To Catch a Falling Star

by L. Duarte

  Finally, the killer headache subsides, but the itching is worse. I refuse to scratch my chest in front of Mel.

  Mel retrieves a key hidden in a plant pot on the front porch of Lucas’s house. Once inside, we go to the kitchen. On the table, we find a man’s leather jacket, a pair of gloves, and two helmets next to a yellow sticky note that reads: Full tank, good to go. Have fun, be safe.

  I try the jacket while Mel braids her hair. I hand her the helmet and strap it on. My fingers brush lightly on her skin. A shudder runs through me at the thought of her soft curves glued to my body while we ride.

  “Thank you,” she says curtly. But she remains in the same place, even though I am closer than necessary.

  As I don the gloves, she says, “Shit, forgot my gloves.”

  “Want to use these?” I offer.

  “No, you will need them more than me. I’ll tuck my hands in the sleeves.”

  “Okay.” I smile. In my mind, I grin with a tempting idea. I strap my helmet on. All the while, I keep the flirting to a minimum. I won’t screw this up again.

  “Let’s go.”

  I nod. I’m anxious to have her body against mine. “Where are we going?” I ask, straddling the bike and zipping my jacket.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” she asks with a smirk.

  “Nope, not afraid of much in this life.”

  “Well, we’re going to Uncle’s Tommy’s in upstate Connecticut,” she adds as if that clarified everything. I decide to play her game. At this point, I might as well admit that I would do anything this woman tells me to. Really, I would.

  “Where to?”

  “Take I-95 North, I’ll tell you from there. It’ll be about an hour ride.” She puts on a backpack and hops on the back of the bike.

  My heart gallops when her body slides and presses on my back. I fight the instinct to stroke her thighs, cautiously wrapped around my hips. God, what a sweet torture.

  I follow her directions. Within a few minutes, we are cruising through a picturesque route. The quiet traffic allows me to enjoy the view.

  Mel’s hands are tightly wrapped around my waist. The autumn day breeds a chilled air. Her fingers must have turned to icicles. I let go of the steering handlebar and grab her hands, one at a time, tucking each under my shirt. The contact of her cold fingers on my skin sends a shiver up my spine. I sense Mel tensing against my back. I question if this was a smart idea. But her body relaxes, which fills me with relief. She spreads her icy hands against my abs and I’m thankful to have been working out. Defined muscles are beginning to appear on my stomach, replacing the floppy mess of before.

  Mel moves her hands in a long caress. She slides her small hand up to my chest. Her fingers, soft and now warm, delicately brush on my hardened nipple. Yeah, my cock is hard. But not even my overactive testosterone can get in the way of me enjoying the fullness of this moment. Her hands trace the trail of hair on my abdomen, and settle over the rim of my jeans. The touch is naïve, yet sensual. It undoes me. I place my hand over hers, squeeze it lightly, and then I let my hand rest on her thigh.

  Wow. What a ride.

  Colorful trees smudge on my peripheral view. Farms, apple trees, and animals feeding on green pastures pass in a blur.

  Fear, with the callous tact of a dull-toothed saw, begins grinding at my heart. Fear as I’ve never felt it before. Now that I have tasted of Mel, I can’t lose her.

  Before I became involved with Mel, I lived oblivious to feelings that are much more addictive than any hallucinogen this planet offers. The veil that had been blinding me is off.

  This moment with her is so pure. I would willingly give up anything in my possession to keep this bliss for eternity. I breathe in again and, with new resolve, I vacate the fear from my heart. I savor the moment. It’s too precious, too scarce to go to waste.

  Mel leans her helmet on my shoulder and straightens her hold on me. I’m almost sure I sense her sighing.

  My eternity lasts about an hour. Mel taps on my shoulder, directing me to an exit. We ride past the sign that reads “Welcome to Green Hill” and in and out of twisted country roads. Lonely houses nestle at the end of long driveways. Trees display their foliage under the perfect sunlight.

  After several minutes, Mel points to a deserted gravel road. I slow down, aware of the pebbles under the tires.

  We end up at a building that appears abandoned. A precarious sign reads “Dash and Zip.” I wonder what the hell it means.

