The Fear of Falling

Chapter Two

I wandered around campus with bated breath; eventually, I would have to return home, where Gavin would be waiting.

I kicked a pebble out of my path and glanced around the bustling streets. Going to school in the city came with perks, I thought as I passed a twenty-four-hour coffee house, but the crowded sidewalks often made me feel too much like a sardine.

Before long, the sun began to set behind the city skyline and I started the short walk home. I fought the urge to waste time in every bookstore I came across; the Psychology section whispered my name as I strolled by.

Instead of stopping, I decided to face the music. The more I ran from reality the more daunting it became. After all, how bad could living with a boy be?

****

"He's a nightmare, mom." I whined as I sorted through the wasteland that was once my new apartment. "He left his sh-stuff everywhere. It's like he was raised in a barn. "

I glanced over the once barren floors and groaned at the sight of dozens of unpacked boxes; many were splattered with paint and had clearly seen better days.

"Maybe he was, " My mom's even tone and soothing voice nearly took the edge off the homicidal rage crawling up my spine-- almost. "Last week, in Psychology Today, I read that many families are choosing to renovate family barns into houses. The whole article discussed the potential effects of literally being raised in a barn. Isn't that fantastic?"

Her soft laughter reminded me of home and all the corny psychiatry jokes my father and her shared. When I was young, it annoyed me to no end but now, I couldn't help but to wish for a relationship like theirs.

To find someone I could be romantic, passionate, and goofy with. If only he existed.

I thought I found him once, but life is full of disappointment.

"Mom, I think he's just an asshole who doesn't respect anyone more than he respects his own-"

"Megara June, I know we raised you with permission to express yourself but I do not believe that foul language is necessary for this situation."

I stared over the mess; It certainly feels necessary.

My mom cleared her throat, "Now, have you gone to the housing office and explained how this living arrangement makes you feel?"

"Yes,"

"And?"

"And they didn't take me seriously,"

"Why on Earth not?"

I sighed, "I told them that Gavin is pretty."

There was a pause on the other line while my mother formulated an insightful response. Meanwhile, I fought the urge to poke around in one of the vulnerable boxes sitting in my living room.

He even piled his stuff on my side table; talk about disrespect.

"Well," My Mom said in a near whisper, "Is he?"

I groaned.

"What? I'm trying to get the full picture here." I imagined my mother's infamous eye-roll being shot in my direction.

"Yeah, mom," I put down the yardstick that was helping me shift through yet another box of art supplies and gave up my search for potentially life-threatening materials. "He's very pretty in a dark, artsy way. If you're into that sort of thing."

She laughed, "Honey, I've been married for twenty-two years, the question is if you're into that. "

"Hypothetically," I scoffed, "If he wasn't such a- an unpleasant person, I could be moderately attracted to him."