The Truth About Falling

by H. M. Sholander

  I push away from the chair, Hudson’s hand falling away from my back.

  I need to get out of this room. I need space. I turn on my heel, leaving the room.

  “Are you okay,” Hudson asks, trying to catch me before I leave, but I don’t stop to answer him. “Jade,” he calls, but I keep walking.

  “Let her go,” Mom says, her voice soft.

  I can’t listen to her tell Hudson that it’s her fault. That the way I am and everything I gave up is her fault.

  Because it’s not…I chose this…me…not her.

  Maybe I could have had a friend or two to help me out, but I didn’t want the help. I was determined to do everything on my own. But I also didn’t want someone’s judgement. I didn’t want them to see the fights with my dad or the way I cared for my mom like one would a child.

  I like to say I don’t care what people think about me, but I care about them passing judgement on my family when they can only see what’s on the surface.

  I step out to the hallway and sink to the ground, inhaling and exhaling as I close my eyes.

  “I’m not going to school,” I say as I open a can of soup in our small kitchen.

  I haven’t gotten used to the trailer that’s now our home. I despise everything that it represents–everything we lost.

  “Jade, you have to go,” Mom argues, sitting on the old tattered recliner I bought at a flea market.

  “I don’t.” I pour the contents of the can into a plastic bowl and shove it in the microwave for a few minutes. “I’m staying. It’s done.” It was done the moment I saw her lying on the ground at my graduation two weeks ago. “You need help.”

  “I have your dad.”

  My eyes harden. “You don’t,” I argue. “Do you even know where he is?”

  She tilts her head down. “No.”

  “Exactly.” The microwave beeps, but I ignore it, moving closer to her. “You need me, and I’m going to help. You can’t change my mind, Mom.” I sit on the arm of the recliner, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “You and me–we’re gonna make it, and when we come out on the other side, I’ll go to school.”

  She turns toward me, her eyes laced with unshed tears. “This isn’t right. You’re my daughter. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

  “You’ve taken care of me long enough. It’s my turn to be there for you.” I rub her shoulder, dropping my head to hers.

  We sit on the chair, holding each other together, while everything falls apart.

  My phone rings, and I dig it out of my pocket.

  I answer without looking at the caller ID. “Hello.”

  “This is Mr. Wade. Is this Jade?” he asks, sounding cheery.

  I clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”

  “I have good news. The charges have been dropped.”

  “That’s it?” I ask, not believing something is actually working out in my favor.

  “That’s it. No fine, no court, and no record.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “No problem at all. I’ll have Karen send you a final bill. Stay out of trouble.”

  I hang up after saying goodbye. I wish Mr. Wade could fix my mom. Dig her out of the hole she has so comfortably sunk herself into. But he can’t and neither can I.

  I stand from the ground and head back in to the room, squaring my shoulders and holding myself high. And I pretend like I’m not withering away inside because of Mom’s words.

  Hudson has his back to the door, standing over my mom’s bed when I click the door shut.

  He glances over his shoulder at me, hearing my shoes squeak across the floor. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes scan my face, and I attempt a smile, hoping it comes off as reassuring instead of sad.

  I walk around Mom’s bed and sit in the uncomfortable chair that might as well have my name burned in it. “I’m sorry.”

  Mom shakes her head, playing with a strand of my hair. “It’s fine, honey.”

  I press my lips together, watching as she shifts her attention between me and Hudson. “You’ve got a winner,” Mom says. “Don’t let him go. It’s not often you find someone like him.”

  I nod my head, not able to make any sound come out of my mouth.

  “You two should go,” she suggests, jerking her head to the window. “It’s beautiful outside. I was just out there listening to the birds chirp and feeling the sun beat down on me.” She looks at me pointedly. “Don’t waste your time, Jade.”

  “I’m not wasting anything. I want to be here,” I say, my jaw tight. I need her to know it’s the truth.

  “And I want you to go.”

  Why is she always pushing me away? I want to be here for her, but she always wants me to leave. It’s like she’s trying to distance herself from me before I’m ready to let go. But I’ll never be ready. I’ll always want more…more time…more laughs…more of her.

  She looks over at Hudson. “Thank you for meeting me. I’m glad my Jade is in good hands.”

  He smiles at her. “That makes two of us.” His eyes slide over to me, and I avert my gaze, not ready to accept the meaning of all this.

  “Now go,” she insists, shooing us away.

  I stand from the chair and kiss her forehead, pushing her hair back from her face. “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you, too,” she says, looking up at me from under her lashes.

  Hudson and I head toward the door, and I grip his hand for support, holding it as tightly as I can. I peer over my shoulder, seeing my mom smile at me–everything about her at ease.

  It’s like she was carrying her own weight on her shoulders, and it’s been lifted. Her eyes full of bliss, her cheeks pink, her smile genuine, and her body sunken into the bed.

  She looks happy, so I hold on to the image, committing it to memory.

  And then I close the door behind me, leaving her alone yet again.