  I park next to a rusted red Chevrolet truck. Mel gets off the bike. I feel bereft without her warmth behind me. And, oh, yeah, I feel stupid for being so emotional.

  “We’re here.” She beams under the helmet.

  “Okay.” I remove my helmet. “And do you mind elaborating.” I arch my brows.

  “You’ll see. Let’s go inside.” She pushes through the door. The loud squeak of the door announces our presence.

  A man hunched over a book sits behind a counter. He glances up and removes the glasses perched on his nose. Immediate recognition brings a grin to his weathered face.

  “I’ll be damned. The cold autumn wind just blew the most beautiful Melody my way. I’m a lucky bastard.” He circles the counter, and embraces Mel’s waist. Her feet leave the floor, and a squeak of delight rises from Mel’s throat.

  I briefly examine the interior. Other than a computer desk, there is an outdated vending machine and a table with mismatched chairs.

  “Hi, Uncle Tommy,” she says when he puts her down.

  “Sweet mother of God, I never thought I would see your smile brightening theses ropes ever again.” He holds her at arm’s length and examines her. “You look just as beautiful as the time Tim last brought you here.

  “Thank you,” she says and uncomfortably glances at me.

  “And who is this fine-looking young fella?” He backpedals when he finally notices me standing next to them.

  “I’m Tarry Francis. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I offer on my most polite tone.

  “Please, call me Tom.”

  “Of course, Tom.”

  “So are those lines still up or what?” Mel asks.

  “As strong and sturdy as ever.” He grins.

  “I need two tickets,” she requests as she puts her backpack over the counter.

  “Your money is no good here, Mel,” he says.

  “Yeah, I know, but thought I ought to try anyway.” She smiles at him.

  “How is Ella? I miss that rascal. Haven’t seen her since Easter.” He goes behind the counter and retrieves his jacket. He places an arm over her shoulder and guides us to the parked truck.

  “Ella is great. She started kindergarten.”

  Mel glances at me and offers that pure smile that always sends my heart into a frenzy.

  “Soon she will be zooming through these lines. Little Tim, started at the age of ten, how about you?”

  “Oh, I was twelve.”

  He puts the jacket on, and punches the button of a walk talkie. “Hey, Jerry, I’ll be sending two down. Copy?”

  “Affirmative.”

  I follow them to the car.

  “You can put our helmets here, Tarry,” she tells me as she places the backpack in the back of the truck. I open the door for Mel and slide in after her.

  “How about you, ever gone zip-lining before?” Tom asks me as he turns the key.

  “I did once, in Hawaii,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah, well, I have one of the best in New England, half a mile of exquisite nature spreading out below your feet.”

  “That ought to be interesting,” I say. My thighs pressing against Mel’s send a thrill through my spine. Incredible, but my body is so in tune with hers. It really is.

  A glimpse of sadness crosses Mel’s eyes. But it’s so brief, I wonder if I only imagine it.

  “I hear they have great zip lines out in Hawaii,” Tom says. He turns to Mel and asks. “Tell me, how is Pete doing.”

  “He is okay. The dialysis takes a toll on his b
ody. But you know Pop. He never complains.”

  “Yeah, that son of a bitch is as strong as a horse, but the damn diabetes messes with him. Thank the Lord for those kids. Raising them is what has kept him going since Tim and Jo passed.”

  “Yeah,” Mel says and glances nervously at me. I offer a reassuring smile.

  “I heard rumors that he owes back taxes on the lake shack. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know. If it’s true, I know Pop would never complain to me.”

  They continue to talk as Tom drives up on a narrow, twisted gravel road. Within a few minutes and a lifetime of updates on family members, we reach the summit.

  I grin anticipating the experience. The adrenaline, already pumping through my veins, excites me as hell. The feeling is invigorating.

  “The gears are in the back of the truck.” Tom parks next to a tower.

  We retrieve the gear. Tom assists Mel in securing all straps.

  Mel turns to me and the huge smile on her face tugs at my heartstrings. All I can think is about this crazy desire to make her smile like this more often. Her face is joyful. I’ve never seen her this bright.

