Catch My Fall Read Online Free Page B

sketching a nearby child in the borders of the paper. I perused the Police Blotter for any criminals I might know, finding several reports of a quite possibly rabid raccoon roaming the neighborhood one street over from me. Apparently, Monument Street was turning into Wild Kingdom. Stellan and I would walk down that very road to climb trees at the State Park when we were young. Stellan climbed far higher than any non-primate should be able to, only to jump down from an outrageous height when it was time to go. Stellan was once reprimanded by a grandmother for pulling such a stunt.
    ‘You should know better! My grandson thought that was the most spectacular thing he’s ever seen. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he breaks a leg trying to emulate you. You should be a role model at your age, not an idiot!’
    She stormed away with her sheepish grandson, and the dare devil side of Stellan almost died. He might be huge, and he might be snarky, but put a screaming grandmother in front of him and Stellan shrinks like cooked plastic.
    These memories made me feel drawn toward old haunts, and I found myself heading down Rabid Raccoon way toward the National Park. I stopped on the North Bridge to gaze down at the water, still and glassy today despite the passing kayaks and canoes. My Grandmother Jensen brought me there many times, even before my mother and I moved in. She was proud of her hometown, having grown up with a Historian for a father and a raging bitch for a mother (her words toward the end of her life when she stopped worrying about manners and decorum). To impress her, I’d managed to memorize the inscription on the Monument there.
     
    By the crude bridge that arched the flood,
    to April’s breeze their flag unfurled,
    here once the embattled farmer stood and
    fired the shot heard round the world.
     
    I glanced toward the monument a dozen or so yards away, but couldn’t quite make out the inscription. Oh well, I thought . It goes something like that.
    I followed down the path, past the monument. It was the time of year when the fields were overgrown, the stalks of grass long and light, snapping and swaying in waves across the fields. The breeze kicked up, and I leaned my head back. I was growing fond of leaving the house with my hair still wet.
    “Is that Faye Jensen?”
    I startled, searching for the source of the voice. I met the gaze of a small park ranger with the cutest little button nose I’d ever seen.
    “Patricia Hannity?”
    She beamed, obviously pleased to be remembered. Of course I remembered her – she was one of the sweetest girls in school before she transferred to Concord Academy and points beyond. She looked almost exactly the same – tiny little upturned nose, perfectly curled dark hair that never grew past her ears, beauty mark on her right cheekbone. If you can imagine, the Ranger outfit just amplified her cuteness. “Oh my god, you look so great!”
    “Oh, thank you! You too!” She said and smiled.
    She laughed and it was as though pixies had scampered by. I had never imagined that the button of a little girl I’d once known would have turned into a button of a woman. Somehow, I felt cuteness of this magnitude was probably against nature.
    I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “What are you doing around here? Last I heard you moved away?”
    “I did. Went to college in Edinburgh.”
    My stomach tightened. Somehow, whenever anyone mentioned living somewhere exotic and far off, I felt a pang of envy that was nearly overpowering. I’d never so much as seen Canada.
    “Wow! That must have been something!”
    “Oh yeah! Met my husband Geoffrey there,” she said and displayed a hand to me. That pang I mentioned before? Yeah, now it was downright excruciating - a Charlie horse of envy, if you will.
    “Are you kidding me? That’s amazing!”
    She smiled and her perfect, pearly white teeth glistened. My cynical mood of the past few weeks desperately wanted to hate her, but she was