  I cross my legs on the floor of Hudson’s living room, tapping my chin in concentration. I move the white chess piece forward two spots, and Chris shakes his head.

  “You can only move that two spots one time,” he says, pointing at the pawn.

  I grimace, sliding the piece back. Instead, I shift what I think is the bishop one square forward.

  Chris sighs. “You can’t do that, either.” He pats my hand. “Don’t worry; you’ll get it. Let’s play Uno instead.” He clears the chess board, placing the pieces back in the box and folding up the game board.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like a lame-o for not understanding chess when a six-year-old can play it in his sleep.

  “Study for next time, and we’ll try again.”

  I laugh. Study. That’s funny. “Yes, sir.” I salute him.

  Chris stands from the floor and runs to his room. He appears back in front of me before I can blink with a stack of Uno cards in his hands.

  He falls to the floor and hands me the deck of cards. “Can you shuffle?” he asks.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know how,” I say, taking the massive stack of cards from him.

  “I don’t.” He scratches the top of his head, leaving his hair in a disarray when his hand drops to his lap.

  I hand him half the deck. “Let me show you.” I divide my small deck in two and show him how to shuffle and do the bridge at the end.

  There’s something about this little boy that pulls at my heart. Maybe it’s the unruly amount of brown hair on his head or the missing teeth in his mouth. Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

  Chris attempts to shuffle several times, but each time the cards fly out of his hands, landing in a mess. Hudson laughs from the couch, watching us with shining eyes.

  I feel connected to Chris in a way I haven’t with anyone else. I know he’s only six, and he doesn’t feel the loss of his Mom, but we’re the same. Both of us without a Mother to guide us through life.

  Maybe that’s why, at only the age of six, he has my heart as much as his Dad.

  “Keep practicing,”
I tell Chris, dealing the cards between the two of us.

  We play Uno for the next hour, and I have to say it’s the best kind of distraction from thinking about the events from earlier today, especially when Hudson joins us on the floor.

  “Dad, stop cheating,” Chris says, flinging the cards in his hands on the floor.

  Hudson throws his hands up in the air. “I’m not cheating.” His mouth turns up as his eyes shift between me and Chris. “Jade, dealt the cards. If anything, she’s the one giving me the good cards.”

  “Jade,” Chris whines, “stop letting Dad win.”

  I shove Hudson in the shoulder. “I think we should disqualify him,” I say to Chris. “He can’t be trusted.”

  Chris’s eyes widen. “I knew you were cheating.” Chris leaps from the floor and tackles Hudson. They both fall to the ground as Hudson begins to tickle Chris.

  The cutest giggle bursts out of Chris’s mouth.

  Chris and Hudson have this bond, this relationship, that’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before. My mom and I were close when I was growing up. I looked up to her, and she encouraged me, but we didn’t have a bond like this. A friendship.

  I lean back against the foot of the couch and watch as they poke fun at each other. Chris moves back to his spot on the floor and scatters the entire deck of cards, making them slide all over the living room floor. Chris lays on his back and rolls around in the cards, his laughter ringing through the air. Hudson takes the opportunity to tickle him again, and Chris wails in a fit of giggles.

  I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from busting out laughing and to contain my snorting. Hudson looks over at me, obviously hearing me.

  He stops tickling Chris and whispers something in his ear. Chris sits up, and he and Hudson gather some of the cards. They smile over at me before they each launch a stack of cards at me, and I let out a yelp, not expecting the flurry of cards that hits me.

  We all laugh together, enjoying the moment of being free.

  Picking up the cards in my lap, I peek at Hudson and Chris, watching as Chris talks a mile a minute.

  I’ve been missing a lot of things in life, and I think I’m starting to get them back. I’m beginning to see that there is more than what I’ve let myself have in the last couple of years, and now I want it all.

  I don’t want to go back to being miserable and alone.

  I want this.

  All of this.

  I lay in bed next to Hudson, drawing as he sleeps, the only sound his ragged breathing. I ended up staying at his place after we cleaned up the mess we made with the cards and he put Chris to bed.

  I couldn’t sleep, so I went in search of a piece of paper and pencil, both of which I found in the kitchen, courtesy of Chris as they were both next to his backpack.

  Lined paper and a standard number two pencil aren’t the best things to work with, but it’s better than staring at the ceiling and letting my thoughts run rampant.

  Instead, I focus on the pencil moving softly across the paper, using a cookbook I found as a hard surface. I thought about staying in the living room, but I didn’t want to wake up Chris, so I wandered back to Hudson’s room and slipped under the covers, using the flashlight on my phone to give me light.

  The pencil scratches against the paper, roses taking shape with long stems and sharp thorns. The petals are soft in stark contrast to the hard stem. I draw several other rose buds splitting off lower parts of the stem.

  Roses. Why are they a symbol of love and death? Do the two go hand in hand?

  Husbands bring home roses to their spouse to show how much they adore and appreciate them. But then miles away, roses are placed on a casket when a person ceases to exist.

  Does that mean with love comes death? With happiness comes despair? What a cruel joke someone has played on the world.

