To Catch a Falling Star

by L. Duarte

  Unbidden tears burn the back of my eyes. I suppress them. Sighing, I realize life is not fair. Consequently, certain unpleasant facts are unchangeable. I owe it to Ella to live in the present without reminiscing about the past that she never knew.

  “What you think, Mom, can we?” Ella straddles my thighs and pleads.

  “What did you say, honey?” I stroke her tousled curls.

  “Practice the guitar.”

  “Sure, love,” I say, risking a glance at Tarry.

  He regards me with cautious eyes. Did I do something to upset him? Ella goes to her room to retrieve the guitar.

  “Where were you?” he asks in a low, almost painful voice.

  “What you mean?” I begin to gather the leftovers and plates.

  “For a moment, Mel, you were gone.” He assists me with carrying the food to the kitchen.

  “You are imagining things. I’m just exhausted and still have a headache,” I say exasperated. Why does he have to notice these things? No one else ever pays attention and if they do, they don’t comment. They just let me be.

  “That’s not healthy to live in the past, Mel.”

  “Huh, look who is talking about what’s healthy or not,” I say.

  “That’s beneath you, Mel,” he answers.

  “Then, mind your own business. You have no right to invade my life and tell me what to do.” I shove untouched containers of food inside the fridge.

  “Fuck it, Mel. You have every right to perch on my life and try to help me. But you draw an arbitrary line around yourself and push away anyone who tries to cross it. That’s a fucking double standard. But I guess that’s how you distract yourself from dealing with your grief. You help everybody around you, so that you are too busy to help yourself with your own ghosts.”

  My pulse is beating loudly in my ears. I open my mouth to answer him, but from the corner of my eye, I see Ella storming into the room.

  “Ready, Uncle Tarry?”

  “Sure, let’s see if you have been practicing the way I told you.” He smiles sweetly at Ella, and I feel even guiltier.

  Through this is a prayer is born of contradictory feelings. I beg God to snatch Tarry away from my life. I want to be normal again, to remember Tim without the landslide of emotions suffocating me.

  They practice for the next hour. I perch on the love seat across from them and watch. I hate to admit it, but Tarry is right. Darn him. When they finish, I prepare cocoa and hand it to them.

  Ella curls up at my side, and we talk about her day at school. Tarry asks a various questions, everything from what’s her favorite subject to what she wants to be when she grows up. Today, the answer is a police officer, a teacher, and, of course, a rock star. Laughter rumbles in Tarry’s chest and my heartbeat speeds at the sound. The man is sexy even when he is laughing.

  After a while, Ella grows quiet and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I need to take her to bed. Tarry looks at me uncertainly and whispers, “Can I?”

  “Sure.” I smile. But inside I want to cry. I hate the confusing emotions that I don’t have control over.

  Once upstairs, I point him to her room. He gently places her under the covers, kisses her head, and whispers, “Good night, sunshine.” Again, the gesture tugs my heart.

  He follows me downstairs.

  “Tarry, um, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

  “That’s okay.” He runs his fingers over his shaggy hair, brushing it out of his eyes.

  “It’s late, and I have to be up early tomorrow.” I bite my lip. Please just leave.

  “I, um, I got you something.” He fishes in his pockets, retrieves a Starbucks gift card, and hands it to me.

  “No, no, no. I can’t take it.” I nod my head. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “God, Mel, just accept it.” He tosses the card on the coffee table. “Besides, it’s not for you. It’s for Larry. You’re just keeping it safe for him.”

  “Tarry, no…” I start, but in two strides, he closes the gap between us. His lips cover mine. Surprised, I grip his shirt, to avoid falling back. His arms fasten my waist, and we kiss hard and hungry. All teeth and tongue. Tarry grips my hair and deepens the kiss. I’m lost in his heat. I don’t know for how long we kiss, but when he breaks away from me, I’m panting.

  “God, woman, you are so exasperating,” he growls, kisses me again, and leaves.

  I’m paralyzed standing in the middle of the room. Slowly, my wits return. I lock the kitchen door, blow out the candles, and seek the refuge of my room.

