We All Fall Down

  “Yeah,” I say quietly. “Yeah, I remember.”

  She hangs her head down. “Nic, I really am so sorry about everything. I don’t know how I can ask you to ever forgive me.”

  “Nah, come on, girl,” I tell her. “You don’t need to apologize. I mean, I’m sorry, too. We were both really fucked up is all.”

  “Yeah, but we were so much in love, too.”

  “We were in love,” I say. “Hell, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  I hold her tight against me, inhaling the smell of her.

  “I love you, too,” she tells me. “Even after all this time.”

  I breathe.

  This is my future.

  This is my life.

  I can’t believe she’s here with me.

  But she is.

  And this is all I’ve ever wanted.

  When I think about Fallon, I just wanna laugh at myself.

  Zelda is my one. I’ve always known that.

  “Do you wanna try this again?” I ask her. “We can do it right this time—I know we can.”

  She turns to me and smiles—leaning forward—kissing my hot forehead.

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know,” she says, resting her chin on my shoulder. “This is all happening so fast. But, uh, I definitely think we should see each other again. And then, well, whatever happens will happen, right?”

  I touch her neck gently, carefully, ’cause I remember how sensitive she is about that, considering her mom hung herself and everything. My fingers just barely caressing the line of her jugular. “Right,” I tell her. “Right, that’s right.”

  She pulls herself up to standing and then leans against the glass floor-to-ceiling window of the bookstore café—her breath coming out all raspy, so she has to get her inhaler out of her expensive-looking leather bag. I watch her sucking in the Albuterol, or whatever it is—laughing at herself for being such a dork.

  “You look so fucking beautiful,” I tell her.

  She just laughs. “You’re the beautiful one, my beauty. Hey, remember this.” She pulls up her sleeve and shows me the tattoo she designed when we were together. I have the exact matching one on the same exact spot on my arm. It’s pretty weird, I mean, to see it there on her like that.

  “Look,” I say. “Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be all right. I’m gonna make everything all right.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Yeah, well, I hope so.”

  She squeezes my hand in hers.

  And we go on and walk out of there together.

  When I get back to our little apartment in Mar Vista, Tallulah just about licks my face off, she’s so excited to see me. I put some water on to boil and listen to Dylan and load up a bowl of the superstrong blueberry chronic and smoke till my brain feels like it’s been separated from my body. Honestly, since I met up with that John guy again, I don’t think I’ve let myself get sober even once. As soon as I wake up, I make coffee and go smoke, and then I just keep smoking throughout the rest of the day. It’s really, like, my lifeline right now. It’s keeping me together. It’s making all this possible.

  I mean, can you believe it? Zelda and I might actually be together again.

  It’s what I’ve been fantasizing about for the last two years.

  And now it’s really happening.

  I make tea and listen to music and try to just kinda sort everything out, you know.

  I’m going to have to tell Fallon. I’m going to have to break it off.

  And Sue Ellen—well, shit, man, I don’t even know what to do about that.

  So I guess for now I just won’t do anything.

  I put Tallulah’s leash on and get ready to take her out.

  I smoke another bowl.

  That’s the only answer I will ever need.

  Ch.33

  When I tell Fallon I’m not gonna be able to come see her and I probably need to cut off contact for a while, her reaction is surprisingly un-Christian. She tells me I’m an asshole and then hangs up. I can’t say I blame her—or disagree at all.

  I am an asshole.

  And I feel so out of control.

  This energy surging through me makes my hands tremble and my mind unfocused. I check my phone compulsively.

  Zelda hasn’t called or texted or anything. We were talking for a while there—building something, I thought—but then she disappeared completely. I’ve written and called and written, and still I haven’t heard one thing back from her. I’m really getting kinda worried. I mean, as hot and cold as she can be, there’s something that feels very wrong about this—like something serious must have happened. But, for whatever reason, she doesn’t feel comfortable telling me about it, so I’m left just guessing, you know? Checking my phone every thirty seconds—making these lists in my head—repeating them over and over:

  Wake up.

