Love is a Four Letter Word

When I See an Elephant Fly

Did you know that in 2003 a man stuck in an avalanche cut off his own arm in order to survive. The way things are looking right now, I'd say that guy got off easily. I would gladly part with a few limbs if it meant it was physically possible to get out of this bed alive. My one lucky break so far: after avoiding answering CK's sleepy questions, he seemed to have fallen back to sleep.

You see, the thing about making life's great mistakes is that, although you typically learn a valuable lesson (i.e. don't sleep with your worst enemy... even if it was rather... er... good.), sometimes the wake of such disaster isn't worth the pain. And right now, I'll tell you I'm in a lot of pain.

Tentatively I attempt to pinch myself. Another little tid-bit of information: when wrapped (for lack of a better word) around the bare body of a man that you definitely don't want to wake up, pinching oneself can prove to be rather difficult. I slowly wriggle my hands out from under him. He's still smiling and I notice his lips twitch as if someone was tickling him. Suddenly he makes a weird "hrumph"ing noise and rolls over thus blissfully freeing my hands. I give a quick final check to make sure that I am in fact not dreaming. Like the last fifty tests, this one I fail and open my eyes once again to still see CK Wilson sleeping soundly, and nakedly, beside me.

I wish real life had dream sequences.

Ok. We have another problem: left foot is trapped between the ankles of naked man. He's like clutching it! How the hell to I get it through? I try pointing my toes like a ballerina and slipping it through the caged bars that his bony ankles have created, but my feet are a bit too big and I still can't fit my heel through. As if reading my mind, CK Wilson relinquishes one foot and moves it slightly further away from me. I take this brief second to allow my foot to escape.

Mission accomplished. I now have all four major limbs free from the clutches of The World's Worst Decision. I roll onto my back and take a deep breath. This is the part where I leap from the bed in victory and happy dance my way to the door; and yet it seems oddly painful to get out of this bed. Because it's warm. Nothing else.

I take another deep breath. If I stay... no. Don't even contemplate it. Staying isn't even an option. You have to get out of this bed. You have to do it right this moment or else forever regret having wasted a Christmas morning in the arms of the man you hate.

But.

What am I doing? There are no buts.

I set my jaw in determination and quickly toss the covers off of me and place both feet squarely on the ground. I prefer to do it quickly. Like ripping of a band-aid, let the pain be brief. And yet I can't help but look back... just to check and see if he's awake. I don't know which I'd prefer. Awake or asleep?

What am I talking about? I hate CK when he's awake. In fact, I hate CK all the time. Period. Exclamation point. Question mark? No. No question mark.

Julia Grant, if you do not get out of this bed this instant...

Before I can even threaten to kick my own ass, I'm out of the bed. I suppress the urge to get back in it. I'm not the kind of girl who likes to look back.

First things first: I locate my clothing scattered across the room. My bra's hanging on the doorknob. My t-shirt covers the stack of beautifully wrapped presents. My pants are under the bed. I search frantically for my underwear, but eventually I give up. Underwear be damned. As soon as I have all my objects located, underwear excluded, I head for the door. I tug on the door. I twist on the door. I kick the door in anger because it has yet to open. I grab my toe and hop around in silent pain. I look back at CK. He still hasn't moved a millimeter. He must be a really heavy sleeper.

Think, Julia. Think! There has to be a way out of here. I try to contemplate the situation I've manage to get myself stuck in, but my brain feels heavy from all the wine. Sometimes even I'm surprised by my stupidity.

Just when I was about to give up, I had a sudden stroke of brilliance. The window! Brilliant! Or at least it seemed to be at the moment, but five seconds later when I was peering down at the early-dawn lawn from a second story window that seemed to drop on for a short eternity yet another great plan seemed hoodwinked.

I opened the window and gulped. Somehow this seemed like such an easier feat when shimmying down the drain-pipe in high school. But considering the alternative... a few broken limbs hardly seemed all that scary. I kicked one leg out the window followed closely by the other while simultaneously clutching onto the windowsill with all my upper body strength.

Just as I was lowering myself slowly down from the ledge, CK Wilson rolled over on the double bed that he was still laying flat upon and right before I fell out of a second story window, his eyes opened and locked right onto mine.

I got up slowly once my body finally hit the ground. Very slowly. In fact I fell back down. My legs and arms and all other appendages were scratched, but I seemed lucky enough to have not sustained any major injuries.

I looked up to the window I'd just fallen out of. It was empty. I could have sworn he saw... but oh well. Obviously not. Stop being silly.

I stand, brush myself off, and can't help but chuckle at my own misfortune. How do I end up in these kind of situations? It's like I have some sort of magnet that attracts catastrophe. That's it. I'm a tragedy magnet.

Well, the most you can do after plunging out of a two story window is to get back up. I plan on doing just that.

