Falling (16 page)

We pass the Metlam sign, I haven't been here since aunt Kelly bought a real estate agent around to value the house so that I could sell it, that was two years ago. I wouldn't let her, it’s all in my name, and even though I am still a minor she can't sell it without me signing it off. And I can't.

We go down Fifty Third Street, mine is two more down. As we turn the corner, I can see my house. It is so eerie to look at it, it’s dark and empty, but the lawns are perfectly mown and the trees and flowers and beautifully kept. Someone comes every week apparently. For the first three months I did nothing. But one of the neighbours called the city who told aunt Kelly that we had to do something with it or I would be fined. Who knew you could be fined for not mowing your lawn?

The bus slows and I climb off, and walk slowly up the front path. I don't know why I do it, but every time I come here I end up letting my eyes search for them. I know they aren't here. But I lived in this house from the time I was born, and spent thirteen years looking down the driveway to see if my dad was home.

The front door is locked. Of course. I fumble through my bag. Argh. I want to scream. I can’t believe I came all this way and didn’t bring my keys.

I walk around the house looking for a way in. I don’t really want to break a window, because I will have to pay to fix it.

I pause looking at the back yard, it’s just as neat as the front, my tire swing is still tied to the branch of the massive pine tree. I loved this thing. I would wait at the top of the driveway every evening in the summer, standing on the same spot and beg dad to push me before he could go inside.

I walk over to it, running my hand over the rubber and put one leg through. I have grown heaps since the last time I tried to swing on this. I balance on my back foot and hop until my first foot is through, then I squeeze my other one in, so that my legs are jammed awkwardly on top of each other.

I push off with the foot closest to the ground. I swing back and the wind whips up my hair, flinging it into my eyes as I try to blink. Dad put this up for me when I was six, and I was so scared the first time he pushed me. Mum stood in the kitchen window. She pretended to watch, but she really had the camera and was waiting for me to be flying so she could snap me.

The tree is close to the back fence, and back then I thought I would either slam into it or go sideways into the garage or come flying out the hole in the middle of the tyre and go sailing into the house. The hole seemed a lot bigger to me then.

I wiggle my legs trying to fit them in a bit better. I doubt I'd come flying out of it now, even if I tried. I breathe in the warm air that's mingling with the scent of the pine needles falling around me.

This is home.

I fall back and forward through the open air thinking about all the years I spent doing this. The swing floats to a gentle stop, and I sit for a minute thinking about what to do next. My forward planning hasn't been great in the last couple of days.

I fall backwards out of the swing when neither of my legs want to move. Wiggling backwards on the ground, I get my first leg free and the other one pops out after it. I pull out a really sharp pine needle sticking into my neck and rub at it while walking up to the back door.

I reach up, standing on the outside tap to see if the window is loose. It’s one of those windows with the double latches, and it has been left on the widest one. I jump down and get a twig to shove between the window frame and the latch, pushing it off at the bottom to unlock it.

Sweet.

I push off the tap with the tips of my toes and haul myself up and through the opening, crashing head first into the washing tub. My legs and feet tumble over me, throwing me out of the tub and onto the floor. I finally land on my back, eyes to the ceiling.

“Ouch.” I say out loud, breaking the suffocating silence.

I stay on my back for another minute, my shoulder is stinging where it hit the ground.

“Man, this place needs some serious cleaning,” I say, watching the corners of the ceiling move. “Definite spider and bug issues.” I say out loud again.

I slowly come up to my knees, then to my feet, moving like I'll give the house a fright if I go too fast after it has been empty for so long.

The smell is really intense, like death. I can say that, I can say it smells like death, I tell myself walking into the living room. It smells like death because no one lives here.

I stop in the centre of the room, all the furniture is in exactly the same place it was the morning of the accident. Only, someone has put plastic covers over everything. I stop in front of dad’s chair, ripping the plastic off, letting the tips of my fingers run over the leather remembering the last time I saw him in it.

