To Catch a Falling Star (28 page)

Mel turns to me and the huge smile on her face tugs at my heartstrings. All I can think is about this crazy desire to make her smile like this more often. Her face is joyful. I’ve never seen her this bright.

“Your turn to get ready.” She hands me a harness and assists me with the elaborate straps. After a final inspection from Tom, I’m ready for takeoff.

Tom goes over the safety procedures and I climb on the tower after Mel. At the top, we stand at a square ramp, proudly displaying an old and faded American flag. I breathe in the cold, crisp air. Mel stands so close to me I can touch her, but I refrain. I won’t screw this up. We’ll go at her pace.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispers, more to herself than me.

I take in the beauty surrounding us. Everywhere we look is a carpet of elaborate shades of fall. It’s breathtaking.

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous. Thank you for sharing.”

“You kids ready?” Tom climbs the stairs to join us.

“Why don’t you go first Tarry? Since it’s your first time.”

“No prob,” I say as I stand under the cable. Tom comes around me, secures my harness to the zip line and double-checks the straps. I grasp the handlebars and listen to his final instructions.

“Jerry, sending your way. You ready?” Tom asks on the radio.

“Affirmative. Over.” I hear a young voice reply.

I walk out of the ramp. It’s similar to being shot out into the open. Then the wind kisses my face as I gain speed. The only sound I hear is the hiss of the wind in my ears and the humming of the wheels spinning with fluid motion and a tremendous speed. I see the trees under my feet. It gives me the impression that I’ll stumble on them. I look to my right and see a small lake. The water reflects the gray-and-pearl clouds swirling in the blue sky. “Woo-hoo!” I shout, but there is no one to hear me. A powerful thrill runs through me. The momentary ecstasy replaces the numbness that constantly invades my soul. The exhilarating feeling satisfies me.

Too soon I see the ramp where I should land getting closer and bigger. I sense the speed diminishing. A teenager in a red shirt waits for me.

I land and stumble, my legs as wobbly as a toddler’s.

“Get out! Are you Tarry Francis?
The
Tarry Francis?” the boy shouts as soon as I’m steady on my feet.

“Last time I checked,” I say, almost flattered to be recognized. Fuck anonymity. Do I like the constant hounding of paparazzi and strangers? Certainly not. But let’s be honest, musicians have huge egos, me included. Lately, I’ve been under the radar. Blending in is easier than celebrities let on.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, dumbstruck.

“Zip-lining.” I grin.

“Can I have you autograph my iPod? I have all your music. Even the pop songs.” He grimaces at the last sentence. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, I was into your pop songs when I was younger. Now I prefer the rock songs. Sorry, I’m babbling, huh? You wouldn’t happen to have a Sharpie on you would you? Because I could get one at the office. It will be on—”

“Jerry, is everything all right?” The radio interrupts his rampant speech.

“Sure, I, um. I’m ready for the next. Over.”

He helps me out of my harness.

“Are you going to wait for the next person?” he asks, hopeful.

“Yeah, I will. No worries, bro. I won’t leave without signing your stuff.” I smile.

“Thanks, man,” he says with a broad smile.

I lean on the rail and I pat my pockets in search of cigarettes. It hits me that I haven’t smoked today. I shake my head in disbelief, but I smile. Maybe there is hope for my sorry ass. I cross my arms over my chest. The craving makes a revengeful appearance. I want to smoke badly. I really do.

Then Mel zooms my way. The cravings almost disappear when I see the grin spread across her beautiful face. Unlike me, she lands gracefully.

“Mel, is that really you?” Jerry hugs her instead of helping her. Again, she squeals in delight. What is this, Hug Mel Day?

“Jerry, you’re so tall. When did you grow so much?” She kisses his red cheeks. Well, at least the poor bastard is as affected by her as my lame self.

“Wait, are you with Tarry Francis?” His red face still stretched in a grin.

“Yep.” She unhooks the straps off the cable.

“Oh, that’s right. Will is married to Portia, that gorgeous actress. It would be surreal to meet her. Here, let me help.” He assists her out of the harness. My fingers prickle with the need to be the one touching Mel.