  “Your turn to get ready.” She hands me a harness and assists me with the elaborate straps. After a final inspection from Tom, I’m ready for takeoff.

  Tom goes over the safety procedures and I climb on the tower after Mel. At the top, we stand at a square ramp, proudly displaying an old and faded American flag. I breathe in the cold, crisp air. Mel stands so close to me I can touch her, but I refrain. I won’t screw this up. We’ll go at her pace.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispers, more to herself than me.

  I take in the beauty surrounding us. Everywhere we look is a carpet of elaborate shades of fall. It’s breathtaking.

  “Yeah, it’s gorgeous. Thank you for sharing.”

  “You kids ready?” Tom climbs the stairs to join us.

  “Why don’t you go first Tarry? Since it’s your first time.”

  “No prob,” I say as I stand under the cable. Tom comes around me, secures my harness to the zip line and double-checks the straps. I grasp the handlebars and listen to his final instructions.

  “Jerry, sending your way. You ready?” Tom asks on the radio.

  “Affirmative. Over.” I hear a young voice reply.

  I walk out of the ramp. It’s similar to being shot out into the open. Then the wind kisses my face as I gain speed. The only sound I hear is the hiss of the wind in my ears and the humming of the wheels spinning with fluid motion and a tremendous speed. I see the trees under my feet. It gives me the impression that I’ll stumble on them. I look to my right and see a small lake. The water reflects the gray-and-pearl clouds swirling in the blue sky. “Woo-hoo!” I shout, but there is no one to hear me. A powerful thrill runs through me. The momentary ecstasy replaces the numbness that constantly invades my soul. The exhilarating feeling satisfies me.

  Too soon I see the ramp where I should land getting closer and bigger. I sense the speed diminishing. A teenager in a red shirt waits for me.

  I land and stumble, my legs as wobbly as a toddler’s.

  “Get out! Are you Tarry Francis? The Tarry Francis?” the boy shouts as soon as I’m steady on my feet.

  “Last time I checked,” I say, almost flattered to be recognized. Fuck anonymity. Do I like the constant hounding of paparazzi and strangers? Certainly not. But let’s be honest, musicians have huge egos, me included. Lately, I’ve been under the radar. Blending in is easier than celebrities let on.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, dumbstruck.

  “Zip-lining.” I grin.

  “Can I have you autograph my iPod? I have all your music. Even the pop songs.” He grimaces at the last sentence. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, I was into your pop songs when I was younger. Now I prefer the rock songs. Sorry, I’m babbling, huh? You wouldn’t happen to have a Sharpie on you would you? Because I could get one at the office. It will be on—”

  “Jerry, is everything all right?” The radio interrupts his rampant speech.

  “Sure, I, um. I’m ready for the next. Over.”

  He helps me out of my harness.

  “Are you going to wait for the next person?” he asks, hopeful.

  “Yeah, I will. No worries, bro. I won’t leave without signing your stuff.” I smile.

  “Thanks, man,” he says with a broad smile.

  I lean on the rail and I pat my pockets in search of cigarettes. It hits me that I haven’t smoked today. I shake my head in disbelief, but I smile. Maybe there is hope for my sorry ass. I cross my arms over my chest. The craving makes a revengeful appearance. I want to smoke badly. I really do.

  Then Mel zooms my way. The cravings almost disappear when I see the grin spread across her beautiful face. Unlike me, she lands gracefully.

  “Mel, is that really you?” Jerry hugs her instead of helping her. Again, she squeals in delight. What is this, Hug Mel Day?

  “Jerry, you’re so tall. When did you grow so much?” She kisses his red cheeks. Well, at least the poor bastard is as affected by her as my lame self.

  “Wait, are you with Tarry Francis?” His red face still stretched in a grin.

  “Yep.” She unhooks the straps off the cable.

  “Oh, that’s right. Will is married to Portia, that gorgeous actress. It would be surreal to meet her. Here, let me help.” He assists her out of the harness. My fingers prickle with the need to be the one touching Mel.

  “Yeah, you could meet her, if you would visit once in a while,” she says, walking my way.

  “How did you like it?” she asks, full of expectation.

  “Fucking fantastic!” I say and she grimaces almost unnoticeably at my cursing.

