only therapy a Clevelander needs is beer. Takes care of all your pain at half the cost.’”

  “I’ve lived in Cleveland my whole life!” he yells. “We know pain well!” I stop on the landing of the fourth floor. My dad pants behind me, clutching his side. “Jesus Christ, Teeny, are you trying to kill your old man?”

  “Say my name again,” I say.

  “Teeny.”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “I never liked Clementine, but your mother was set on naming you after food. It could have been worse, she wanted to name you—”

  I cut him off. “Paprika. She wanted to name me Paprika.”

  “Can you imagine the nickname? Pap?” My dad cringes. “Your life would have been over in junior high. I did you a favor by vetoing that name.”

  I lean back against the wall, breathless and awestruck, the anger melting away into . . . exhilaration. “You named me Clementine because I was premature.”

  My dad nods. “You were so teeny-tiny with jaundice. ‘Like a little orange,’ your mom said.”

  “Like a clementine.”

  “It was too fluffy a name for me. I like a good, strong name. Jane was my idea.”

  “Jane,” I say with a laugh.

  “That was my pick, but I lost in the end. We compromised on the nickname.”

  “Teeny.”
/>   “Yes.” My dad’s breathing has slowed. I look at his face, at the wrinkles around his eyes from too much sun, at his salt-and-pepper hair cut short to his head and thinning, at his right pointer finger, slightly crooked from when he broke it playing a pickup basketball game and refused to go to the doctor because he didn’t want the other players to think he was a wimp.

  “I remember.” Memories start to click in place, my heart pounds, my life—Teeny’s life—comes back to me in little flashes.

  “You do?” he asks, but hesitantly, like he isn’t sure he can trust himself to believe it.

  “I do.” I throw my arms around him, hugging his now-familiar body to mine. It’s as if someone turned on a light that I thought had burned out. I can see my bedroom with its old flowered wallpaper, and the single bathroom with white subway tile that my dad and I share. Our front porch with a broken swing, and the flagpole where my dad proudly flies a Browns flag every Sunday during football season. I pull back. “You own a landscaping business.”

  My dad huffs. “In a place that has snow half the year. Not my smartest move.”

  “And Grandma Rolland took over the bakery when mom died.”

  He touches my cheek with a look like he hasn’t seen me in forever. “She didn’t have the knack for baking like your mom did, but she tried, God rest her soul.”

  “Grandma Rolland died last year!” I say it with a little too much enthusiasm and then apologize. “That’s when I took over the bakery.”

  “You should have gone to college like I wanted,” my dad chides.

  “I’m in night school at Cleveland State.”

  “It’s not the same. I wanted you to have a real college experience, with parties and dorm rooms and friends from all over the world.” He shakes his head. “You spent so many years taking care of your old man—washing my clothes, cleaning the house—you deserve a life without me in it.”

  “So that’s why I like to clean . . .”

  My dad sits down on a stair, something heavy weighing him down. I take the seat next to him.

  “It’s OK, Dad. I remember it now. I don’t mind taking care of you. I like it, really.” But he just shakes his head. “What is it?”

  “I’m the reason you were on that plane, Teeny . . . Do you remember that?”

  When I try to engage with that memory, it’s still dark.

  “It was my fault,” he says. “I could never afford to send you to Europe, but I wanted you to see the world. When James gave you your birthday present, I pushed you to go.”

  “James?”

  “He was your boyfriend, Teeny. James Mahon.”

  The name conjures a picture within me—a boy with blond hair, brown eyes, a charming Irish accent that would make any girl swoon. A warm but convoluted feeling comes over me as I try to pull more memories to the surface, but my head is foggy. The exhilaration of remembering starts to fade as I realize a truth about memories—they aren’t all good.

  James’s voice echoes within me. It’s so familiar. I’ve heard it while I’ve been here, confused when it’s happened, thinking my mind was playing tricks on me. But my dreams . . . reaching for someone. I stand up suddenly. “Where is he? Where’s James?”

  “Teeny . . .” My dad grabs my hand and gently pulls me back down on the step. His eyes fill with grief. “James was on the plane with you. He didn’t survive.”

  I think I might throw up. Nothing makes sense. “I don’t remember him clearly, Dad. The plane . . . I can’t . . .”

  My dad hugs me. “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe you’re not ready to remember everything. Just give it time. You’ve been through so much.”

  “But why was I on that plane?”

  “You were on your way to Paris,” my dad says in a soft tone. “It was a birthday gift from James. You weren’t even supposed to be on that flight, but at the last minute, he decided to take you to Ireland first, so you could see where he was from.” I hear what he’s saying, but it doesn’t all click into place. “I wasn’t about to say no. It was your chance to see the world. I never could have afforded to take you, Teeny. But James . . . he could do that for you.”

  “I don’t understand.” My voice is pinched. I’m on the verge of tears. My memories don’t all fit. Some things I can see clearly, others are faded and blurred. “Why was James in Cleveland?”

