Fallen
It's not me.
I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. It just happened.
It was cold that day. I had my thick, black peacoat on, my long hair spilling messily over the collar. Leftover snow covered the sidewalks, not yet cleaned from yesterday’s violent blizzard.
The wind was blowing, but not distracting. The smell of the bakery across the street was present, but not pungent. I wanted so much to simply walk in there, buy a slice of gingerbread and converse with the sweet old man with the rosy cheeks and intense life experiences.
Instead, the tires of your cherry-red Miata flew against the brown slush on the edges of the street, and it whirled and danced and landed somewhere else.
You called my name so casually, as if I were insignificant, as if I were not a big deal. Almost as if it seemed a chore for you to pick me up.
As soon as I climbed in, forcing a smile and squeezing in a quick kiss on your flustered cheek, a light rain began to patter on to your windshield. I thought it looked rather pretty, all of the droplets falling fast, steadily, randomly, but the windshield wipers whisked them away, sloshing them to the sides and letting the raindrops mesh together and stream down the sides of your car.
And so we drove. Away from the bakery, away from the rain, until we came to your parents’ ski lodge. As you pulled up in front of the deck, I could feel a steady bass vibration, rooted deep in the ground, pulsating through my body and my mind. Everyone else seemed to have already arrived, and there was a pungent stench of beer and vodka and gin, so much stronger than the wafting scent of the bakery’s contents.
I told you I didn’t really feel like drinking tonight. You waved your arms at me and laughed, saying it didn’t matter. What I never understood was whether that was okay with you, or whether you didn’t care if I felt like drinking or not.
You didn’t open the door for me like you always used to, before our dates turned into parties. Someone I didn’t know passed you a bottle of vodka. You took it willingly and spilled half the contents down your throat. Then you half-shoved the bottle into my trembling, freezing gloveless hands. I had no need to repeat my decision, because I knew you would not listen. I took it and walked away. When I could not see you, I chucked it into the trash.
One of your friends slinked over to me, sliding his hands into my coat, undoing the buttons and pushing me against the wall. I had to use all of my strength this time to shove him away. I used to yell and scream at your friends for doing this, but they are always so drunk, and they never hear what I am saying.
I sat down on the living room couch, accepting a cup of water from a girl with a sympathetic look. She didn’t know me, but she knew the look plastered on my face. There was a girl like me at every party.
I sipped until I grew tired, and set my drink down on the table. I lay down on the coffee suede couch and decided to nap until everyone left, until you could drive me home.
You were all calling my name, telling me Wake The Fuck Up, telling me Come On Hurry Up. I was tired and confused, so I sat up on that coffee suede couch and drank the remains of my water. You snatched my hand after I placed the glass down, and you dragged me across the room, up the stairs. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t know what I could do about it.
I attempted to pull away, so you let me go. I was surprised, but relieved, so I walked back down the stairs and sat back down.
It was so loud, and everyone’s movements seemed so fluid, and the lodge seemed to be spinning faster and faster as time went on, and I felt like I was in an elevator going straight up, and I think I saw that girl who gave me the water, and I think I saw the guy who tried to take off my coat, and I think I saw the boy who gave you the bottle of vodka, and now the elevator stopped and everything was cherry-red and I was starting to fall, falling falling, falling down of the soft covers, it was time to go to sleep now, and dream about the bakery, and…
When I woke up, the mid-morning sun streamed down through the window, past the heavy maroon curtains and into my wary eyes. It burned me and scorched me and I screamed because I was naked.
I shifted my exposed body over, and there you were, your eyes closed peacefully, your hair tousled in oily waves, your breathing steady and deep and secure.
I didn’t lift up the covers, but I knew you were as naked as I was. I knew exactly what had happened last night, but at the same time, I had no idea.
Suddenly, your breathing was obscured and your eyes shot open, droopy and bloodshot. You said Woah, you said What Happened, and after a pause you said I’m Sorry, Let Me Explain, you said I Was Wasted, I Didn’t Know.
I said nothing. I untangled myself from the sheer, warm covers and picked my thick, black peacoat up off the floor, cramming my arms through the sleeves. I descended down the stairs and out the door.
And so I walked. Down the empty, sunlit street and through the snow-covered trees and into the vast, tangled woods that winter had so harshly visited.
