Where We Fell (2 page)

“Me, too. Small world, Oliver Bishop. I do hope
you’ll come by for some bacon and pie another day.” Her fingers fidget with her
menu pad and she tears a piece of paper off, crumpling it in her fist. “No
charge for food you don’t eat.”

I leave her ten dollars.

She was entertaining, even though she can’t wait
tables for shit.

2.

I GRADUATE ON SATURDAY, a dark blue graduation gown
covering my body, my hat pulled taut over my hair. And for the first time, I
wonder if I’ll
have
hair at this time next year. If, when it grows back,
it will still be the same light brown as my mom’s. Even though she dyes it, it
makes me feel good because we look like we’re from the same family. Sometimes I
wish I had her green eyes instead of my blue, so we’d match even more.

The only pomp and circumstance is in the form of the
song playing as I step across the stage and accept my diploma. I watch every member
of my class do the same to scattered applause from the small crowd. I listen as
our valedictorian, Meaghan, says things about how bright our futures are. Her
sleek, blonde hair is pulled back into a braid, and strands of wayward pieces
become disconnected as the wind picks up around us. Her graduation gown whips
against her legs and she raises her voice to speak louder. I lift my gaze to
the sky and watch thick clouds gather over the crowd, noting the exact moment
the first raindrop falls.

My father, in full gear, is the first to stand and
direct people to cover. My mom runs with her program above her head, as if the
flimsy school-bought paper will protect her from the torrential downpour. The
bleachers and stage tremble beneath the weight of stampeding graduates, each of
them scrambling for dry cover. But I sit, my hands folded over my knees,
holding my now soaking wet diploma, and close my eyes. With my face turned
upward, I sit in the rain.

***

“You could get pneumonia,” my mother snaps at me as
we drive through the downpour.

“Yeah. That’s the worst that could happen, Mom.
Pneumonia.”

She goes quiet and I see my father’s eyes in the
rearview as he pulls into the diner’s parking lot. “To-go,
or . . .”

“We can go in.” I unbuckle my belt and peel my gown
off. It lays in a wet pile on the seat next to me, my ruined diploma somewhere
on the floorboard below.

It’s way busier in the restaurant on a Saturday, and
I lead my parents to the back corner booth. I’m not sure if I hope that
Hannah’s working today or not. She was pretty mouthy around just me. I don’t
know if my parents will find her quite as endearing as I did.

“Oh, Bishop. You can’t blame this on me.” She
appears at the end of the table holding her little pad of paper in one hand and
pointing her pen at me with the other. “We don’t even have enough coffee to get
you
that
wet.” Her cheeks grow red as she looks toward the other people
in my booth. “Sorry. Oliver came in last week and I spilled coffee all over
him. Just a little joke.” She tilts her head and smiles brightly at my parents.
“Mr. Bishop! How’re things on the mean highways?”

“Seedy,” he jokes. “Hardest job I’ve ever had. The
crime around here is astounding.”

Hannah nods like she knows. “All the meth?”

My dad’s eyes grow wide. “I was joking.”

She grins. “Me, too.” Turning to me, she points
again. “So, really, what’s the story?”

My mom answers instead. “It started raining at
graduation. Oliver didn’t get out of the rain . . . in time.”

“Gotcha. You gotta be careful, you know. Don’t want
to get sick. Then who would come and occupy my booth?” She takes our orders and
disappears into the kitchen.

“I almost didn’t recognize her,” my dad notes. He
looks to my mom. “Didn’t she used to have long blonde hair instead of the
shorter brown? I think I pulled her over one time.”

“She said she dyed her hair when she went to
college,” I offer, trying to change the subject from her past traffic
violations.

Dad nods his head and glances over at Mom. “Did you
see her father when you were at the hospital?”

My mom nods, too, her right arm slipping over his as
she leans her head on his shoulder. “He was there. I said hello.”

“Who’s her dad?”

“Darryl Hartwell. He works . . .”