“Yeah, you could meet her, if you would visit once in a while,” she says, walking my way.

“How did you like it?” she asks, full of expectation.

“Fucking fantastic!” I say and she grimaces almost unnoticeably at my cursing.

“Good, I’m glad you liked.”

As we walk to the office to wait for Tom, Mel turns into a chatterbox. I’ve never heard her talk so much.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” she enquires.

“I’m a freshman at Feature Community Tech, but I don’t have classes on Mondays. So I pick up hours with Grandpa for cash.”

We enter the office and Jerry makes a beeline for the computer desk.

“Ha!” he holds a red Sharpie as if it was a prize and hands it to me along with his iPod.

I scribble the words, “
To Jerry, All my best, Tarry Francis.’

“Mel, do you mind taking a picture of us?” he asks.

“No, not at all, Jerry,” she says.

After we take the pictures, we hear the rumble of the truck.

“Well, bye, Jerry. Say hello to Jen and Mike.” Mel hugs him. Is she teary?

We walk to the parking lot. As I retrieve the helmets and backpack from the back of the truck, Mel says good-bye to Tom.

“Join us for lunch; Margaret will be happy to see you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Tommy, but not today. I want to show the lake to Tarry. And I work tonight.”

Shit, I realize the sacrifice Mel is making in order to spend the day with me. I’m sure there are a thousand things she could do instead of babysit me. The thought unsettles me. It really does.

“A pleasure to meet you, young man.” He shakes my hand with a tight grip. “Take good care of our Mel, you hear me?” His eyes are suddenly deep and serious.

“The pleasure is all mine.” I smile my most genuine smile.

We don the helmets and I refrain from assisting her. I don’t know what impression she wants to give to Tim’s family. I’m thrilled she brought me here. That ought to mean something.

“Where to?” I say when we hit the intersection to a paved road.

“Turn right,” she yells.

Again, I’m super aware of her soft curves mashing against my back. I think about the power that her body exerts over me. Even though I usually date the stereotypical tall, blond actress or model, prior to Mel I never had a specific type. Now, I do. She has to have generous, gorgeous, and firm breasts, a small waist, round hips, and, most importantly, a fine ass. It has to fit perfectly inside my hand. And I have long, long hands.

Following Mel’s direction, I turn left on another deserted gravel road. I lower the gear, and we ride for a few minutes before I see a tired-looking house, sad and lonely.

We park across from a small porch. Mel gets off the bike and I follow her.

“This is it. The lake shack,” she tells me with a flare, as if showcasing a fine château.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“This is where Tim’s dad was born. Legend has it that Nana raised eight boys and two girls in this house.”

“Not all legends are true, y’know.” I point out with a chuckle. Mel struggles with the helmet. I can almost weep with gratitude. I help her, my fingers touching her skin as I tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear.

Honey curls, not too light, not to dark. Add that to the list of attributes my “type” has to have.

“Let me give you the grand tour.”

She grabs my hand and gleefully pulls me. She selects a key from her chain and opens the door. Inside is quiet and dark. Mel leaves the door open for daylight to help us find our way. She takes a lamp from the top of the fireplace and retrieves a quilt from a sofa.

“Tim and I spent many days here. Didn’t matter the season, we would find a reason to come over.” She sighs with a melancholic smile. To my relief, she doesn’t linger over the subject. I wonder if I like or hate her dead dude. I really do. He sticks to Mel, as the dark has a constant presence in the night.

I follow her throughout the small dwelling that housed twelve people. It has a kitchen, a living room, two bedrooms, and a bath.

“It has a generator,” Mel explains as we walk out on the kitchen door.

In awe, I take in the amazing view. Down the house is a lake. But it’s not simply a lake. When I was little, I enjoyed the book
Bridge to Terabithia
. Well, that’s how I feel at this moment. It’s as if the shack is a freakish portal that has transported me to a magical land. I really am turning into a pussy. Just saying.

The lake prideful reflects—with more perfection than a mirror—the scattered seashell clouds decorating the blue sky. Beside the lake grows a huge willow tree that greets us with its swaying branches. Wild autumn flowers tangle a festive mess of colors. They lean close together as if whispering secrets spoken in hushed voices, far in the past. They weather the cold wind, as if waiting to lead us to the water. Mel glances my way and a small smile curves her delectable lips.

