Behind the Falls Read online

  It’s a good question, a valid question. I don’t understand why I can’t just do that. I really don’t think he’d ever try something like that again. So why can’t I just accept his apology, his multiple apologies, and just let him be my friend again? To be completely honest I MISS him or at least I miss the Max from before any of this happened. When I don’t answer he answers for me.

  “I think you’re afraid of what you felt,” he says somewhat hesitantly. “I think you just want to be angry and hate me because you’re afraid to admit that you felt something and that’s okay. I can understand that. It’s easier to hate me than to admit it.”

  “I didn’t FEEL anything except freaked out!” I shout and it’s too loud in the confines of the car. Where the Hell is my mom?

  “You kissed me back,” he says quietly. “Before you gave yourself time to think about it, when you were just acting on impulse, you kissed me back and I KNOW you felt it. I could feel you feeling it…”

  “I’m not GAY!” I shout again.

  “Neither am I,” is his response.

  “I…I like girls,” I stammer, “I have a girlfriend now…”

  “I like girls,” I see him shrug in the rearview mirror. I unhook my seatbelt so I can turn around in the seat and glare at him. It feels so ridiculous to hold this conversation in the mirror.

  “I seriously kinda doubt that all things considered,” is my response. “Jensen isn’t even a girl’s name. How stupid do you think I am?” I realize now how stupid I really am. Is it any wonder that he’ll kiss Tabitha but won’t date her? I’ve been so blind.

  “In this case Jensen is a girl’s name. Jensen is a girl. Does it even matter? Why can’t you just forget all of that? Think whatever you want about me. Why does any of that mean we can’t be friends? I was wrong to do what I did. I apologized and it won’t happen again. Why can’t you just forgive me and let it go? I just miss you, Noah. I miss talking to you. I miss watching old horror movies with you. Hell, I miss sitting with you at lunch and doing homework together.”

  “I do those things with my GIRLFRIEND now,” I say in an icy tone. Why won’t he just leave it alone?

  “What do you feel when you kiss her? Do you want to kiss her until your lungs give out? Do you shake until you don’t think you can stand anymore? Does your heart beat faster when you see her? Can you pick her out in a crowd the second she walks into a room? Do you know she’s there before you even see her because you can just FEEL her? If the answer to any of those questions is yes then I’m honestly really happy for you. If it’s not then you’re using her and I wouldn’t have thought you could be so mean and self-centered.”

  I don’t have anything to say. I don’t know how to answer that. He’s right. I don’t feel any of those things with Sherrie. The truth is I really, really like Sherrie A LOT. She’s so pretty and nice and we get along so well. I like talking to her even when she’s the one doing most of the talking. I can tell she likes me and there’s a kind of comfort in that. I like the lack of mystery and worrying over how she really feels because I know how she feels. I feel comfortable when we kiss, like, I don’t know, safe. Isn’t that enough? It CAN be enough. The butterflies would fade eventually anyway, right?

  He leans front and our faces are inches apart. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I barely even breathe. I can smell red licorice and is that coconut? I think it must be his shampoo.

  “I know I said it would never happen again and it won’t. I promise. Never again after this…” he whispers and then he’s kissing me again. It’s like my heart stops then starts again beating too quickly. The bottom drops out of my stomach in that way that makes me dizzy. Why won’t my own damned body obey me? Because now I’m opening my mouth and letting him in and yes, I’m shaking but not in a bad way and…

  I pull back practically falling into the dashboard. What the Hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I duplicate that feeling with Sherrie? Why do I feel it at all? I’m so…broken. I’m yelling at him before I even realize it. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

  “Fuck you, Holden! Just stay off of me you fucking faggot!” I scream and it’s so loud in the car that my ears are ringing. I unload every derogatory word I can think of at him. I hurl out words like queer and homo and cock gobbler, twink, fruit, poof, shit stabber, queen and other words I didn’t even realize I knew and that I don’t want to even remember saying let alone repeat. After my mindless tirade I get out of the car, slamming the door. I can walk home from here.