The leather isn’t smooth any more, I sink slowly to the ground, the plastic piled on the rug crinkling under my weight and a cloud of dust explodes into the air choking me. But I ignore it, keeping my hand on the leather staring at it until the burning in my eyes forces me to blink.

The massive motes of dust stir again as I slowly rise to my feet and pull the cover back over dad’s chair, and stumble to the kitchen.

I open each cupboard along the wall one by one. All the plates and bowls are still stacked up, someone has even put plastic covers over the glasses. My breath catches in my throat and I reach out to touch the small clay figurine I made for mum on Mother’s Day when I was eleven, still stuck to the fridge. I can feel the scratch of tears starting to build up. I touch it again quickly, and walk out.

I let my hand trail up the wood as I step up each of the stairs one at a time, letting both feet land together before moving on. I go into my old room first. My bed is stripped back to just the mattress, it’s the only thing of mine that is left here, wrapped in plastic sheets like we are just waiting for the movers to take all our things away. The rest of my stuff is at school now.

I cross the hall into my parent’s room. I know what’s waiting for me, but I pause in the doorway anyway. Their bed is wrapped like mine. I slump against the door frame, and rub my face with both hands looking at it all. It’s just the same as the last time they were here, I wouldn’t even let them take away the newspaper dad was reading the night before he died. It’s yellowed now, sitting next to the lamp, sitting under a cover of plastic.

The front door rattles, and my head pops up, shaking a few tears free. Something hard raps on it, and I race to the window, looking down onto the street. I press my head and nose into the glass trying to see the front door, but I can't see a person. I race down the stairs to the front door.

“Who's there?” I call out loudly.

“Police. Open up.”

“Sorry, I can't. I don't have the key.”

“How did you get in?”

“Through the back window.” Oh … that sounds just a tiny bit like I have broken in.

“Climb back out.” He commands.

I run back into the laundry and launch myself out the open window, landing face first on the lawn. I cringe as my cheek is pushed further into the grass until I can taste the dry grass and dirt in my mouth.

“Don't move. Are you alone?”

“Yes.” I say as well as I can with a hand on the back on my head. Someone puts handcuffs around my wrists and hauls me to my feet in one pull.

The kids next door stop playing and peer through the gaps in the fence, before I’m turned around and marched down the driveway.

“Sorry, officers.” I say trying to make this seem real, “someone must have seen me go in the back window. I own this house. I wasn't breaking in. I just forgot my keys.”

“You own this house young lady? What are you, fifteen?”

“Seventeen,” I say indignant. “My parents died and the house was left to me. I go to a boarding school near here. I was just coming to check on it.”

The exchange doubtful glances. “Is there anyone who can verify your story?”

“Take my phone out of my bag. It is down next to the tap at the back. My aunt Kelly's number is in it. Call her, she’s my guardian.” One of the officers runs back down the drive and is back searching through my bag.

“Is there a reason you have a blanket in your bag? Were you planning to sleep over?”

“No, I was reading under a tree. Outside of my school,” I add quickly. “I was avoiding someone, so I thought I would come up here, just to check on things.” I look at them both. They believe my story less now than before.

“You can call my school if you want. Anyone of the teachers can tell you.”

The one with my bag scrolls through my numbers. “This is officer Jordan, are you an aunt Kelly?” He asks holding my phone up to his face without letting it touch him.

“Oh my goodness, has something happened to Reid.” I can hear her shrieking on the other end.

“I'm fine,” I shout toward the phone.

“Quiet, Miss,” the officer without the phone says sharply. I move my arms to cross them over my chest, but I am in handcuffs. So I lean awkwardly on the edge of my driveway, listening to the one side of the conversation that I can hear now.

“We found her inside a house that she is claiming is hers.” He stops, listening to whatever aunt Kelly is telling him. He looks at me, then nods his head. “Okay then. Can you tell me the address of the property?” He looks at the number on the letter box. “No that's fine, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

He hands the phone to me. “She wants a word.”