  Make coffee.

  Smoke a bowl.

  Take Tallulah up to Los Liones Canyon—hike for a couple hours.

  Come home.

  Shower.

  Eat cereal.

  Smoke more.

  Go get coffee and write.

  Call my dad.

  Call my mom.

  Call John.

  Go pick up more herb.

  Go home.

  Smoke more.

  Take Tallulah to the dog park.

  Come home.

  Meet Sue Ellen.

  Fight with her.

  Do anything and everything to keep from thinking about Zelda.

  I won’t let her hurt me again. I’ll shut her out completely. I mean, hell, at least this time I’ve got this chronic to smoke to make it all disappear. Because it does. Getting high takes it away. Getting high makes me strong. Getting high makes me not care.

  So I just try ’n’ stay high forever. ’Cause that’s all I’ve got left. Even if I really do know it’s only a matter of time till it stops working for me again—just like before.

  And the time before that.

  And the time before that.

  And the time before that, too.

  About Sue Ellen, well, I’m not sure if it’s that she can sense me pulling away or what, but she keeps really tearing into me about every little thing. It’s like she gets back from her internship, where they’ve been treating her like shit all day, and she doesn’t know how to not take all her pent-up rage out on me.

  Tonight, for some reason, she’s been going on and on about my mom to the point that I actually get kinda angry with her. And, I mean, that really is saying something, ’cause I’m usually the first one to admit my mom’s got, uh, issues. But, Christ, Sue Ellen just won’t quit.

  See, the thing is, after, like, twenty years of being married to this terrible man who I watched emotionally torture her, she finally got up the courage to leave him a couple months ago, and now she’s living on her own in a house on the Venice Canals. Obviously, it’s super weird to have my mom be suddenly single and free of that asshole I’ve been wanting her to get away from since I was little. I mean, it’s frustrating that it’s happening now, after all those years of me visiting my mom and stepdad only to be told over and over what a “weak, faggot” piece of shit I was by him. And not that my mom was a total angel or anything, either. Hell, it takes two, right? But I’m still proud of her for finding the strength to step out on her own, even if it did take more than two decades.

  Honestly, I’m not totally sure why Sue Ellen is going on and on about my mom right now. I think maybe she’s got it in her head that because I’ve been hanging out with my mom a lot more now that she’s in this transitional stage and pretty lonely, somehow it’s my mom who’s been making me pull away from Sue Ellen.

  “Ugh, she’s just a sick woman,” Sue Ellen says, her fists all clenched. “And you, you’re just spineless. I mean, come on, she left you when you were practically a baby, and now you’re gonna be all buddy-buddy with her. Uh-uh… that’s not okay. I won’t stand for it. She’s vain and shallow and manipulative, and I don’t want you seeing her any
more.”

  I light a cigarette and try to focus on the road, since we’re driving up the PCH and it’s dark and I’m not totally sure where we’re going, exactly.

  “Sue Ellen, man, you don’t know what you’re talking about. And, anyway, I don’t know what makes you so holier than thou—we all make mistakes. Hell, if no one ever let me live down my past, there wouldn’t be one goddamn person left who’d even speak to me. Besides, as flawed as she is, I respect what she’s doing. It takes a lot of courage to get out of a bad relationship—especially when it’s a whole lot safer to just keep putting up with it. And, I don’t know, man, I kinda feel like I need to be there for her right now. Is that so wrong?”

  She stamps her foot against the floor mat in front of her.

