Free Falling

by Makenzie Smith

  “Oh, how delightful,” she said.

  He approached my father next and shook his hand. “Wally,” he said. “Sorry again.”

  “No problem. I understand car trouble. Name’s David and this is Claira.”

  Despite their protests, he continued to call them Mr. or Mrs. Wakely.

  He was perfect. Charismatic and charming. They loved him. All of his fears were dumbfounded. They even found his profession to be astounding.

  “How exciting!” my mother said. “Every day must be such an adventure for you.”

  “It can be,” he smiled, giving my leg a squeeze under the table. We’d finished eating and were sitting around talking, the bill already paid.

  “Is that how you two met,” my father asked.

  “Yes,” I said, cutting Wally off. I knew it was a lie, but I didn’t want them to know that Wally was Trey’s cousin. Not yet. The evening was going so well, and if they thought I left Trey for Wally, even for a moment, it would put them off. My father would think it was a cheap move, and my mother would think that I was unsympathetic. They were judgmental, my parents.

  No, I wanted them to love Wally, to see how amazing he was before they brought any judgment to him. I didn’t miss the twitch of his hand or the unnatural clearing of his throat, but he let it go.

  After dinner, my mother showered him with affection. “Promise to let us do this again,” she said. “I love seeing my punkin so happy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, letting her kiss his cheek.

  My father gave him a firm handshake and tried to talk to him about rifles or shotguns or some type of gun the entire walk to our cars. Wally steered them away from his vehicle, I assume out of embarrassment, and we waved them off from the parking lot.

  As they pulled away, I wrapped my arms around his waist. “You were phenomenal,” I smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” he chuckled. “The flowers weren’t too much?”

  “Are you kidding? She ate that up. Where’d you get the suit?”

  “Looks good doesn’t it?”

  “It’s alright,” I shrugged.

  “Girl, please, you were eye-fucking me the entire walk to the table.”

  “You’re so gross!” I laughed, throwing my head back.

  I’d forgotten about my tiny lie, but right as we walked in my front door he brought it up. “Why didn’t you tell them we met before you went skydiving?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just didn’t want them to think anything negative.”

  “Would they have?” he asked, throwing his keys on the table.

  “Possibly. Everything was going so well, I didn’t want them to have any reason to think something bad about you.”

  “But you’re going to tell them?”

  “Yeah,” I said, pulling him into me. “I’m gonna tell them. Now, let me show you how much I appreciate all you did for me tonight.”

  With a grin, he walked over to the couch and sat down. I kneeled down in front of him and made sure that he knew, without doubt, just how much I truly appreciated him.

  Chapter 20

  The movie had been kind of dumb. I didn’t like it, but Wally was obsessed with these old pictures. He found something beautiful in them. It was strange really, but in a good way. What was it that spoke to him?

  Was it their honesty? Their nostalgic feel? He ate it up, insisting that any time an older movie was playing I go see it with him. I didn’t mind. Most of them I enjoyed too, but occasionally I’d find myself dozing. This one had been the dozing kind.

  “You didn’t like it,” he said as we walked into the lobby.

  “No, it’s not that,” I said, hating disappointing him. I wanted him to continue to bring me with him. Taking a breath, I tried to tell him that I didn’t enjoy it without sounding ungrateful. “I think it might have been a little long for me.”

  “Yeah,” he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leading me out to the parking lot. “Ben-Hur is long as shit. Not the best to see in theater.”

  I couldn’t even tell you how long we’d been dating. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it had probably only been a few months. We weren’t the type to celebrate 1st or 2nd month anniversaries, but he and I were doing good. Really good.

  Sometimes when we’d be lying in bed, my house or his, I’d look over at him and think Wally Nikolokakis, I love you. I couldn’t be sure how real those feelings were. Maybe I was only infatuated. I needed time to understand them, and wasn’t in a hurry to utter those words. Besides, we had time, plenty of it, and deep down I knew that it was important for him to say it first.

  As we were walking towards my car, he pulled my keys out of his pocket. I liked letting him drive me around, and since his car always needed some type of work done, I didn’t mind letting him use mine. His free hand went to my hip and he gave me an affectionate rub. I was smiling over at him, letting him lead me.

  He felt my stare and laughed. “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” I sighed.

  “Mmm,” he said, a pleased, content sound. “You still got it bad for me, huh?”

  “Absolutely crazy for you,” I said.

  His hand squeezed my waist and he kissed the side of my head. I knew that this was unchartered territory for him. We never talked about our past. It didn’t matter, but I knew from the small things he’d mentioned, the clues here and there, that he’d never seriously dated. In his 31 years, most of his romantic relationships had been casual flings.

  He didn’t let people in. His friends were carefully selected, ones he’d known for years. He loved his mother. His grandfather was a sore subject and one he hadn’t opened up to me about, but I knew he loved him, too.

  He didn’t waste his time with hateful or fake people. He was who he was, and made no excuses for it. His life was beautiful, unconventional, and exciting. There was so much I had to learn from him.

