That Ridge Would Fall

Long sleeve shirts, short sleeve shirts, a parka, a pair of track spikes, a windbreaker, jeans, a pair of mules, a pair of embroidered moccasins, pajama pants, tee shirts, and some shorts just in case. She sat on her suitcase and pulled the zipper until the flap was shut.

The apartment had been cleaned for the first time since Nellie had lived there. No astronomy books littering the floor, no spoiled milk in the refrigerator, no papers all over the apartment, just, clean. The flat weave carpet in her bedroom had even been washed, it was now ruined with several bleach stains, but at least it smelled good.

The past week had etiolated Nellie to nothing more then a miserable sap, maybe this vacation was what she needed. She had been to her parent's mountain house before, as a child, but she still remembered everything about it. It overlooked a beautiful inland sea that sparkled like little crystals with each sunrise and sunset. The majority of the mountain house itself was glass, which wasn't very safe during freak snow storms or floods, but it was nice to the eyes.

Some of her best memories happened there, and also some of her worst. Her first encounter with bronchitis and hives, her first swimming lesson, her first piece of candy, her first near death experience, and her first song, Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. In other words, being back there would allow her to further reminisce on those quiet and loud moments.

Nothing was practical or consistent in her life anymore, she had learned not to set her expectations so high anymore because it would be useless, like her.

Nellie wiped the sweat from her furrowed brow and knew she was forgetting something. It was important but she could not place her finger on the dot, searching and moving, steering it across the apartment until she found what she was looking for. She threw mental punches in her face when she realized she had forgotten two of the most important commodities.

The drawer in the table was yelping as Nellie pulled it open. She picked out her badge and her gun, she had even found her holster hiding under a heap of china plates. There was so much stuff that Nellie hadn't even known that she owned until her cleaning spree, things had accumulated through the years that weren't even necessary to have.

The gun was still on safety when she stuffed it into a small side pocket on her valise. It took many attempts before the badge made its way into the suitcase without ripping the mesh of the outer sack. She cut the main water supply off and unplugged all of her appliances because it would be a waste of money and energy.

She pulled her bags off of the bedraggled bed and tossed them into the hallway. Everything felt so heavy, but it was probably because her arms were angular and flimsy. Lately she had been looking like a decaying bag of bones, she had lost the color in her rosy cheeks and her angles were honed. She went shopping that week and everyone's meddlesome eyes watched her, Nellie's figure may have been questioned but she never lost her confidence.

Winter would nip her down to the core, the end of Autumn was approaching, this was the best time of the year to take time off. To rebuild and restore her, whatever remained of the estranged girl, anyway.

That morning was cold and exhausting. The radio in her bedroom was playing fast-paced Latino music loud enough for the entire complex to hear, Nellie always kept to herself so she was sure that everyone else must have been shocked. It's not like she cared, she was nice to everyone and always gave financial advice when the Greenburg's were in debt. Nearly every person in the building had been consoled at least once or twice by Nellie, they could give her back the time she needed to let go.

Her hips gently gyrated to the rise and fall of tempo, she observed the cadence of the song and moved with the beat. Soon she was standing on her contemporary bedspread, flipping her onyx hair and holding her starless eyes in place on the stereo. You've got to let go, she kept telling herself. You deserve to let go. All the while dancing, she couldn't bring herself to shed a single tear because she had given up on feeling sorry for herself. Just let it all go, because you've earned it.

The song ended and so had her fun.

But she didn't go back to the blues and she didn't go back to lamentation. However someones sorrow and sobbing had caught her attention, in the room next door she could hear the cries of a woman. Like a good neighbor and friend, Nellie jumped off of the bed and left apartment 2B to go next door.

She knocked gently on the frame, afraid that Emma Reed would open the door with mascara riding down her face and bruises all over her body. Emma was a nice woman, young, mid twenties with hair like grass and the fingers of a busy secretary. She liked to write–she said it was an elopement from life. Emma wrote amateur novels and poetry that could make even he strongest hearts break, including Nellie's, with balladry about a rainy morning and old cigarettes. Emma's boyfriend, Johnny, was always beating her. Nellie broke the door down several times with her gun in hands, but never had enough proof to keep him incarcerated for more than a day or a week. She always thought that Emma's contusions were enough.