  Walking suddenly doesn’t seem fast enough and soon I’m running. I’m glad I wore sneakers to school today and a Henley instead of a button down shirt. My jeans are loose enough to be comfortable and soon I realize I’m not actually running home…I’m just running.

  I haven’t been running as much as I like to. I’m still keeping up to six miles on Saturdays and Sundays but my after school runs are not as frequent as I would like because I spend a lot of afternoons with Sherrie…Sherrie, my girlfriend who is one of the prettiest girls in school with great legs and why is she even with me when she could have anyone? Why can’t the bottom drop out when I kiss her? I LIKE kissing her. I never shy away from it but I never really push to go further than that.

  Dammit, I need to get out of my head. I run faster, trying to find the rhythm, trying to lose myself in the motion and the breathing and the perfect timing of the pumping of my legs and arms. I pick up my pace. I want to hurry towards that runner’s high. I want those endorphins right now more than anything on earth. It quickly becomes too hot for my jacket and I tie it around my waist glad that I haven’t actually started wearing a coat already like Max does. Dammit! Get out of my head, Maxwell!

  I force myself to count my foot steps as my sneakers slap the pavement. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…two hundred…three hundred …four thousand…eventually I run out of numbers and I’m finally just running, not thinking, just existing. It’s dark now. It gets dark so early these days that I have no idea how late it is or how long I’ve been running. Sidewalk pavement turned to roadside gravel ages ago, so long ago that I don’t remember when I actually left the residential area. I realize by this point that I won’t have it in me to actually run home but walking is fine too.

  It’s getting really cold even though I’ve been working hard. My clothes are slightly damp with sweat and that makes the sudden breeze that comes up go right through me. I shrug back into my jacket without breaking stride. I can feel the hairs in my nose freezing and still I run.

  I have enough presence of mind to get over as far as I can when I hear a car approaching and headlights wash over me. The car slows and I wonder vaguely if my day is going to go from bad to worse when I get hijacked here in the middle of nowhere and the car moves on ahead of me before pulling over to the shoulder. The tail lights look somewhat familiar.

  I stumble to a stop as the driver’s side door opens and a familiar shape gets out. He runs towards me and skids to a stop, grabbing me in a hug that has me begging for air.

  “Oh, God, Noah, you terrified us,” he says in my ear as he continues to hold me too tightly.

  “Air…can’t breathe, Dad,” I gasp. He loosens his grip but doesn’t let me go. I’m still gasping anyway. I can barely speak. I’m so totally wiped out that I don’t even know how I was still running. “What the Hell?” I say in confusion when I finally get enough air to speak. “I was just taking a run. What’s the fuss?” He pulls away from me but keeps his hands firmly on my shoulders, eyes searching my face.

  “Just taking a run? To where? Do you have any idea how far out of town you were? There’s barely any shoulder here. It’s not safe! How were you planning on getting home?” I look around to see that I am in fact in the middle of nowhere, much farther from home, from the small downtown area, than I thought I was.

  “I was just really lost in the run,” I say. It’s impossible to explain to someone that doesn’t run how it is to just get lost in the action and movement and to clear your mind completel
y and just exist, especially someone like my dad who is always in his head.

  “Get in the car, Noah,” he says it like I’m in trouble or something.

  “It’s okay, I have enough left to get back,” I say. “I’ll come right now. You go ahead…”

  “Get in the car, Noah!” this time he really yells it and I flinch. I hunch into my jacket and walk obediently to the car. I stand with my hands in my pockets looking at the ground while I wait for him to get in and unlock my door.

  He pulls an illegal, not to mention dangerous, u turn in the middle of the road and heads back towards home. He’s completely silent as he drives but he never stops looking over at me. It makes me nervous. He’s likely to drive right off the road. After like the twentieth sideways glance in my direction I finally have to say something.

  “Uh, the road is that way, Dad,” I gesture out the front window. He glares at me for a full five seconds without looking at the road. “Seriously, Dad!” I yell and only then does he actually concentrate on driving. I’m just hoping we make it home in one piece.

