“What’s the common denominator?”
A simply posed question bubbling from friendly lips. Mathematic in phrasing and hinting at an even-keeled logic, a levelness she wasn’t sure a present heart could possess. But then, isn’t cause always clearer when witnessed from effect?
What was the common denominator of her past partners? Her coterie of used-to-bes? Off-the-cuff, she had said she admired their noses. But hours later, as she lay on the carpet--though the bed was long-cleared of her friends and their coats--she remembered how she felt ever-so-slightly uncontrolled each time. A fall in the most achingly obvious of ways, stopped only by the catch in her throat.
Who was the first? The start of the be? The introduction to was?
It seemed an occurrence out of time, but then they all did in a way. A warm flannel-peaked castle on a dark November afternoon. Two future lieges playing at world-building. A sudden mash of lips--a marriage of nations--soundtracked by muffled mutant turtles. Then the bliss of childhood returned. That bliss bordered and bound her for thirteen years, routinely perforated by pop culture and muted midnight movies. After fourteen, it shattered. Broken like the night sky during a meteor shower.
Her lips still remembered--in lonely moments--the hook of his teeth catching her before she realized she had fallen. She didn’t know him then, but she didn’t claim to. His middle name was enough, mumbled as his head bowed and her eyes crossed trying to hold his smiling gaze in her sight. A secret to share. The first of many, she hoped…
Far too many, she now knew.
But that’s the problem with falling, isn’t it? Too often, you mistake it for flight.