  I CLOSE THE barn’s door with a bang. Are all women this difficult? Mel is the most infuriating woman I have ever met. Yet I can’t have enough of her or her lips. Shit, I made a commitment not to kiss her until she’s ready. But her eyes hypnotize me, making me lose focus. Kissing Mel feels better than the cooling sensation of heroin running through my veins.

  I stride to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, and swallow one of my pills. Angry, I notice that for the first time in about two weeks I crave a shot of whiskey. Fuck. I hate that I’m such a weak man. Whether it’s regarding drugs or Mel, I succumb to my desires.

  Anger slowly departs from my body, leaving its usual void. I wish I could go back to Mel’s. Since I can’t, I climb inside the shower. The jet of scalding water beats my skin, almost relaxing me. Suddenly, I feel tired and lonely. I lean back and close my eyes. Why am I like this? I wish I wasn’t such a weak person.

  Sometimes it feels like I’m an impostor. I guess inside I know I’m beyond repair. My journey to self-destruction began long before I can remember. I’ve been on the edge of no return for most of my life. Oftentimes I wonder if I should save the trouble and let it run its course. Many times I’ve contemplated suicide, but I’ve always been too much of a pussy to actually do it.

  I’m not one to mope about the past. I’m also not keen to blame others for the miserable life I have, but often I wonder had my parents paid a bit of attention to me, would I still be the worthless person I’ve become? They never wanted me. As Mom said repeatedly, I’m an unpleasant incident she could not correct. Mom worked hard and only noticed she was pregnant when it was too late to have a safe abortion.

  Despite my presence at the house, they never looked at me. No matter how hard I tried to grab their attention, I always failed. When I was about thirteen, my parents spent Christmas in the Alps. When I asked to go along, Mom said, “We can’t cater to you any longer, Tarry. It’s time you were more independent.” She obliterated any parenthood obligation. Not that she had done any parenting prior to that day.

  Those words didn’t hurt at all. I was used to Mom. Her speech is one of her finer qualities; she is damn good with words. That year, I made my parents presents in my arts and crafts class. I remember spending the months prior to December working on them—a cigar box for Dad and a jewelry box for Mom. I engraved their initials on top. They were good pieces of work. They left without wishing me a Merry Christmas and never opened the gifts wrapped under the tree.

  Portia, Nillie, and I spent the evening drinking and smoking pot.

  That day I broke my rules and showed them home videos of Nana and Papa. I don’t talk about them. It’s too painful.

  Complaining about my parents seems contradictory. They never physically abused me. But that’s where it fucking hurts. Physical abuse is tangible, even punishable by our laws. But emotional neglect is an invisible abuse that slashes through the soul, butchering self-esteem and continuing its damage for years.

  I climb out of the shower, dry my fatigued body, and huddle naked on my bed. The solitude of the barn drums into my soul. I’ve always liked solitude, but now the absence of Mel is heavy on me.

  I tuck my hands under my head and stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to rescue me. I wonder what would have been of me without Portia and Nillie. The bond I share with them is greater than love or friendship. It was born and nurtured through intertwining our pain and the common thread of abandonment we en
dured together.

  Portia, gorgeous and free-spirited, claims we were LA misfits. I sneer at that thought. Portia claims that the elite society excluded us, when they deemed us unfit. But I, the heir to a fucking record label, disagree. We were the ones to label ourselves. We never conformed to the plastic mold, when we had to shape our personality into the arrogance of a putrid society. As Nillie, the well-behaved daughter of one of the greatest TV producers, says, we were rebels without a cause.

  Apparently, we had the makings of being part of a social circle. But, we didn’t. We were too rebellious to play by their beat.

  Then, we created our own fucking world and we never accepted the fakeness of LA. We lived and grew up on our own terms. Creating the rules or violating them, as we went.

  AFTER AN EVENING training session with Lucas, I slide inside the Jeep and speed out of the parking lot. Sneering, I shake my head with a mixture of disgust and amusement. Right now I have a craving. No, not drugs and not Mel, though I would die to have my hands on either one. I crave that fucking lentil soup. I do. Yep, the delicious slimy green soup Mel introduced me to has turned out to be highly addictive.