  When we get home I’m prepared to head to my room to finish the homework I started earlier but Dad grabs me by the elbow. “Into the kitchen,” he growls. It’s starting to sink in here that I might actually be in trouble. I’m never in trouble. They worry too much about me and they’re a little too nosy but overall my parents are pretty cool. Plus, I’m too afraid of everything to do anything that would actually get me in trouble. I’m not sure how to react to this new parenting style.

  When we get to the kitchen Mom is sitting at the table and her eyes are red and swollen. She’s been crying. Why is she the one that’s crying? I didn’t set her up and force her to talk to the enemy which is exactly how I’m seeing her little trick to get me and Max talking.

  She gets up and comes around the table quickly and grabs me in another one of those breath stealing hugs like Dad gave me earlier but hers is worse because I’m taller than she is and as she squeezes me she just puts her head down and sobs into my chest.

  “What is wrong with everyone?” I ask. “I just went for a run. It’s not like I was kidnapped or missing or something.” I try to laugh but they’re just too serious.

  “Sit,” Dad instructs me and Mom finally lets go of me so I can obey Dad. We all sit at the kitchen table and my leg bounces up and down nervously. They look to each other and I can tell that whatever is coming next that they’re a united front. For the first time in my life I think I might just be in some deep shit.

  “Do you have ANY idea how much you worried us?” Dad begins. He’s not yelling but his voice is tight and controlled and that’s almost worse. I look from one to the other. Mom is still crying silently.

  “I just went for a run…”I start.

  “No one knew where you were!” Mom cries. “Max came in and said you got out of the car and just started running and I thought maybe you went home but when I got home you weren’t here! I thought maybe you had just walked slowly and that I hadn’t seen you when I passed you or maybe you took a short cut through some yards but you never came home. I called you, Noah! I called you at least twenty times…”

  “My phone was in my backpack,” I explain. “By the way, thanks for forcing me into a car with Max. You KNOW we aren’t friends anymore…”

  “You will never, and I mean NEVER leave this house without your phone again,” Dad says. “I mean it, Noah. If you walk out that door even to stand on the front porch that phone better be in your hand or in your pocket.” I know why the phone is so important. It’s not just so they can call me when they want. I don’t need to answer for them to know where I am as long as I have my phone. We all have the find your iPhone app. It’s not that hard to track a phone. For all I know they actually have a LoJack on the thing.

  “While we’re on the subject of leaving this house, you’re not. You will not so much as set foot on the front porch if it’s not to go to school or to go somewhere with one of us. Is that clear?” Mom isn’t crying anymore. Now she’s just angry.

  “Well how is that for irony?” I mutter.

  “What? What was that smart guy?” Man, I’ve never SEEN my Dad this angry. What is their deal?

  “It’s just that a few years ago you two were begging and pleading and giving me all kinds of drugs and making me see one doctor after another just to try to get me out of my ROOM and now I’m not even allowed out of the house?”

  “We’ve tried to give you some freedom. We realize you’re growing up and this year things have been very different for you but this has got to stop. You can’t make us worry like this. You can’t begin to imagine the things that were going through our heads. You will stay in this house and you will start taking meds again and you will see your therapist on a regular schedule or we will pull you out of school,” Dad threatens. A couple of months ago the threat of not having to go to school would have seemed like a gift. Now it sounds like the punishment that it’s meant to be.

  “I don’t need meds,” I argue.

  “Noah, right now I…we…don’t think you’re the best judge of what you need,” Mom says. I look from one to the other. Their expressions don’t change. They’re a united front. How the Hell did this happen? Everything was just FINE.

  “I don’t need meds! Please!” I don’t want to be numb and I don’t want to be drugged up and I don’t want to feel like a failure. I CAN control this. I’ve been doing fine. Why can’t they see that? “I’m NORMAL now,” I practically sob. “I don’t want that!”

  “Sweetie, is it normal to just take off running without telling anyone where you’re going? Is it normal to go so far out of town that you need a ride home and you don’t even remember doing it?” I shrug.