And so I had fallen.
It was cold that day. I had my thick, black peacoat on, my long hair spilling messily over the collar. Leftover snow covered the sidewalks, not yet cleaned from yesterday’s violent blizzard.
The wind was blowing, but not distracting. The smell of the bakery across the street was present, but not pungent. I wanted so much to simply walk in there, buy a slice of gingerbread and converse with the sweet old man with the rosy cheeks and intense life experiences.
Instead, the tires of your cherry-red Miata flew against the brown slush on the edges of the street, and it whirled and danced and landed somewhere else.
You called my name so casually, as if I were insignificant, as if I were not a big deal. Almost as if it seemed a chore for you to pick me up.
As soon as I climbed in, forcing a smile and squeezing in a quick kiss on your flustered cheek, a light rain began to patter on to your windshield. I thought it looked rather pretty, all of the droplets falling fast, steadily, randomly, but the windshield wipers whisked them away, sloshing them to the sides and letting the raindrops mesh together and stream down the sides of your car.
And so we drove. Away from the bakery, away from the rain, until we came to your parents’ ski lodge. As you pulled up in front of the deck, I could feel a steady bass vibration, rooted deep in the ground, pulsating through my body and my mind. Everyone else seemed to have already arrived, and there was a pungent stench of beer and vodka and gin, so much stronger than the wafting scent of the bakery’s contents.
I told you I didn’t really feel like drinking tonight. You waved your arms at me and laughed, saying it didn’t matter. What I never understood was whether that was okay with you, or whether you didn’t care if I felt like drinking or not.
You didn’t open the door for me like you always used to, before our dates turned into parties. Someone I didn’t know passed you a bottle of vodka. You took it willingly and spilled half the contents down your throat. Then you half-shoved the bottle into my trembling, freezing gloveless hands. I had no need to repeat my decision, because I knew you would not listen. I took it and walked away. When I could not see you, I chucked it into the trash.
One of your friends slinked over to me, sliding his hands into my coat, undoing the buttons and pushing me against the wall. I had to use all of my strength this time to shove him away. I used to yell and scream at your friends for doing this, but they are always so drunk, and they never hear what I am saying.
I sat down on the living room couch, accepting a cup of water from a girl with a sympathetic look. She didn’t know me, but she knew the look plastered on my face. There was a girl like me at every party.
I sipped until I grew tired, and set my drink down on the table. I lay down on the coffee suede couch and decided to nap until everyone left, until you could drive me home.
You were all calling my name, telling me Wake The Fuck Up, telling me Come On Hurry Up. I was tired and confused, so I sat up on that coffee suede couch and drank the remains of my water. You snatched my hand after I placed the glass down, and you dragged me across the room, up the stairs. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t know what I could do about it.
I attempted to pull away, so you let me go. I was surprised, but relieved, so I walked back down the stairs and sat back down.
It was so loud, and everyone’s movements seemed so fluid, and the lodge seemed to be spinning faster and faster as time went on, and I felt like I was in an elevator going straight up, and I think I saw that girl who gave me the water, and I think I saw the guy who tried to take off my coat, and I think I saw the boy who gave you the bottle of vodka, and now the elevator stopped and everything was cherry-red and I was starting to fall, falling falling, falling down of the soft covers, it was time to go to sleep now, and dream about the bakery, and…
When I woke up, the mid-morning sun streamed down through the window, past the heavy maroon curtains and into my wary eyes. It burned me and scorched me and I screamed because I was naked.
I shifted my exposed body over, and there you were, your eyes closed peacefully, your hair tousled in oily waves, your breathing steady and deep and secure.
I didn’t lift up the covers, but I knew you were as naked as I was. I knew exactly what had happened last night, but at the same time, I had no idea.
Suddenly, your breathing was obscured and your eyes shot open, droopy and bloodshot. You said Woah, you said What Happened, and after a pause you said I’m Sorry, Let Me Explain, you said I Was Wasted, I Didn’t Know.
I said nothing. I untangled myself from the sheer, warm covers and picked my thick, black peacoat up off the floor, cramming my arms through the sleeves. I descended down the stairs and out the door.
And so I walked. Down the empty, sunlit street and through the snow-covered trees and into the vast, tangled woods that winter had so harshly visited.
And so I had fallen.