“No hands,” I say, moving my arms behind my back. One holds my phone up for me while the other sits down in their car and starts filling out some forms. “Hi, aunt Kelly.”

“Are you okay?” She breathes hysterically down the phone.

“Yeah, I was just a bit bored, so I thought I would come up and take a look at the house. You know, make sure everything is fine, I forgot my key, so I jumped through the laundry window. Someone must have seen me. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You're fine? Are you sure everything is all right? Do you need to come home early for the break?” she asks sounding worried.

“No,” I attempt to laugh. “Really, I'm fine. Nothing more than a forgotten key.”

The officer holding the phone sighs loudly. “Hey I've got to go. The officers want a word with me.”

“Okay. Please call if you need to, okay?”

“I will. Don't worry, there's nothing wrong.”

“Okay then.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up before she can ask any more questions. The other officer gets out of the car and comes around to me.

“You might want to introduce yourself to your neighbours before you climb in the window next time, yeah?”

“I will. I am so sorry to be such a pain. I just wanted to look at the house.”

“It's okay. Can we give you a ride back to your school? Your aunt said it's an hour away.”

“I'm fine thanks, I have my bus fare.”

“Have a good day then, Miss.” They say getting into their car.

I run back up the driveway, pulling myself back through the window, and run up the stairs to my parent’s room. I don't know when I'll have a chance to wear it, but … I don't know. I pull their closet door open, then I stop surprised, I shouldn’t be after how the rest of the house looks like. I wish aunt Kelly had told me she was going to get someone to cover everything. I would have wanted to be here.

I sift through the plastic. There it is. I pull out mum's green dress. It's beautiful, vintage 1940’s, classic in every way, emerald green to match her engagement ring. I roll it around and around on itself to form a plastic ball, and push in down into my bag.

I slowly walk down the stairs. Every surface is covered in dust. Even the things under plastic don’t look that clean. I stare back at the house from the laundry doorway for a minute. It used to smell sweet in here, and warm, kind of like cookies just being pulled out of the oven. Now it smells like a house for ghosts.

I want to be out of here, it crushes me again to know they will never come home.

I turn around and pull myself out the window, trying to be more careful. But my shoe catches on the latch, halting my fall for a second, before releasing me to the hard ground below. I land on the same shoulder as when I went in. I breathe deeply, hold my shoulder lying on the ground fighting back tears. I crawl up to my feet and stagger back up on the tap and shut the window with one hand.

I pull my bag over my other shoulder and head to the bus stop, waving at the kids next door who are in their driveway on their bikes.

At first they just watch me.

“Did you steal anything?” The boy finally asks.

“Mum said don't talk to her,” his little sister says nervously.

“It's my house. So no I didn't steal anything,” I answer.

“But you don't live here,” he accuses me.

“Not right now. I grew up in this house, but I live at my school now.”

“Oh.”

“Can I play on the swing if mum says it's okay?”

“That's fine. My dad put it up when I was six.” I tell him.

“I'm six,” The boy shouts excited, like that must mean that he should play on it.

“Then you should have a turn, if your mum lets you,” I add quickly.

Speaking of his mum… “Get back down here you two. What did I tell you?”

They both disappear.

“But she didn't steal anything, mum. She owns that house. She is gone away to school. She said that I could swing on the swing in the tree. Because I am six.” He shouts even louder.

Two minutes of listening to the boy trying to convince his Mother that I am not a thief almost changes my mind to go and explain the situation to her and give him permission to use the swing. But I don't want to say why I don't live here anymore or listen to her tell me how terrible it is and ask if there’s anything she can do.

So instead I wait until my bus rumbles up to the stop.

* * *

It’s a long painfully slow drive back to school. It’s time for dinner by the time I finally reach my room and Sara has gone down already.

I trudge down. I don’t want food. But I have to, even my thoughts are coming in a whiney voice. We don’t have a choice, they take a roll at all meals to make sure you’re here.

I hate this place.