  “Max saw me leave. He knew I was running. I figured he’d tell you where I went. I remember doing it. You can’t say I don’t. I just really needed a good run. I haven’t been doing it regularly enough and I missed it…”

  “I’m sorry, son, this isn’t open for debate,” Dad says. I look to Mom and she’s nodding along with him.

  “I’ll stay in the house. I’ll glue my phone to my hand. I’ll even go to whatever quack you ask me to see next just PLEASE no meds!” I beg. “Just, please don’t make me do that!” They look back and forth at each other and I look from one to the other like I’m watching a tennis match. Finally Dad speaks.

  “Okay, we’ll try it your way for a week,” he says. A week? What is a week going to prove? I wonder. Then I realize what next week is. Thursday is Thanksgiving and we’re flying back to Naperville on Wednesday to spend the weekend with Aunt Sarah. They know I’ll need Xanax just to go to the airport let alone get on the plane. Maybe they think they can get me back on the meds that way.

  “Are we done here? I’m tired and I have homework to finish,” I sigh the words. I am suddenly beyond tired.

  “What about dinner?” Mom asks. I look at the clock. Is it really after eight?

  “I’m not really hungry,” I say. When they tell me I can leave I shuffle off to my room. My legs are already killing me from that run. I guess that’s what I get for slacking.

  Before I start my homework I drag my chair to my vent so I can eavesdrop. My legs scream in protest as I climb onto the chair. It’s quiet for a while. I can hear silverware and plates so it sounds like Mom is making a little something for them at least. How can they eat? I don’t feel like I’ll ever be hungry again. My parents really don’t trust me…at all.

  “It’s just like my dad,” my ears prick up when I hear Dad’s voice.

  “That was so long ago…are you sure?” I can hear the sympathy in Mom’s voice.

  “He’s defensive, combative, acting out of character. It was exactly the same way with Dad.” Why are they talking about Gramps? What has he got to do with me? I barely even knew him. I was so young when he died.

  “You said not too long ago that we shouldn’t think there’s something wrong just when he’s moody. He’s a teenager. Maybe this is that nasty phase they
all go through,” Mom surprises me because she’s usually the one that’s most worried and thinks she sees signs that aren’t really there.

  “He’s secretive. This disagreement with Max is just one example. He used to tell us things. He’s not sleeping. Anyone can see he’s not sleeping. He’s only sixteen. He shouldn’t have such dark circles under his eyes. He doesn’t eat right…”Dad lists my faults.

  “How many outside friends has he had?” Mom says. “You can’t really count this fight with Max because he’s never had many friends and he’s had even less reason to argue with them. Maybe this is how he deals with the fickle friendships of high school. We wouldn’t know would we? He’s always been a picky eater. I guess I could try to make more of his old favorites no matter how much I wish we could all eat a little healthier.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t take this job,” Dad continues. What job? This is the first time I’m hearing about a job.

  “Let’s wait and see how he handles the trip home before we make that decision,” Mom says. After that I just hear the sounds of silverware on plates and I know they’re eating. I climb off of my chair and walk on shaking legs to the bathroom. I run a hot bath while I look in the mirror. Dad isn’t wrong about dark circles. I need to get more sleep.

  The hot bath soothes my aching muscles and makes me incredibly sleepy. I know I should finish my homework but I just can’t make myself care. I crawl into bed and I’m asleep immediately. For once I sleep through the night with no dreams, no night terrors and no panic attacks. Maybe I should run right out of town more often.

  I wake up Friday morning slowly and without an alarm. It’s my stomach that wakes me. I can’t tell what time it is because my blackout shades are drawn. When I’ve finally rubbed the sleep out of my eyes I look at the alarm clock. It’s nine o’clock?!

  I jump out of bed and hurry down the hall to my parents’ room but I hear their voices coming from the kitchen so I change direction. They’re just sitting there having breakfast as if I shouldn’t be in the final moments of calculus class.