I take a tentative step back toward my childhood home. What else would I do? I can't lay here on the crabgrass and pretend that everything has gone according to plan. So instead I quietly sneak through the kitchen door, closing the door carefully so as to not make any noise. With any luck I can make it up to my room quietly enough that no one will know I'm awake and bother me. I just want to get some sleep.

I take the stairs carefully. Not necessarily because they're squeaky, but more because I just fell out of a window, and, let's face it, I'm no Spring Chicken. Spring Chicken? Who says crap like that? Yes, I make fun of myself in my own thoughts.

I finally make it up the stairs and make a quick stop in the bathroom to scrounge the medicine cabinet for a bit of advil. With any luck I'll still be able to move in an hour. I find a bottle of perkiset, some antibiotics from 1996, and some melted throat lozenges. I finally locate the acetaminophen behind a box of old contacts. I take three for good measure.

I creep back out into the hallway. Ironically enough I find myself at a crossroads. To my left is my room, with its soft pillows and childhood comfort. To my right is the guest bedroom...

I can't just leave him...

But I shouldn't go over there. I don't even know why I'm entertaining the thought. Obviously it would be torture for both parties. I don't want to see him. Ever. And I have an inkling suspicion that he might have been pretending to be asleep this morning so that he wouldn't have to talk to me. Although I didn't particularly want to face him either, that's still obnoxiously rude. And arrogant.

Oh I hate him!

And you know what else! He totally saw me fall out of that window and he didn't even peek out the window to make sure I was alright. Bastard!

Or maybe he really was just asleep...

He's locked in there, I suddenly remember. I don't actually have to face him. I could just jiggle the handle loose. So that he can get out and hopefully leave my life for good!

I tip-toe over to his room, proving that I am in fact the bigger person. And I'm also very compassionate to do such a nice thing, even for my loathed enemy.

I get to the door, jiggle the handle. It doesn't work. I scowl at the door. It's not supposed to be broken from the outside. We must have lodged it in there even tighter during last night's... activities. But for some reason I feel this pressing urge to get this door open. If for no other reason than to check and see if CK Wilson was really sleeping when I left.

I yank hard on the handle. It moves ever so slightly proving that it's jammed and not broken. I look at the hinges. They do look a bit stressed and kind of wonky. Well then we'll just have to heave it open! I tug with all my might, making funny noises in my effort.

I hear a noise on the other side of the door. A scuffling and then a light tap against the door. I press my ear against the wooden door, listening. I'm rewarded with CK's voice saying my name softly through the door.

"I'm going to get you out," I mutter back, baffling myself. I don't know why I want to get him out so badly. It's not as though I actually want to have to face him... or anything.

"Ok," he replies. "You pull and I'll push."

I scowl at the door. "No the hinge goes the other way. I'll push and you can pull!" I don't like being ordered about.

I can hear a frustrated groan on the other side of the door. "Please don't start this," he growls. "If the hinge is on your side of the door, that means it opens out."

I squint, testing the practicality of that statement. Yeah, okay. So whatever. He just happened to be right... stupid jerk.

I grunt my assent and begin to pull with all my might. I plant my hells in the carpet and, locking my grip on the knob, allow my entire body weight to hang, with the door as the only thing keeping me from collapsing onto the floor. Between the two of us, we managed to dislodge the door in a matter of seconds. The only flaw in our fabulous plan was that as soon as the door released, there was no longer any force to hold me upright. Once again I found myself laying on the ground, rubbing my bottom in pain.

That's what happens when CK and I team up. Bad things... only bad things.

"Thanks." He held out a hand for me. It took me ages to figure out why. By then I was already standing. He pulled his hand back awkwardly. Was that a blush?

So... have you ever been standing there, after what could only be a grave mistake, with absolutely no words coming to mind. Utter and awkward silence, my friends. Emphasis on the awkward.

"Did you know that the average woman has been divorced by age 29?"

This was one of those things like how he'd held out his hand to help me up. It was just totally unexpected.

"Okay?"

He yanked a hand through his already messy hair. "I just thought it was a weird statistic."

"Well thank you for sharing."

He coughed. "Um. Yeah."

I looked at him as if examining an alien. My head was tilted slightly to the side, biting on my fingernails in concentration. If I didn't know any better I'd say that I make CK Wilson, the Great CK Wilson, uncomfortable.

"Julia," he began, looking at me with some sort of emphasis. If I were a more intelligent woman I might have known what he was saying, but I've never been very perceptive. "Do you think we could--"

"Jules?"

My head whipped around. Oh, what timing! For once I was actually curious about what CK Wilson was going to say next.

I wiped that thought away quickly. CK never had anything useful to add. It would be naive to think... he might actually... Now I really wish I could read expressions. But instead of hearing CK's, most likely, horrific statement, I found myself staring down the hallway at my diffident father.

