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"Teetering"
Nicole Henderson,
May 5, 2015
My dad was being mean, mocking and teasing and taunting me. "You can't do that. You can't do ANYTHING. You are so stupid."
Night outside. She followed us there in her small SUV. I was nervous, felt giddy and felt guilty.
We were in a dim living room with about five other, indistinguishable people. Carefully, I sat and sank into the deep sofa beside her. I was nervous, felt exhilarated and felt even more guilty than I had earlier.
The movies began to play and I remained there sunk into the sofa with the skin on my arm thrilling and tingling when it brushed against her skin. Right there next to me. I swatted at the nagging guilt trying to deeper permeate my conscience.
I worried the movies would run too long; she had to get up early.
Six or seven short movies showed like short stories all in a row. The movies were finished in about 45 minutes.
Her brow creased. "That was all? I drove a long way to get here."
A motionless moment... I was at a loss for what to say.
She closed the gap by suggesting we look around. Crossing the room, we crouched close together to examine a low row of shelves.
The moment sparkled like icicles in the moonlight.
A rectangular tin opened easily. "Candles," we simultaneously observed aloud. Nervous laughter. A presence between us crackled and drew us together like static cling.
(Did she really?)
(Would I really??)
Down in our own dark, still space we gazed ahead at the shelves, seeing nothing and feeling everything. Tentatively, softly, I placed my open hand on the back of her arm, just above the elbow. She did not pull away.
My dad was nowhere to be found.
I awoke, frozen in fire, my heart in my throat.