  “Good, I’m glad you liked.”

  As we walk to the office to wait for Tom, Mel turns into a chatterbox. I’ve never heard her talk so much.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” she enquires.

  “I’m a freshman at Feature Community Tech, but I don’t have classes on Mondays. So I pick up hours with Grandpa for cash.”

  We enter the office and Jerry makes a beeline for the computer desk.

  “Ha!” he holds a red Sharpie as if it was a prize and hands it to me along with his iPod.

  I scribble the words, “To Jerry, All my best, Tarry Francis.’

  “Mel, do you mind taking a picture of us?” he asks.

  “No, not at all, Jerry,” she says.

  After we take the pictures, we hear the rumble of the truck.

  “Well, bye, Jerry. Say hello to Jen and Mike.” Mel hugs him. Is she teary?

  We walk to the parking lot. As I retrieve the helmets and backpack from the back of the truck, Mel says good-bye to Tom.

  “Join us for lunch; Margaret will be happy to see you.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Tommy, but not today. I want to show the lake to Tarry. And I work tonight.”

  Shit, I realize the sacrifice Mel is making in order to spend the day with me. I’m sure there are a thousand things she could do instead of babysit me. The thought unsettles me. It really does.

  “A pleasure to meet you, young man.” He shakes my hand with a tight grip. “Take good care of our Mel, you hear me?” His eyes are suddenly deep and serious.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” I smile my most genuine smile.

  We don the helmets and I refrain from assisting her. I don’t know what impression she wants to give to Tim’s family. I’m thrilled she brought me here. That ought to mean something.

  “Where to?” I say when we hit the intersection to a paved road.

  “Turn right,” she yells.

  Again, I’m super aware of her soft curves mashing against my back. I think about the power that her body exerts over me. Even though I usually date the stereotypical tall, blond actress or model, prior to Mel I never had a specific type. Now, I do. She has to have generous, gorgeous, and firm breasts, a small waist, round hips, and, m
ost importantly, a fine ass. It has to fit perfectly inside my hand. And I have long, long hands.

  Following Mel’s direction, I turn left on another deserted gravel road. I lower the gear, and we ride for a few minutes before I see a tired-looking house, sad and lonely.

  We park across from a small porch. Mel gets off the bike and I follow her.

  “This is it. The lake shack,” she tells me with a flare, as if showcasing a fine château.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “This is where Tim’s dad was born. Legend has it that Nana raised eight boys and two girls in this house.”

  “Not all legends are true, y’know.” I point out with a chuckle. Mel struggles with the helmet. I can almost weep with gratitude. I help her, my fingers touching her skin as I tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear.

  Honey curls, not too light, not to dark. Add that to the list of attributes my “type” has to have.

  “Let me give you the grand tour.”

  She grabs my hand and gleefully pulls me. She selects a key from her chain and opens the door. Inside is quiet and dark. Mel leaves the door open for daylight to help us find our way. She takes a lamp from the top of the fireplace and retrieves a quilt from a sofa.

  “Tim and I spent many days here. Didn’t matter the season, we would find a reason to come over.” She sighs with a melancholic smile. To my relief, she doesn’t linger over the subject. I wonder if I like or hate her dead dude. I really do. He sticks to Mel, as the dark has a constant presence in the night.

  I follow her throughout the small dwelling that housed twelve people. It has a kitchen, a living room, two bedrooms, and a bath.

  “It has a generator,” Mel explains as we walk out on the kitchen door.

  In awe, I take in the amazing view. Down the house is a lake. But it’s not simply a lake. When I was little, I enjoyed the book Bridge to Terabithia. Well, that’s how I feel at this moment. It’s as if the shack is a freakish portal that has transported me to a magical land. I really am turning into a pussy. Just saying.

  The lake prideful reflects—with more perfection than a mirror—the scattered seashell clouds decorating the blue sky. Beside the lake grows a huge willow tree that greets us with its swaying branches. Wild autumn flowers tangle a festive mess of colors. They lean close together as if whispering secrets spoken in hushed voices, far in the past. They weather the cold wind, as if waiting to lead us to the water. Mel glances my way and a small smile curves her delectable lips.