"Yes?" I asked.

He looked at his watch. "You two are up kind of early."

My cheeks prickled as I thought about CK and I standing alone in the hallway, our appearances still rather ruffled. Oh gosh! Think if my parents had heard us last night! ...Not that anything happened. Is it hot in here or is it just me? At least CK had had the forethought to re-wrap his towel around his waist.

"CK got locked in his room," I muttered quickly, embarrassed and shamed.

"Oh, well you got him out."

Is there something about this hallway that promotes awkward statements?

"Yes. We got him out," I replied.

CK remained mute. Just clutched his towel tightly and looked anywhere but at my father.

"Well," my father drew, evaluating the situation.

"Yes, daddy?" Why now? Why after all this time does he have to choose this moment to venture out of his study?

"Would you like to take a walk with me?"

There are few things more awkward than walking through your childhood neighborhood with your all but estranged father.

I wonder what CK was going to say earlier. Maybe he was just going to say that he wanted to talk. Talk? About what? I don't think CK and I have ever just talked. Not without arguing. I take comfort in the arguing.

"So, do you like living with Kayce?" my father asked, kicking broken pieces of gravel on the road with his new Nikes.

Do you think CK wanted to talk about what happened last night? I was hoping we'd just forget it ever happened and go back to our shared hatred of the other.

"Julia?"

I looked up from the ground. "Yeah?"

My father cocked a small grin. It was weird. He hardly ever smiled anymore. "You always did live on your own planet, Julia."

I shrugged. "Well at least that solves one great question."

"Oh yeah? What question is that?"

"That there actually is intelligent life on other planets."

Now he was definitely grinning. It made me feel like I was six years old again. Dad used to walk with me down to the beach and tell me stories about his childhood. I would later learn that about 75 percent of those stories were fictional. But how was a six year old supposed to know the difference between her father and episodes of Cheers?

I rolled my eyes at his sickening grin. I was tired of thinking about the past. It kind of made me nauseous to think about all the changes that had happened in my life.

I looked over at my father, hoping to slap that awkward grin off his face. He couldn't just switch back into old Dad mode as if that last eight years hadn't happened. But upon studying his expression I realized that he wasn't truly grinning at all. His face had molded into that same sentimental facade that I get every time I'm trying to pretend that everything is okay.

But there was one more thing to his look that I just couldn't understand. We've already established that I'm horrible at reading faces. And you know what I feel? Tired. I'm tired of trying to figure people out. I'm tired of not fully grasping what people are trying to tell me. I just want to know what my father is trying to say. So I'm going to be blatant and obvious. I'm going to ask him.

"Daddy, was there any particular reason you wanted to talk?" I ask, making it quite clear that today was not the day to bullshit me. Today was a day to confess.

"What do you mean?"

Obviously, my father missed my "no-bullshit" tone.

I released an angry puff of breath. "Daddy. I don't think we've talked in almost a decade."

My father took a deep breath. I felt as though some sort of epic confession was on the horizon. "Remember that time you broke your collarbone when you fell off the pier?"

That was it? That was all he could say. Perhaps I should work on my "no-bullshit" tone.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I'd been nine when that happened and rather stupid. Now I'm 26 and still rather stupid. Funny how that works.

My father took yet another deep breath. "When you fell off the pier everyone was trying to get you back up and out of the water. But you refused. You just laid there in the shallows, crying out in pain and saying you wanted your daddy. I was the only person that could make things better."

I shrugged. I hadn't remembered that.

"And on your wedding day, whenever something went wrong, you just kept asking if you could see Nick. He'd taken my spot as your resident savior and I realized that I'd lost my little girl."

I snorted. That was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. "You're the one that pushed me away," I pointed out, rather snottily, I'm ashamed to admit.

He looked at me for a long time. "It's hard, Julia, to look at your daughter and realize that you're no longer Superman."

I bit my lip. Must I always be such a bitch? "Why are you telling me all this now? Don't you think it's a little too late?"

My father nodded once. When had things gotten so heavy? Was it wrong that I suddenly wished for the Cheers stories and the unusual grin.

"That's the point, Jules. I let you slip through my fingers because I was still so stuck on the past. I don't want the same thing to happen to you."

I suddenly understood. This was my father's way of telling me to get over it. To stop thinking about it and to quit running that night with Mandy through my mind. It was time to move on.

"Your life isn't going to wait around for you, Jules."

And I hated that it all made so much sense.

I know and I'm super sorry it's been so long. Honestly? I hate this freaking chapter. But I was tried of lingering on it, so I'm going to take Julia's advice and just move on. Either way I'm glad it's over with and you get a long awaited chapter (that I was too lazy to proof-read) so yay. Sorry about the rather abrupt/corny ending. I just wanted to finish it.

Haha. I'm lame.