I follow her, trying to take in the beauty surrounding the place. Hell, I would have raised ten kids in this place without complaining. Ever.

“Look, the swans.”

“Fuck me,” I say. Mel grimaces slightly.

“Sorry,” I mumble before my mind register the words. Did I just apologize for fucking cussing? I guess I fucking did. I really am a pussy. Let’s agree on that, and move on.

“That’s cute,” she beams.

“What?” I say defensively.

“You, apologizing for using curse words.”

“Well, if it bothers you, I won’t say them around you. That’s all,” I say.

She stops near the water and spreads the quilt. I miss the warmth of her hand inside mine. She sits on the blanket and I sit next to her.

“I’m starving. It must be all the adrenaline,” she says.

“You barely ate breakfast,” I say.

“Well, thank the Lord, there is plenty of food.”

She opens the backpack and pulls out cold sandwiches, grapes, all sorts of berries, and a stainless steel thermos bottle.

“Coffee?” I ask, hopeful.

“No, special hot cocoa. I hope it’s hot, because this thermos cost a fortune.” She pours the rich brown liquid inside the lid. “Here, we’ll have to share this, I forgot cups.”

I sip from the steamy liquid. “Ouch, it is hot. Too hot. Worth every penny,” I say. Then, my taste buds detect the spiced chocolate flavor. “What the hell is this? It’s fuc—delicious.”

Mel laughs and hands me a sandwich. We eat silently. It’s a silence that, in the past, has been deafening. But each day I’m learning to enjoy it. It’s soothing. The sun wins the battle against the clouds and radiates its warmth over us. It dissolves the shadows lurking on the lake. I hear the wind salute the water and kiss the treetops—a perfect note. Music that is pure and unattainable.

I think of things from childhood—lost dreams and stupid hopes. I sigh deeply and soak in my surroundings. The day has a yellowish haze to it and a dreamy quality that transports me to a special childhood place.

There was a willow tree on the back of my parent’s property. That was my special spot. It was secluded and peaceful. A long bench, like a La-Z-Boy chair, spread out on a horizontal curve. As a boy, I climbed the tree often and sat in it for hours. Funny and corny, but it felt like the tree hugged me, tightly. It really did. If I focused hard enough I could feel the embrace surround my body, applying gentle and loving pressure on my shoulders, kissing my temples, and patting my hair.

I shared the tree with a bird. I don’t recall what kind of bird, but it had such an intricate little nest. Whenever I looked at the bird, I thought of me as one too, but with broken wings—as Mel once described me—and the tree as my nest. In the childhood fantasy, I was confined to the tree. But I didn’t mind. No one on the tree could harm me, because, as with that bird, I was alone. Within the tree, the bird and I found company. Then, in the nest, appeared tiny blue-and-brown eggs. I watched the entire process, fascinated by the mysterious circle of life. One day the eggs hatched. A few days later the entire family, poof, disappeared. I suppose they never looked back.

I look at Mel and see that she has returned the empty containers and thermos to the backpack.

I stand up, reach out my hand, and ask, “Dance with me?”

“But there is no music,” she says.

I take her hand in mine and I want to kiss the hell out of her. I get a rush every time my lips touch hers, but I know better.

“Mel, singing is one thing I do damn well in this life. I’ll provide the music.”

I snake my arms around her waist and pull her close to me. Every inch of her body is touching mine. I lean into her, and begin whistling one of my favorite tunes in her ear.

Being next to her gives me peace and a warmth that I’ve never felt before. Though she doesn’t mean to, she holds me captive with her sweetness. My life feels in a normal orbit. I’m elated just to hear the slow hum of her laughter. I have a tingling sensation every damn time Mel stares at Ella and her eyes exhibit tenderness and warmth. I get a high when I inhale the soft scent of chamomile from her hair. I want to make wild sex, followed by tender lovemaking, and snuggle on the couch as we watch chick flicks. A pussy, that’s what I’ve become.