  “He was traveling and came into town to stay with a cousin and see a real ‘American football game.’ But you know how Cleveland is . . . once it gets under your skin, it’s hard to walk away from.” My dad kisses me on my head. “You’re hard to walk away from, Teeny.”

  His shirt smells of his minty aftershave, the smell of every morning he and I got ready for the day together. When I was little, he would let me pretend to shave with him, putting foamy cream on my face and using a covered razor to wipe it all away. Then he’d pat my cheek with a little aftershave. He still uses the same kind.

  “I’m still so confused—” I begin, but my dad shushes me.

  “There’s time, Teeny. Give yourself time. I’m just so happy to have you back.” His expression looks broken, what I put him through these past weeks showing on his face. “No more running, OK? Promise?”

  I agree, my gut heavy with guilt. “Promise.”

  My dad helps me off the step, keeping his arm securely around me as we make our way back up the stairs. I can sense his need to keep me close. He’s worried I’ll run off again. I don’t know how to explain to him what I did and why I did it, but like he said, there’s time. Somehow I’ll find a way to make it up to him.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We go home,” he says. “I have us booked on a flight tomorrow. I miss our house, Teeny. I miss my television. I can’t watch another episode of Coronation Street.” He smiles. “The Tribe is actually winning. Can you believe that? There’s still no hope for the Browns, but we’ll take what we can get.”

  As we climb back to the tenth floor, I feel the weight of what I’m about to leave behind. Ireland. Kieran. My life here. I still can’t believe he called my dad, but now that my memories are starting to come back, I’m not sure I can be mad at him. In actuality, I think I’ve already forgiven him. But where does that leave us? Can I really walk away? Just the thought makes me ache. And what about my life here? I don’t know if I can leave, even with my memories starting to come back. Nothing about this feels . . . easy.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” my dad says. He points down at my bare feet. “I could have killed James when you showed up with that ridiculous tattoo.”

  I stiffen as we walk.

  “He got you drunk one night and dared you to do it.” My dad shakes his head. I’m frozen, motionless on the steps. “He was always playing that stupid game—truth or dare? You were never one to pick truth, Teeny, that’s for sure.”

  I have to grab the railing to stop myself from collapsing. A piece of my life suddenly fits perfectly with another. I bolt up the steps, two at a time, my breath tight. I hear my dad yelling for me to slow down, but I can’t. My life is barreling full speed ahead, and by now I know I can’t avoid a crash. It’s coming, and not the way I expected.

  I slam Kieran’s apartment door against the wall as I enter and hear Stephen say, “I’m Jewish and gay.”

  Kieran looks surprised as I run past him and into the bedroom, getting my notebook out from under the mattress.

  The picture of Kieran and his friends. I fall down to my knees, my hands shaking. For unknown reasons, I couldn’t let it go. But now . . . I know why.

  There in the center of the picture is Kieran, and next to him, a boy with blond hair and brown eyes, dressed in a uniform, a devilish grin on his face. It’s James.

  Kieran stands in the doorway.

  “You knew who I was the whole time,” I say weakly, though I want to sound fierce.

  “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

  “Safe?” I bark at him. “You took me flying yesterday, even though you knew what I’ve been through.�
�

  “You’re stronger than you think.” Kieran clenches his jaw. “And, yes. Safe. James would have wanted me to help.”

  “Don’t say his name.” I close my eyes, pushing the image of James from my mind. Somehow, I find the strength to stand up. “So you were just helping this whole time. Pretending.”

  “I told you to remember the Jell-O. You saw what you wanted to see. I just tried to play along.”

  “So that’s why you helped me leave the hospital.”

  “I went that day . . . for reasons.”

  “Reasons?” I snap. “Even now, you’re lying to me.”

  “Yes. Reasons. I knew James would have wanted me to make sure you were OK. You didn’t have anyone.”

  “So what you said about volunteering, helping people—that was a lie. You were there, just waiting for me.”

  “I was helping people . . . you, in particular.” Kieran takes a long breath. “You had a reckless determination to leave. I had no idea you were so stubborn. I figured better you be with me than some other stranger. I could keep track of you.” And then Kieran rolls his eyes. “Little did I know that being reckless is in your nature.”

  “Don’t.” My tone is sharp. “Don’t talk about me like you know me.”

  “I do know you,” Kieran pleads.

  “And then what? What were you going to do once I remembered who I was?”

  “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did. I thought I’d be taking you back to Limerick before the week was out.” He runs his hands through his hair. “It all got out of control. I didn’t expect . . .” He groans like the words are caught in his mouth. “I knew it was over last night. I couldn’t let you run again.”

  The sick reality dawns on me. The whole time I was being Jane, discovering who I was, creating a new life, Kieran knew, and he always intended to hand me back, to let me go. To leave me. There was never any possibility that we would stay together.