Page 39 of Falling Backwards
He said, “If you couldn’t, you’d cut her off.Quit taking the time to interact with her.Quit going places you know she’ll be.”
Despite how it felt to be called out like that, I secretly couldn’t deny he had a point.For example, I didn’thaveto tease her about her ponytail missing that bit of hair.
And yet Ididhave to….
Even so, I told him, “I can’t really avoid her at work.”
He conceded that but stood behind the other stuff.He said maybe I didn’t like her for years, but having to be around her at work has been a good thing, in his opinion.“A lot of time has passed since whatever happened between you two.Life has gone on.People can mature if they’re given the chance, you know.”
I wondered if he was serious, but even kicked back on my couch with a beer in his hand, there was no sarcasm in sight.
He even brought up what I’d told him a minute before.He said, “For all the shit between y’all, she sure was the reason you didn’t get written up by Ronald.”
Having him say it so plainly was downright annoying.
I told him I’m not going to give her full credit for that, and he laughed.
I told him I don’t need anyone to take care of me, and he laughed more.
I groaned and told him to shut up, and he told me to shut up right back.
“You did need help with that,” he said, “and it was Maggie who gave it.Because she’s not a total bitch.Which is why you can stand her.”
That next-to-last part in particular dug into me, but I didn’t say so.I just blinked at him as if to wordlessly ask how he could side with her instead of with me, his friend.
He laughed again.“You ain’t gotta confess it to her, dude, but you can’t lie to me.”
I stubbornly insisted, “Whatever, and I would’ve figured out how to fix the write-up thing myself.”
“Yeah, maybe.Or maybe not.”
We moved away from the conversation then so we could figure out a pizza order.However, it’s back with me now that I’m clocking out of my shift, no longer under the heavy heel of a bad mood and the ugly headache it brought on.
Thank God I’m feeling better.
I slept poorly again last night; if I wasn’t having stressful dreams, I was tossing and turning.When I finally gave up on trying to rest, I had the urge to go for a run outside, but I ended up freezing and sporting a leg cramp that had me cussing way too loudly for a quiet Sunday morning.Probably because I haven’t exercised in quite some time, so running was a dumb idea.
Back at home, when I checked my mail because I forgot to yesterday, I saw my dad had somehow gotten my address and mailed me a glossy card that said,‘Happy holiday season from the Bramhills!’It boasted a festive, smiling picture of him with his arm around my stepmother Suzanna, and in front of them stood my eight-year-old half-brother Reese.My stepsiblings Wendy and Ryan were there, too, though I doubt they still live at home since they’re very close to my age; I assume the whole family got together just for the special photo shoot.
At first, I wasn’t any more upset about the situation than usual, but the more time went on, the more shaken up I became.I felt breathless and overwhelmed, like I had been slapped and was having trouble processing it.I kept wondering why my dad thought I wanted a holiday card from him and the people he evidently grew to love more than he loved me.I’ve made it clear over the years that his actions weren’t okay with me, that I was angry with him—did he send the card to be spiteful?Or does he still, to this day, not understand what he left me with when he walked away?
There was no way to know without confronting him, and I wasnotgoing to figure out how to confront him.Though I had plenty of questions and accusations circling in my head, I didn’t want to talk to him and find out what he had to say.
All I knew was that my mood was on the ground, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.
And of course the headache moved in around then.When I tried to catch a nap, it took me longer to fall asleep than I anticipated, so I kept hitting the snooze button when my alarm went off and I ended up almost being late for work.Drowsy and unhappy, I trudged my way onto the clock.
Holy hell, those first few hours were longer than long.It got to where I felt like it would hurt less to slam my head on the bar than to keep dealing with that pounding headache.Unfortunately, a guy’s gotta earn his money, so I neither risked unconsciousness nor asked to go home.I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts anyway.I just weakly crossed my fingers that there was a bit of over-the-counter magic somewhere in the building for me to fall back on.
To say Maggie’s kindness was unexpected would be a huge understatement.
I know the ibuprofen was what eased my headache, not her, but I found relief as soon as I did because she didn’t leave me to my suffering.We both knew I could have gone to the breakroom myself at some point—I truly didn’t need her help, unlike yesterday with Ronald, I’ll finally admit.But she still showed up for me.
As for the mood I was in: her kindness eased that, too, in a way.When I called the hostess stand, I was sullenly prepared for her to act the way she usually does.It was the last thing I needed, but I was willing to briefly deal with it if it would result in headache relief.As it turned out, all that happened was…shecared.
She wasn’t rigid or bossy or annoying at all.
I had a hard time thanking her in such clear terms, but Iwasthankful.