  I was so busy with my buttery thoughts that I didn’t notice Wally pull away from me. By the time I had, he was walking across the parking lot towards a group of girls.

  They squealed when they saw him, one running to wrap her arms around his neck. She gave him a too familiar kiss on the cheek and beamed up at him. There were four of them in total.

  Normally, I wasn’t the jealous type, but Wally could be so flirty. I didn’t think he was purposefully being disrespectful to me, but his friendly playfulness was often mistaken as a desire for something more.

  Over the course of our relationship, I’d had several women disregard my presence when he was around—pretend as if I wasn’t there, touching and laughing with him. These were no different. I was some shapeless form hovering in the background.

  They were telling him how much they missed him, asking where he’d been. I stomached these encounters because they were few and far between. Besides, I knew that all I had to do was walk up to him. He wouldn’t pretend like we weren’t together.

  This time though, one of the girls, the one who’d kissed his cheek, was taking it too far. She saw me standing off to the side, even made eye contact with me. But it didn’t deter her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him away, whispering to him.

  He looked tense and rigid as she pulled his ear closer to her. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Wally,” I said, a little too loud. “Can we leave?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he said and pulled away from her. “It was nice seeing y’all.” She looked dejected, but I tried to put her out of my mind, smiling when he came back to me. “Sorry,” he said, pulling me into his side and walking back to my car.

  “Who were they?” I asked.

  “Some girls I used to hang around with.”

  “I don’t like them,” I told him honestly.

  “Don’t blame you,” he said.

  “What did she whisper to you?”

  After a pause, he said, “She wanted me to come out with her tonight.”

  I thought this over, deciding that the whol
e thing made me angry. “Why do you have to be so nice to other girls? They think that I’m just some punk following you around.”

  “Well, you’re my punks,” he said playfully, giving me a squeeze.

  “Whatever,” I said and pushed him off.

  “Oh, come on,” he called after me, but I gave him the cold shoulder all the way home, not liking the jealous thoughts swimming through my head.

  At my house, he left me alone, knowing that I needed time to work through these feelings. That was the thing about Wally, he hated confrontation. If I was angry or upset, he left me alone and waited until I came to him ready to talk about it. Sometimes this was a good thing. Others not so much. This time it was a good thing.

  After about twenty minutes, I looked out of the sliding glass door and saw him sleeping in my hammock. With a sigh, I went to him. I knew that my anger might be a little ridiculous, and I didn’t want to be that insecure, needy girl.

  He stirred when I lay down next to him, but welcomed me into his side. We were silent, enjoying the gentle sway of the hammock. I didn’t know if I wanted to say anything to him now that I was lying there. Maybe it wasn’t worth it.

  But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, over and over, vibrating with new messages. Casually, he pulled it out and started scrolling through them. He wasn’t hiding them from me. My face was on his chest, his phone at his stomach. He knew that I saw them.

  They were all from a girl named Chelsea.

  Going to Cowboy’s tonight, the first said.

  You should come. Then another, It’ll be fun ;)

  Cowboy’s was a dirty bar up the road that single people congregated to. They had cheap beer and crappy music. Girls danced on the stage or did belly shots. Men bought them drinks and foamed at the mouth while they gyrated around. It was an uncomfortable environment.

  No thanks, he said.

  Immediately, she responded. Oh come on!! Destiny will be there too!

  His fingers went to typing and I rubbed his belly as I watched. Busy, he sent.

  My hand tensed and I shot up when her next message appeared.

  You sure?… followed by a picture of her in red, lacy, underwear. She was giving a kissy face, and holding one of her breasts seductively. I recognized her from earlier, the one we’d seen in the parking lot.

  “Wally, she saw me with you! I’m gonna punch her. I swear to god I’m gonna punch her.”

  “Calm down,” he laughed, pulling me back into him. “I’m gonna tell her to leave me alone.”

  Sorry, I’m seeing someone, he said. This didn’t take the sting out of it. “Sorry” as if he was remorseful about it.

  I won’t tell if you won’t… another picture of her. This time with her barely covered ass in the mirror, her looking over her shoulder.

  I was too wound up, angry and frustrated to be lying in the hammock. “This is bullshit,” I said, standing up. Suddenly, I realized that I was on the verge of tears. I hated this—some random woman sending him pictures. How often did that happen? “Does this happen all the time? Girls sending you pictures like that?”

  “Babe, no!” he said. “She’s just being a skank. Wait, okay? Just wait. I’m about to put her in her place.”

  I watched him type on his phone, smile mischievously, and then lay back. “If she texts me again, you can go beat her ass,” he said.

  “What did you send her?”

  He pulled up his text messages and passed the phone to me. My heart swelled as I looked at the screen.

  Sorry, you ain’t got nothing on my girl, he said, followed by a picture of the two of us. Our faces were smooshed together, pushing my sunglasses off kilter. His smile was so genuine, lopsided and making his eyes squint.

  I remembered taking the picture. We’d been in his backyard, babysitting Marlowe and Lucas’ new puppy while they went out of town. It had been a good weekend, filled with laughter and amusement as we chased the little, brown dog around, cleaning up his messes and letting him slather us with kisses.