Emma was crying when she opened the door, her blush was in streaks and she was holding an eyelash curler in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Nellie didn't say anything, and was ashamed to admit that it didn't grate on her anymore. She led Emma inside her apartment, knowing that Johnny had probably left and was already down the street at the pub.

A broken pitcher was on the ground, its pieces strewn across the living room. That was what he tried to hit her with. Tuna casserole was all over the kitchen floor, Nellie caught herself and Emma before they had both slipped in it. She cleaned Emma up in the bathroom before leading her back out into the living room to sit on the bramble sofa. Nellie left for two minutes and came back with something in her behind her back, she never let Emma get a glimpse of it.

“You need to leave,” Nellie said. It was blunt and ornery, but it had to be said.

Emma nodded for what felt like years and years. “I know, I know, I know. You say it with such vigor, like it hasn't crossed my mind before.”

“I don't mean to sound sour, Emma. But you and I both know that it has to be done.”

She looked at Nellie with black and blue on her delicate skin. “It's not easy, Nellie. It's not easy to just walk away from someone who has so much authority over you, over your being.”

“But, he has no authority over you. He is a man, he is like any other man in this world. No man has control over you, you are in control of yourself.” Nellie poked her chest with a twig-like finger. “You make your own rules.” She poked her once more, it tickled, but Emma wasn't laughing. “You are dominant and independent and in charge of your own life. If you need a man to remind you of that, then you are even more of an injured soul then I am.” It was said with sarcasm and both girls were giggling and holding onto each others hands. They weren't as close as best friends, but when they needed each other they became sisters. “The choices we make reflect who we are, and if you can eventually find the strength to walk away, you won't regret it, I promise you that.”

Emma was crying harder, but she was smiling through the thunderstorm of rain and tears. “You moving next door was the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“No,” Nellie said. “I don't want to be the best thing to ever happen to you, I want discretion to be the best thing. I'll be gone soon, God knows I will be. And when I'm gone, I don't want my memory or my words to matter anymore.”

“Why say something like that?” Emma asked.

Nellie shrugged her shoulders. “I don't want my phantasm hanging on everyone, like dead weight, ya' know? I don't want anyone to be sad when I die, because I'm not worth the tears and the petty blubbering. Instead, I want my life to be celebrated. I don't want sad music at my funeral or sad speeches. No one deserves to be held on a pedestal, especially not me.”

Emma nodded, confused and understanding at the same time. “No one will care when I go, at least, not too much I hope.”

Nellie smacked Emma on the arm, cynically she replied, “Why say something like that?”

She laughed, “I don't know. I'm not the president, or the prime minister, or a celebrity. Why should anyone care?”

“I'm not Amelia Earhart, but you don't see me whining about my importance to the world.”

Emma tried to commit suicide one time. She untied her long, flaming red hair and swung her legs over the railing on her balcony. Luckily, Nellie had been on her veranda at that moment, and was able to rush to Emma's apartment and pull her back in before she could jump. She also gave Emma a few punches in the face, despite how many she had already taken that day from Johnny alone.

“I guess so.”

The room was warm and painful to sit in. Emma had shed her blood on this oriental rug and had her face smashed against the pier glass of this mirror, it unnerved Nellie, sitting next to the broken girl in that moment.

They talked for two hours and lost track of time with each others company. Nellie told Emma about how she was let go from her job, and how she stopped feeling sorry for herself. Emma told Nellie about where the cuts and bruises on her back came from.

The door opened and in stumbled a highly laced Johnny, his footsteps were wavering and he laughed at nothing in particular. He saw Nellie and his face quickly dropped. “What the hell is she doing here, Emma!?”

“Johnny, calm down, please. We were just talking,” Emma pleaded.