  Hudson’s fingers trail across my arm, bringing my attention to him. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No.” I put the book, paper, and my phone on the nightstand and roll over to my side, facing him. “Tell me something good.”

  He thinks for a moment before saying, “Chris is in love with you. He told me when I was putting him to bed.”

  “It would seem you have some competition then,”–I grin, pressing my hands against my chest–“because I might feel that way about him.” It’s the truth. Chris is the sweetest, most adorable kid I have ever met. Okay, I haven’t been around a lot of kids, but I’m willing to bet a lot of money that they couldn’t capture my heart as much as he has.

  He slaps his hand over his heart. “That hurt.”

  I chuckle under my breath. “I doubt it.” I touch his shoulder.

  The pad of his thumb runs under my eye. “You should sleep.”

  “Yeah.” My eyes flutter closed, enjoying his skin brushing against mine. “But I’d rather not.” Because nightmares have begun to creep into my dreams, haunting me while I sleep. But they can’t be nightmares when eventually my nightmare will be a reality.

  “Your turn.” He scoots closer, wrapping his body around me, enclosing me.

  I lean my head on his chest. “For what?”

  “To tell me something good. Something that makes you happy.”

  I think for a while, silent, still not able to recall something that has made me smile. Something besides him. Something other than the friend I discovered in Kristy. But maybe that’s all there is, maybe that’s all that matters right now.

  “I had a cat once, but she died.”

  “I said happy,” he complains, running his hand down the length of my back.

  I continue, “She was the fluffiest and fattest cat I’ve ever seen. She waddled when she ran up the stairs, and she meowed like crazy whenever she couldn’t find me. She was always attached to my hip. My little shadow.” She definitely wasn’t little, she was huge, but she was my little fluff. “She was my best friend. I know she was a cat, but I told her all my secrets, and she loved me no matter what. She’s what made me happy. She was the last good thing I had to hold on to when I was a teenager.”

  My eyes connect with his, letting him into my soul. “Now it’s you. Anytime I’m with you it feels like it did when my cat was around.”

  “You’re comparing me to your dead cat?” he jokes.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m saying she used to be what got me through when I was down. Now it’s you.”

  Removing his hand from my back, He slides it to my cheek, regarding me like I’ve given him the world, like I’m what he needs to inhale and exhale every breath.

  His mouth molds to mine, warm and inviting. I kiss him the same way he kisses me, reckless and uncontrolled. We take everything from each other–strength, weakness, comfort. Our hands moving, grabbing, yanking, yearning for something to hold on to while we let go, letting everything slip away except for the other’s existence, the other’s touch.

  I was right. This is all that matters.

  Sometimes it’s hard to let go of the past, to forget the wrong that was done to you, to forgive those who shattered your dreams. But you have to in order to start over again.

  So that’s what I’m doing. While my past has shaped me into the person I am today, I won’t let it define my future. I won’t let it dictate my decisions or hold me back. Not anymore.

  From now on, I will allow myself to be more than I have ever been.

  I lean my bike against the side of the garage and unlock the glass door leading to the tiny ‘waiting room.’ It’s really just a room with one chair that’s rusted and wobbles when you sit on it. Most people don’t wait around for their car to be serviced, but the people who do tend to be miserable, sitting in the stuffy waiting room without even a television to entertain them.

  I unlock the door to the shop and head inside, opening all the garage doors, letting the fresh air inside the shop.

  I turn on some music on my phone while I power on the computer and make sure everything is stocked. The other guys won’t show up for another twenty minutes. I used to hate open
ing, hate being the only who cared around here, but now that I’m not here as often I enjoy the solitude in the morning, the chance to be alone before the hectic work day begins.

  I wiggle to the music, shaking my head and hips as I mouth the words to the music blaring from my phone.

  A throat clears behind me, causing me to whip around. “Oh, hey, Joey. I was just getting everything ready.”

  “By all means, continue.” He smirks, his dark brown eyes full of amusement. He heads toward the back corner and shoves the paper bag containing his lunch in the small refrigerator.

  “You should buy a real lunch bag,” I suggest, propping my hip against the podium the computer sits on.

  “Nah.” He waves me off. “Those are for girls.”

  Men. I turn the music off on my phone, but before I can shove it in my back pocket, it rings. I glance at the screen, but I don’t recognize the number, so I swipe the ignore button.

  I leave my phone on the podium as I turn my attention back to the computer. I open the program we use to check customers out with and wait while it goes through the fifteen loading screens. I prop my head on my hand, staring blankly at the screen.

  My phone rings again, the sound reverberating through the quite shop as it vibrates, nearly falling off the podium from the action.

  “You gonna get that?” Joey asks, taking up residence on his favorite stool.

  It’s the same number as before. “Yeah,” I say as I swipe the answer button, putting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Is this Jade?” a vaguely familiar male asks.

  “Yes,” I answer hesitantly, trying to place who he is.

  “This is Dr. Collins. You need to come to the hospital.”

  My face pales as I grip the podium, holding it to keep myself upright. My chest heaves up and down as panic claws at my throat.