  “Yes, it’s wrong,” she actually screams. “It’s wrong because you’re too much of a pussy to stand up for yourself. You’re pathetic. You let everyone treat you like shit and you just keep being so polite and nice and you never say ‘no’ and it makes me sick. Ugh, you make me sick. Your mom doesn’t deserve your attention. None of these awful people in your life deserve your attention. But you keep bending over backward for everyone and rolling over and never wanting to rock the boat. It’s gross, Nic, it’s really gross. And here we are going to this stupid party just so you can be Mr. Nice Guy to everyone and make everyone else happy and never once think about what would be best for you. I mean, why are we going to this party, anyway? Why isn’t just being with me enough for you anymore? You never used to go out to parties. But now suddenly we come to LA and you turn into this little lapdog going around trying to please everyone. It’s disgusting.”

  I drag long on my cigarette and then laugh.

  I turn right up Topanga Canyon.

  “Sue Ellen, man, I wanted to come to this party ’cause I thought it would be fun, that’s all. Honestly, I thought you’d think it was fun, too. I mean, come on, they’re having a full-moon séance in the woods. It’s gonna be funny. This doesn’t have anything to do with anything but that. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to have a life just ’cause I’m dating you. Life’s too short to waste it watching TV and sitting at home. These are the kinds of experiences we’ll remember forever. You can’t keep me caged up like your little pet hamster. You can’t hold on to me like that. And, anyway, the reason I’m nice to people is because I actually really do like them. I like being around them. It’s fun for me and, you know, actually fulfilling. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you or care about you. I mean, I want to do this stuff with you. But you can just be so negative and judgmental all the time, it’s hard including you. That’s why I go do things without you. But I’m really happy you came along tonight. Come on, let’s not ruin it. Let’s just try ’n’ relax and have fun. The only way we’re gonna make it is if we allow each other to build separate lives and, you know, share them together. I want to share this with you. Can’t you just be a little open-minded right now?”

  Her fingers have started twirling around in her hair, which is a bad sign.

  She clenches her jaw tight when she speaks. “You’re a jerk, Nic.”

  I honestly can’t tell whether she’s being rational or not. I mean, I know I have been a jerk to her. But, I don’t know, I feel like I have been trying to make things better.

  She just doesn’t make sense is all. She gets her mind set on an idea, and then nothing I say or do can even begin to bring her back. I’m wasting my time trying to talk to her. But, then again, she’ll get even more pissed off if I don’t try. So, I mean, fuck, I just carry on like nothing’s even happened.

  I drop it.

  Not that it’s hard. At this point, denial is as much a part of me as breathing.

  And I guess maybe that’s part of what Sue Ellen was trying to say.

  Anyway, it’s not like it really matters. I can’t change and she can’t change and my mom can’t change and my stepdad can’t change.

  No one really changes.

  That’s why I’m still here.

  So I smoke a bowl in the car after we’ve pulled over near the gated-off fire lane. The directions John gave me have us cutting through the fences and following a narrow deer trail off to the left. There’s a full moon. We don’t need a flashlight.

  “This is so fucking stupid,” Sue Ellen says through gnashed teeth. “This is stupid and I’m scared and I want to go home right now.”

  The sound of cars in the distance echoes loudly through the canyon, like rain falling. Insects chirp and chatter in the dry brush. There are no people or signs of John’s little séance thing anywhere. Still, I can’t help being annoyed at Sue Ellen for making every single thing we do into something negative.

  “Nic, I’m serious,” she shouts at me, kicking her feet in the dirt. “I’m scared, let’s go home.”

  I roll my eyes without really meaning to.

  “Come on, Sue, what do you think’s gonna happen?”

  “I don’t know,” she yells, stamping her foot like a child. “I want to go home. I wish we’d never come here.”

  I inhale the sweet desert air through my flaring nostrils like a horse getting ready to charge.

  “Where? Here, now, or just LA in general?”

  “LA in general. Everything was fine before. I never should have let you come back here. I want to go home right now.”

  My fists are all clenched. “Fine, fine, whatever.”

  I start walking back toward the car without looking at her, but I can hear her footsteps and sobbing behind me. Suddenly she’s crying really loudly.

  “I’ll tell you this, though,” I say kind of under my breath. “Things were not all okay before we came here. I’ve been so empty for such a long time. Why the hell do you think I drank so much? Why do you think I need to smoke pot every day?”