His feet pounded the floor as he approached the two girls, grabbing hold of Emma's arm. “Didn't I tell you about v– ” he burped and swallowed hard. “Visitors?”

“Johnny, let her go,” Nellie said. Her voice was as hard as nails.

“You stay the fuck out of this!” He pointed his finger in Nellie's face, that was it.

Nellie hooked onto his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. Johnny cried out in malaise, Nellie's fingers were so tight around his limb that inflamed flesh started bleeding between her nails. She kicked the back of his knees, bringing him onto the floor and kicking him in the sides as he lay flat across that miserable oriental rug. Nellie put her foot in his back, abrading his skin with the sole of her tennis shoe.

“Nellie! Stop! You're hurting him!” Emma screamed, flustered and idled.

“Do you know how much he's hurt you?” Nellie said, she was solemn. She pulled out her gun from her waistband and dug it into Johnny's temple. “Not so tough now, bitch!” Nellie's bloody fingers were in his hair, pulling his head back to meet Emma's wild eyes. “Say you're sorry! Say you were wrong!”

There were tears in his eyes, Nellie was augmenting pleasure from his pain. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Emma!”

“Tell her you're wrong!” She kicked him in the side again. “Let me hear you beg for her fucking forgiveness!”

“I'm sorry, Emma! I was wrong! I was so, so, so, so wrong!” he sobbed. His face was a beautiful shade of vermilion, it accented his wayward blue veins quite nicely.

Emma didn't know what to do, she could only stand there in shock with her hands over her mouth. His lawless headlights were on her, dancing in the amber light of an apple cinnamon candle that Nellie had lit for her. Emma was shaking, she slowly approached Nellie with her hand outstretched toward the hand holding the flintlock. “Let me have the... gun.”

Johnny writhed beneath the foot of Nellie. “No, no, no!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Nellie kicked him in the face, blood and froth dribbled from his sheared lips. He was quivering and Nellie pushed her heel further into the small of his back before handing the gun over to Emma. “Be careful, please.”

Emma nodded and held the gun with both hands, pressing the barrel against the back of his head. She drew in a deep breath, her trembling ring fingers stroked the chassis carefully. “I've never held a gun before.”

“Isn't it nice?” Nellie murmured with a smile on her face. “You're in control now. You've got the fucking power, that gun is symbolizing your independence, Emma. You're in charge.”

“I'm in charge,” Emma whispered.

“Louder. Louder so that Johnny can hear you.”

“I'm in charge, bitch!” Emma shouted, kicking Johnny in the back of the head.

“Okay, okay.” She put her hand on Emma's shoulder. “Let's not get carried away.” But there was a beacon in her eye, a certain light to her complexion that Nellie had never noticed before. She couldn't believe that Emma was actually presiding now, she was dominant.

“You've hurt me for so many years, so many long years. You're not a man, you are a monster. You could never stop or willingly admit that you were wrong. I'm sick of it. Fucking sick of it!”

That's better.

“From now on,” Emma continued. “I'm the head bitch, I'm in charge.”

Nellie took the gun from her hands and shoved the barrel to his mien, her lips were beside his earlobe. “Listen here, and listen good. If I have to hear her cry one more time because of you–” Nellie chuckled and spat acid into his rabbit-like ears. “I'm gonna blow your fucking brains out, all over this apartment.” She pushed harder into his head. “On the printed walls, on the tiled floors, even on that bed that you rape her on practically every goddamn night! Then,” she breathed deep, holding it in for a moment before releasing. “I'm going to leave you in the bathtub, the back of your head will be a bloody fucking pulp. Do you understand me!? Do you understand me, Johnny!?”

He nodded, bodily fluids seeping from every one of his open pores.

“Say that you understand me!” Nellie punted him again.

“I understand you!” he cried. “I fucking, I fucking understand you.”

“Good.” She took her foot off of his back. Nellie shoved her handgun back into her cummerbund and started walking to the door.

“I'm gonna call the police on you!” Johnny shouted, still breathing fire upon the floor.

She turned around, smirking. “Johnny, I am the police.”