“I know where he works,” I say, a tight knot forming
in my gut. Doctor Hartwell works at the same hospital I am going to be treated
at.

Hannah appears with our food, and leans her face
close to mine as she slides my plate over. “Six pieces of bacon this time.
Because Jordy said you needed to eat more.”

“Jordy did not say that.” I place my napkin in my
lap and give her a pointed look.

“He wrote it on the ticket. Hand to God.” She places
the receipt next to me and I can see ‘6’ scratched across it. With a chuckle,
she moves away and attends to another table.

“I like her,” my dad says as he sips his coffee and
watches her walk back to the kitchen, and I have to duck my head to hide my smile.
When we’re done eating, my mom excuses herself to the bathroom and my dad goes
to the register to pay the check.

Hannah appears and quickly sits down in their seats.
“Still warm.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Look, I know you’re with your parents
and all, but I wanted to let you know that if you’re ever bored and want to
hang out – I’m open. Like, wide open. All of my friends went home for the
summer, and literally, all I have to do is work here and then do practically
nothing for the rest of the time.”

I’m shocked, and I’m sure the look is apparent on my
face, so I close my mouth and curl my lips around my teeth to give myself some
time to think of an answer. I’ve had a girlfriend before, and I have a couple
of female friends, but never, at any time, did any of them approach me so
openly.

I take a second to think of an acceptable activity
she’d be interested in. I can’t deny that she’s someone I’d have wanted to get
to know better under different circumstances. “My friend Terrence is having an
end-of-school party at Flat Creek tomorrow night. It’ll be all of the kids from
the private school, but it’s usually a good time.”

Her whole face lights up. “A Westfield party? That
sounds fun.” She digs into her apron and pulls out a piece of paper and pen,
scratches her phone number across the sheet and slides it to me before jumping
up and waving goodbye.

Staring at the scrap of paper, I feel a rush of heat
as my earlier intuition proves correct. Her ‘6’ matches the one from the order
pad where she’d claimed Jordy had given me something extra. And it’s the first
time I feel like maybe I’m getting into something I may not be able to see
through to the end.

3.

I HAVEN’T TOLD TERRENCE anything about what’s going
on. So he doesn’t even give me a second glance or pitying look when I walk up
to the bonfire the following night. His dad is a bishop, too. Just a different
kind. Which is probably why we became friends in the first place. Well, that
and he was the one to help me learn how to knee board when I was nine.

He’s sitting on a log, his black hair cropped on the
sides and puffing straight up in the middle. It’s a miniature mohawk, his first
show of rebellion. The second would be the can of Bud in his left hand. His
right arm is securing his girlfriend to his lap. Kayleigh has the same shade of
hair as Terrence, but her porcelain skin stands out against his dark
complexion. She is his third act. The one that sets his parents off more than
anything. She’s the antithesis of the church. She’s the thing he
lives for
.

Kayleigh spots me just beyond the flames and waves
frantically. The glow of the fire bounces off the collection of piercings in
both of her ears. Her short hair exposes them all, and her blood red lipstick
makes her even more obvious in the crowd. She jumps to her feet, which brings
her almost to my eye level. Terrence and I are about the same height, and he
swears that dating a tall girl is amazing. But I kinda like girls that can fit
under my chin when we hug. Just my opinion, though. And it doesn’t much count
since I’ve only had one girlfriend . . . who happened to be one
of Kayleigh’s best friends. A quick scan of the crowd affirms that, much to my
relief, Rebecca isn’t at this party.

“Hey.” She hugs me around my middle and I pat her on
the back in response. “I heard you caused a scene at your graduation.”

Kayleigh is homeschooled, but somehow she still
hears every last piece of gossip in the area.

“I just didn’t run from the rain. How was that a
scene?”

She smiles at me, her feet digging deeper into the
sand as she does. “Your mom was pissed?”

“I ruined my diploma.”

“No!” She fakes tears. “All that hard work. All of
those hours in public school. What will you put on your bedroom wall now?”

Terrence pulls her back into his lap. “Leave him
alone. He survived public school. That’s something to celebrate.”

