Falling, for Her

I had not thought about it in years. Years.

Just the other day—while my wife and I wear cleaning a staircase—she casually mentioned to me that I should watch my step (I was three steps higher up) so as to not fall on top of her. I believe her words were, “We’ve been there before and already know how that worked out.” At first, I drew a blank. Honestly, for a brief moment, I thought she was being flirty with me. Then, I remembered. Oh! It had been a very long time since I had thought about that one time…

It was another Friday night and the air was cool with the coming of winter. Like so many other times, our group of friends had gathered for a dance at one of the local high schools. I say ‘one’ because my girlfriend (now wife) went to my rival high school, as did about half of our friend group. So, whenever there was a high school dance, it was a pretty sure bet that travel arrangements needed to be made because one way or another, half the group would have to meet up with the other half.

Looking back on it, I think the two schools may have coordinated their events because I don’t recall any event—at either school—conflicting with the other. That doesn’t mean they didn’t, I just don’t recall it happening.

Regardless, this particular dance was at Manti High (my high school), and the event was over. Bodies were doing the mass egress to their modes of transportations. Unless, however, they were like me, they already had their transportations and had just recently spent the last few hours using them in the gymnasium. The sidewalks were overrun with bipedal pedestrians while the parking lot was packed with vehicular vamoosers. You almost couldn’t find who you might be looking for. The only reason this is important is because we were trying to locate Erich.

One of the things about memories that continues to both amuse and frustrate me is what sticks and what fades away. For the life of me, I cannot recall why Erich was being chased down, I only know that it is integral to the story. So, regardless of why, our clique collection was in pursuit of the one who had gone rogue. Cindy and I were the closest in proximity but were hindered heavily by the aforementioned mob. Erich was getting away.

Like the Red Sea parting at the behest of Moses, the peoples parted and I saw my chance to gain ground. It was all there—within my grasp—in a mere split-second. And, that is also how long all it took for everything to come crashing down. Literally.

You know those mighty incredible movie moments when the hero swoops into the gaping maw of danger, then the flaming building (or collapsing cavern, or dilapidated dwelling, or whatever) falls and everyone gasps in a collective combination of awe and sadness? Then, just when all hope is lost, that same hero—who only moments ago you believed was dead—bursts forth in freedom, whilst cradled in his arms is the girl of his dreams? You know those scenes? I was about to execute one of those. It was going to be awesome. Well, apparently—in real life—it doesn’t always work out like that.

Because it was Fall, the night air was cool. Because the air was cool I was wearing my trenchcoat (yes, I wore a trenchcoat in high school. I’ve worn one ever since. they are not only practical, but when the wind blows just right, you kinda look like a superhero with a cape billowing in the breeze). Cindy, who had also adopted her own similar overcoat, also had hers on. Why is this detail important? You may ask. Honestly, I’m not sure. I might just be bragging about my amazing taste in clothing. Or, it may have accidentally affected what I was about to attempt. Regardless, I’ve done it and am now moving forward with the story. Wait, I remember now: A trenchcoat pocket sets at about hip height on the body.

So, there I was, gaining ground on my goal: Erich. Cindy was right behind me, holding my hand, and accidentally holding me back. (that last sentence looks so bad when I see it in writing)

I wanted to just let her go and catch up to our quarry. I was fast and could be where Erich was at in the blink of an eye. However, Cindy wanted to be there too. I was desperately doing my best to figure out how to find my friend and not simultaneously upset my best girl. What to do? That’s when I had my brilliant idea: Sweep her off her feet! (literally) Isn’t that what some girls want? I used to think so. This way, I could not only be at my buddy’s side, but, I could also bring along a pretty girl. Everybody wins!

Everybody lost.

For years I would process that moment over and over. What happened? Why did it go so wrong? All I know for certain is that it failed. Miserably.

Cindy was to my right, and as the gap in the crowd began to open, I turn my toro, leaned forward, scooped her up in one smooth motion, and, in that same smooth forward momentum motion… I tripped.

Yes, I tripped. Despite all my superhero and ballet training, I tripped. Oh, and just in case you didn’t cleverly deduce the next step (or lack thereof) from the title or from the previously flat-out-mentioning-of-it, I fell. With Cindy. Who was in front. Of me. At that moment. I (we), we fell. We fell hard. So hard. As if gravity itself said to us (or rather, me, specifically, in an attempt to teach me a little humility), “So, you wanna be cool, huh? You wanna try and show off for your girlfriend, huh? No. Nope. No-o, not tonight buddy. Tonight, right here, for a sliver of a second, I’m gonna get cranked up to a million times my normal strength. Then, after you make impact, I’ll go right back to normal. Okay? Okay.”

BAM! There we lay. Cindy on her side. Me on top of her. The crowd momentarily got closer to clarify if what they just witnessed is really what they had just witnessed, and once verified, they continued to disperse. There was “Nothing to see here.” It was just as well.

As soon as we were able, the both of us rolled onto the nearby lawn to assess possible damage. Erich had heard the commotion, came back to see what it was, asked if we were alright, and when secure in the knowledge that we were, went directly back to whatever it was he had been so intent on doing in the first place, which was (I believe) heading home because he was very upset about something that had taken place that night.

Before I could get a word out and ask why he was leaving, he was already gone. Under different circumstances, I could have left Cindy with someone and grabbed Erich. But, seeing as how I was the one who inflicted this situation upon her and—for reasons that baffled me—because non of our friends had yet to reach us (we were only about 50 feet from the building), I stayed behind and watched Erich disappear into the darkness. Yeah, Manti did not have very good lighting on their streets.

Eventually, our companions arrived. Cindy laughingly told them what had happened to her and how Erich had eluded us. To aid in their desperation to find him, she happily handed over her car keys and they all drove off to try and find him. Her hip was sore and for the time being, moving her leg hurt. So, no driving, right now.

In my meager attempts to make her feel better, l let her use my stomach as a pillow and we then just laid there and talked. We knew it would be a while before anyone returned because nobody knew for certain where Erich lived (except myself and Cindy), and in the dark, his house would be harder to spot.

As we lay there, Cindy discovered that her favorite hairbrush could be disassembled when violent forces were focused upon it. Oddly enough, that was the most upsetting thing to her. Not that I tripped. Not that Erich got away. Not that I fell on top of her. Not that she was most certainly going to have one heck of a bruise. Nope. The thing that upset her most was that her hairbrush was now in more pieces than it should be. My fault. I did that. Oops.

We would lay there for what felt like hours. We chatted about this and that. She laughed about the situation. I did not. I felt so bad. I loved this girl and I had hurt her. But, in true Cindy fashion, she forgave and moved on. She knew it was an accident, so, why hold a grudge?

Eventually, the care crew came back, gave their report, and, when Cindy felt good enough to climb into her car to drive home, she did. I simply walked the single block back to my own home, a little bit more in love with her.

She would—at a later time—let me carry her in my arms once again. And, it was successful.