  I open the door to the restaurant and the now-familiar jingling of the bell reminds me of Mel. I sit on the same table where we sat the first time she brought me here.

  “Good evening, Tarry. The usual, or are you on the mood to try something else from the menu?” Jim places water and utensils in front of me.

  “No, man, I’m obsessed with your green soup.” My lips curve into a half a smile.

  “Sure, coming right up.” He pencils the order and turn on his heels.

  I hear a few whispers and laughter from the girls at the table beside me. I lower my cap and sink in the chair, wishing to remain inconspicuous.

  I sense when someone slides on the seat in front of me, no shit, so much for a peaceful evening. Risking a glance up, surprise grips me.

  “Hey, Tarry, long time, huh?” She grins, and continues. “About five years or so?”

  I smirk and run my fingers through my hair. I need a haircut. Tomorrow I should ask Will for the name of a fucking barber. I also need to get more of the protein shake. I have gained another pound and my arms and chest feel stronger, even though they still look as if I am a gawky fourteen-year-old boy.

  “You also need to get more toothpaste,” she mocks me. “Are you going to ignore me?”

  The same Asian lady from the airplane sits in front of me. She wears the same thick glasses and has the same hideous perm. Shit, I’m hallucinating again. Damn, I might have to go back to the fucking medication. I wonder if ignoring hallucinations makes them go away. My guess is not, because she is still seated in front of me.

  “You know that I know that you are only in my head. So, don’t expect me to talk to you,” I say and realize how ridiculous I sound, answering to a delusion.

  “Silly, I’m not a delusion, I’m real.” She smirks. Sure, she knows what I’m thinking. She’s from inside my head.

  “Am not.” She shakes her head. All right, I’m ignoring her.

  “Tarry, out of habit Jim bought some fresh blackberries at the market. They were his wife’s favorite. Now he’s heartbroken every time he sees them.”

  I lower my cap, almost covering my eyes, and sink further in the chair. I’m not having a conversation with a hallucination.

  “Can you be a sweetie and order me some of the blackberries? I love them, but seldom have an opportunity to eat them.”

  A grim smile curves my lips. “Why don’t you order for yourself?” Huh, let’s see how she will get out of this one.

  “Jim?” I wave to him.

  “How can I help you?” He asks me and flashes a sweet smile at the woman in front of me.

  Surprised, I ask. “Do you see her?”

  “Excuse me?” Jim glances confused between her and me.

  “I just wondered if you knew the lady sitting with me.”

  “No.” He turns to her “What can I get you, hon?”

  “Tarry knows my order,” she replies lovingly.

  “Um, tae tea and blackberries. Do you have blackberries?” I ask, perplexed.

  “As a matter of fact I do. Force of habit you know. They were Millie’s favorite. When I saw them at the market this morning, I forgot she’s no longer with me.” His voice falters.

  “Sorry, Jim.” I offer.

  “Nah, I’m glad to have someone eating them. Will you have dinner with Tarry?” He asks.

  “No, the fruits and tea will be all. And you can bring me them now. I can’t stay for long.” She smiles sweetly.

  “Coming right up,” he says before leaving.

  “Now, is this a prank or some sort of joke?” I ask.

  “Oh, Tarry. What little faith you have. You are worth the trouble you know?” she says reaching for my cup. “Water, ah, I love water.” She gulps the entire glass, returning it empty to me.

  “Would you explain what the fuck you doing?”

  “Enjoying one of the amazing privileges of the human race. Did I tell you how satisfying I find eating and drinking to be?”

  Jim approaches and places the tea and blackberries in front of her. “Here you go, enjoy it.”

  “Jim?” she calls. He turns and looks at her. “It’ll get better you know. You need time to heal and readjust. But you will find fulfillment in a much unexpected way.” She pops a blackberry in her small mouth.

  “You know, for a weird reason, I believe you.” He grins and attends to a client calling to him.

  She raises a very thin eyebrow from behind thick glasses. “See, Tarry, is it so hard to have a little faith, it makes my job so much easier.” She takes a swig from the teacup. Ouch, she is going to burn her mouth.