  She lets out a shrill, shrill scream, and I turn around to see her all collapsed in the dirt, wailing her goddamn head off.

  There’s a sick, guilty feeling inside me, seeing her like this, and all at once I wish I’d never said anything.

  “Fuck,” I say, sighing—walking back over to her and crouching down on the balls of my feet. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I do love you. I’m not meaning to hurt you. It’s just that I get frustrated with you being so negative all the time. It’s like every time we try to have fun it becomes some big problem. And, honestly, I feel like you’re constantly criticizing me. Like everything I want to do is stupid or something. But I don’t want to be fighting like this. I don’t want to fight at all. Let’s just try ’n’ have some fun together, okay? I know we can have fun together again.”

  She stands up, and I see her eyes go all narrow, and then she shoves me about as hard as she can.

  “Goddamn you!” she screams. “God-fucking-damn you. How can you say that? You’re the one who’s been acting all different ever since we got here—wanting to go out all the time—making all these new friends. You’re so pathetic. I was the one who was there for you when you had nothing. I was the only one who would even talk to you. And now you’re too good for me. Fuck you. I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

  She stomps back toward the car, and I follow on after her, my head hung down.

  “I know,” I tell her, speaking all slow and soft. “I know, you’re right. I have been feeling different and, uh, I don’t know why. It’s like I can’t help it. Something is going on with me. I don’t know what it is. I’m not meaning to act like this.”

  She keeps walking and not looking back. “Bullshit. That’s bullshit. You’re just a pathetic human being. That’s all it is. You’re weak. Without me you’d have nothing. You need me, Nic. You need me.”

  My face goes flushed at that.

  Tears burning.

  Sickness in every part of me.

  “I know I do,” I whisper even more quietly. “I know I need you. I can’t live on my own. I’m a total failure. You’re right. Let’s just go home now.”

  I jog up next to her and try to put my hand on her back, but she jerks away. r />
  We walk the rest of the way in silence.

  It’s maybe twenty minutes later as we’re driving back to the apartment that my phone starts vibrating like I’ve got a new text message. Of course, like the idiot that I am, I left my phone right in the center console, so Sue Ellen picks it up and flips it open and I can’t say anything to stop her, ’cause I don’t want to seem suspicious.

  There’s a full minute of absolute quiet before she suddenly erupts, throwing the phone forcefully onto the floor and screaming, “Let me out! Let me out right now!” She starts to open the door, even though I’m going, like, fifty miles per hour on the PCH, and pretends to try ’n’ fling her body out. I swerve wildly, taking the bait, reaching over to grab her as if she were actually capable of doing it—which I know she isn’t.

  I do, though. I grab on to her and pull her toward me and straighten out the car and yell, “Fuck. Jesus Christ. Fuck.”

  She turns her attention to hitting the shit out of me.

  “How could you? How could you be in contact with that pathetic, old, awful woman?”

  “Who?” I ask stupidly.

  “She says she ‘loves you.’ What the hell is that? How could you be talking to her again? Jesus, you are so pathetic.”

  “What?” I say. “What? What?”

  “Zelda, you asshole. Zelda, Zelda. And look, what a surprise, she says here she relapsed again. What is she, forty years old now? You two deserve each other, you really do.”

  And then she starts crying again and then she starts hitting me and then she starts screaming and telling me over and over that she wants to go home.

  So I drive her.

  In a way, I feel almost relieved being caught like this. It forces my hand, you know? It forces me to act. I could’ve gone on forever taking it and taking it and never making a final decision. This is good… maybe… I don’t know.

  And more than anything else, I guess, I can’t help thinking about Zelda.

  She’s relapsed.

  Fuck.

  Why is it we both can’t get this shit?

  She’s relapsed, and I’ve been relapsing for the past two years. We’re on these parallel paths of self-destruction. Sue Ellen is right. I am pathetic.