The crowd around us agrees and someone passes me a
Bud, while hands lift in the air for a toast. I can barely hear what they're
saying over the music but I nod and cheer with them, never opening my beer. We
stand around for a bit, making small talk, watching people drink too much. I
check my phone for the tenth time to see if I’ve missed any calls. There are no
calls or texts, and my heart drops a little in my chest. I’d only sent Hannah
one message to give her my number and let her know what time the party started.

She’d responded with a bunch of emojis.

The fire is too hot, so I wander down to the edge of
the lake, staring out over the water. The moon is low and yellow in the
distance, and I take a minute to just stare at it. Sometimes I feel so small
and insignificant when I look at the moon. It reminds me that there are bigger
things than me out there.

A dusting of dirt hits the back of my ankles and I
turn to see Hannah kicking her toes in front of her, her shoes in one hand, a
plate in the other. “There you are. I had to ask a million people where you
were. And one girl was not happy to give me answers.”

“Which one?”

“Tall. Skinny. Dark hair. Red lips. Lots of holes.”

“That’s Kayleigh.”

“Hmm. I don’t think we’re gonna be making friendship
bracelets any time soon.” She shuffles backward until she plants herself on the
lower portion of a stack of rocks. “I brought a snack. Jordy made them
especially for me. Us. Well, they’re for me but clearly I’m bringing them to
share, because why else would I walk across five miles of
this
with a
plate in my hand?”

“More Jesus pie?”

“Ha! No. Rice Krispy treats with butterscotch
chips.” She unwraps the plate and holds them up for me to inspect in the
darkness. “Sorry, no bacon. We’re sharing this, and while I respect your
decision to eat little, hairy pigs . . .”

I sit next to her and hold my hand out for a piece
of dessert. “You don’t eat meat?”

“I went vegetarian a couple years ago. The health
benefits are amazing. I don’t have the willpower to be vegan yet. But we’ll
see. It makes cooking a challenge. I like that.” She bites into the treat and
hums happily. “It’s been proven that a plant based diet can cure
so many
illnesses.” There’s a pause before she adds, “Even cancer.”

My hand drops to my lap and I stare at the square
that I was about to eat.

She chews and stares out at the same sky I was just
looking at. “When do you start treatment?”

“What?”

Hannah regards me in the moonlight. “My dad’s an
oncologist. Did you think I didn’t know?” She pulls another dessert off of the
plate. “My cousin had lymphoma.” She hesitates and puts the plate down. Turning
toward me, she reaches out and gently lays her hand on my knee. “It’s not
always a death sentence, you know.”

“Yeah, because instead of going to college, I’ll be
going to radiation and chemotherapy. That’s a better alternative.” I haven’t
spoken out loud about it – ever. And here she is, talking about it like it’s no
big deal. There’s a part of me that feels violated, and I’m sure it goes
against some sort of law that her father told her my business. I want to be
angry. I want to be furious. But again, nothing comes except the resignation
and numbness that I’ve become so accustomed to lately.

We sit in silence while I concentrate on the feel of
her palm against my leg. Fatigue begins to set in so I lean back against the
crooks and crags of the stones, closing my eyes to listen to the water. She
moves her hand and the warmth is replaced by abrupt coolness, causing me to
shiver.

“Should we head back? Closer to the fire, I mean.”

“No. I like it here.”

“Okay.” She leans back, too, and I crack an eye open
to look at her. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt, her dark hair is down and free,
unlike when she works and it’s out of her face. The ends are curling from the
ever present humidity. And I think this might be my favorite sight I’ve ever
seen.

Her mouth opens. “You should come to dinner at my
house tomorrow night. I work the morning shift and my dad will be at the
hospital until . . . who knows. It seems like he works
seventy-two hours in a row sometimes. But he won’t be there. I’ll make you
something delicious.” She opens her eyes and turns her face to mine. “And I
promise I won’t spill anything on you.”

I nod and we both turn our faces back toward the
moon. Not saying another word.