  “What do you want from me?” I finally ask.

  “Oh, Tarry. The question is what are you searching for?”

  I look at her suspiciously. Not the soul-searching crap again.

  “You finally found your Melody, haven’t you?”

  “Are you talking about Mel?”

  “She’s the one you are in love with, right?” she asks.

  “I’m not in love, we just met.”

  “Oh, but what about love at first sight?” She pops another blackberry. “Mel is the beginning of your forever, Tarry. But she’s so broken, isn’t she?”

  I stare impassive at her. It’s obvious she knows Mel. I don’t know how this is possible, but I know it’s not a hallucination. Sudden, I have a real desire for her to tell me what to do.

  “Oh, Tarry, you already know what to do. Your heart will guide you, and your mind will pace you.” She finishes eating the fruits. “Remember, sometimes, when we help someone to heal, healing comes our way. Giving is so much better than receiving. Though I honestly think that it’s a selfish way of getting more. Because it’s a law, you reap what you sow. Help her, Tarry, and it’ll bounce back to you, a hundred times.”

  “I’m having a hard time following you,” I say.

  “No worries, you’ll catch up on time.” She stands. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go the ladies’ room.” She takes a few steps to the bathroom, looks over her shoulder, and says with a smile. “Mel is on her way with the kids, she misses you.” With a wink, she disappears into the restroom.

  As if drawn by a magnetic force my eyes glance out the window. I spot Mel, opening the back door for Ella and Dominick.

  She must sense my stare. She looks up. Our eyes meet. She smiles and waves at me.

  Anxious to be with her, I watch as she enters the restaurant. She wears tight jeans that reveal her full curves. Curls escape a side braid, falling across her eyes. She looks stunning. My gaze is on her, but in my peripheral, I see Ella dashing my way. I open my arms, and she jumps inside my embrace.

  “Uncle Tarry, I’ve missed you.” I smile with a pang of guilt. Other than a guitar lesson on Sunday, I haven’t given her any more instructions.

  “I miss you, too, sunshine.” I stand up and kiss Mel’s
cheek.

  “Hey, Dominick.” I ruffle his hair. “Care to join a lonesome, boring musician for dinner?” I attempt my best smile, hoping not to seem phony. Why can’t I be more seductive?

  “Yeah, um, don’t you have someone accompanying you already? I don’t mean to intrude.” She points to the empty dish and glass in front of me.

  “No, it was an old friend, but she’s left already.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes dart around, as she scans the room.

  “Come on, Mel.” I feel so damn insecure.

  “Please, Mom.” Ella tugs her hand.

  “Are you sure?” Mel asks me.

  “Just sit down, will ya?” I pull her into a chair and sit across the table. “How is your car?” I ask.

  “Super, good as new.” She pulls the curls falling over her eyes. My eyes travel to her cleavage and I have to focus on Mrs. Nichol’s horrendous voice. Mel looks so fresh and clean, and I’m sweaty and rugged.

  On the table, Jim places water and utensils, along with coloring sheets and crayons for the kids. He smiles and collects Mel and the kids’ orders. “I’ll put a hold on your order, Tarry, so you can eat together,” he says before retreating to the kitchen.

  “I miss seeing you in the mornings.” The words leave my lips, before I have time to process them. In all honesty, I’m not a morning person, but I wake up early these days, thinking of an excuse to go see her.

  The familiar and adorable shade of pink colors her face, as she brings the water to her lips.

  “You look good,” she says with a throaty voice. She clears her throat and asks. “Are you still training with Lucas?”

  “Yeah, and I’ve even gained a few pounds.” I flex my biceps and smile.

  “Oh.” Her eyes settle on my arm. The pink color of her cheeks turns red. Hell, she wants me. I smile inwardly. I just have to figure out a way to make her accept it.

  “Uncle Tarry, have you seen The Lion King?” Ella asks expectantly.

  “Um, yes, and it’s one of my all-time favorites.”

  “We’re going to watch it tonight. Do you want to watch it with us? Dominick is having a sleepover.” She turns to her mom. “Can he sleep over too, Mommy?”