  Maybe I was wasting all of this energy and letting myself get worked up over something I shouldn’t. “I don’t like this feeling,” I said, falling back in the hammock.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about, Punks,” he said. “I used to eat that shit up, but couldn’t care less now.”

  “What changed?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and I didn’t look at him, afraid that he’d tense up or chicken out from saying what was really on his mind.

  “You,” he finally said. “You make me happy. I don’t need that anymore.”

  Yeah. I loved him. I really think I did.

  Chapter 21

  The windows were rolled down. I was turned in the passenger seat of his car, smiling at him. The noise had lessened. His friend, Ian, replaced some thing with a new thing and now it didn’t click and clack near as loudly. We were at least able to hold conversations while driving.

  Despite its issues, I loved his car. It had character, just like him. The seats worn, cracked leather. The dash a dusty brown, in dire need of a shine. His steering wheel had an old, fake, wood look, but what was once considered sleek, now had a dull hue. From his rearview mirror hung a hodgepodge of memorabilia, weighing it down.

  We were laughing, arguing back and forth about my taste in music. This was a favorite argument of his. He claimed I was brainwashed by society, not knowing what “good” music was. I called him an elitist and said that “good” was relative.

  He liked that, being called an elitist, finding the insult charming. “I’ve been called so many things in my life, but elitist isn’t one of them,” he said with a smile. “Fine. If I’m an elitist then you’re a sheep.”

  “A SHEEP!” We started arguing quickly then, throwing so-called facts and preferences back and forth.

  Our voices were growing louder, trying to talk over each other. The low ring of his cell phone echoed in the background, until finally he put a hand up.

  “Alright, alright,” he said. “To be continued.”

  He answered his phone and I watched his face change—all of the humor gone, replaced with concern, and then perhaps dread.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be right there. Five minutes.” He hung up and did a quick U-turn.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, but didn’t get a response. He was in another world, working through some anxiety or nervousness. It was freaking me out, but I thought it best to leave him be.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up to a house and got out of the car. “Give me a minute,” he said through the open window and took off towards the front door.

  I watched him enter the old house and began biting my nails. It was a small place, set back from the road with a gravel drive and a chain length fence surrounding the backyard. The siding was painted green, but it was chipping in spots here and there. A screened in porch went across the length of the house with a wooden bench swing. The grass and hedges were in dire need of a trim, but it was cute. It looked well-loved and weathered. The front door was still open, and I tried to hear something, anything, but came up empty. Five minutes had passed and Wally still hadn’t returned. The car was beginning to overheat, so I turned it off.

  When another five minutes passed, I was getting too hot and had to step out of the car. I saw him then. A tall, old man walking out onto the porch. He had a cane and leaned on it for support as he struggled to make it to the swing.

  He saw me too.

  We must have stared at each other for a solid minute before he waved me over. I wasn’t sure what to do. This had to be Wally’s grandfather, and from what I knew, Wally kept his grandfather private. It was a sensitive subject for him. Maybe he was embarrassed by him or maybe he scared easy or said inappropriate things. Any number of scenarios could be true.

  I hesitated too long, and the old man said, “You just gonna stand there and stare at me? Come here.” His voice was deep and thick, a gruffness clinging to his words.

  I pushed off the car and wa
lked onto the porch, sitting in the wicker chair across from him. “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello,” he said.

  The first thing I noticed was that he wasn’t as old as he initially appeared. I’d place him somewhere in his early seventies. He had a handsome face—one that I knew had been just as charming and charismatic as his grandson’s.

  “I’m Kristen,” I said. “I’m here with Wally.”

  “You are?” He rubbed his chin, giving the gray stubble a good scratch. “Where is he?”

  “I think he’s inside.”

  “He is?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I think so.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I must have missed him.”

  He looked away from me, putting his attention to something out in the yard. It was almost as if he’d forgotten I was there entirely.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Theodore,” he said.

  He looked like a Theodore. Or a Theo. I tried to think of something to say that would lessen the awkwardness, but he beat me to it.

  “You see that house over there?” he asked, pointing to brick home down the road.

  “Yeah.”

  “A long time ago, someone I loved used to live there, but for the life of me I can’t remember who.”

  I think I got it then. Theodore must have dementia or Alzheimer’s. My late grandmother also had it. I moved to sit by him on the swing.

  “Was it a girl?” I smiled over at him.

  “Maybe,” he chuckled. “You young kids don’t know what you’ve got,” he said. “It’s a terrible thing to have your memories leave you.”

  I knew better than to pretend that his memories were perfectly intact. “I can’t imagine,” I said.

  He looked surprised that I’d agreed, doing a double take. He looked at me then. Really looked at me. “You said you’re here with Wally?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good for him,” he said. “It’s about time he found himself somebody.” He stopped talking and looked off into the distance again. “He’s a good boy,” he said, like an afterthought. “A really good boy.”

  “He is,” I smiled. “What was he like as a kid?”