[ 5 ]

THE ANXIETY BEFORE THE FALL

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Track of the day: Free Fallin' - John Mayer

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There is a flicker in Irene’s eyes as her vision meets night lights, of different colours, of different shapes outlining stalls, outlining the rides. The beauty of it all. Irene hasn’t realised up until now that night carnivals have ever held such endearing wonder to them. Bliss intersperses within the crowd, through the music, through Irene.

Irene has come here through Joy’s constant persistence. A celebration of sorts. The exam has finished. There is a year-end night carnival just by the river. Easy to connect the dots.

Joy carries a bottle of orange juice with her. A rare sight to see for Irene. Joy tends to favour alcohol, either a lager, beer, or a cider but tonight she settles for something weak and it intrigues Irene but she doesn’t dwell on it. It must be for the rides. Alcohol and rides are never a good combination.

The winter air is crisp, an occasional light breeze brushing past Irene and Joy, momentarily dishevelling their hair. Irene bundles herself tighter with her scarf, a thick woollen one given to her by her late mother. She breathes in and smells the faint smell of her, very faint, slightly mixing with her own cologne. She puts her hands into her pockets and regrets forgetting to wear her gloves in this weather.

“It’s quite cold this evening,” Irene says. She could see the puff of steam escaping through her woollen scarf.

“Yeah, sure is. 4°C tonight. It’s definitely winter now.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this, Joy. We could’ve gone for a nice meal instead.”

“But carnivals are fun! And you don’t see much of them throughout the year. We might as well see what’s in here. Meals are boring.”

“It’s better than being out in the cold. I hate winter. I hate the cold. I hate bundling up.”

“Oh, stop with your whining Irene! Let’s have some fun! We finished our exams and look there’re rides! Let’s go on that one!”

Without even a chance to protest, Joy drags Irene by the wrist, lining up in front of a contraption which have mini aeroplanes as seats, going around in a circle. The man by the gate, despite his parka coat, is evidently quite bulky. He stands there, looking rather rugged and serious without his smile, extending his hand out to ask for the entrance fee.

“Isn’t this ride for children?” Irene asks.

“I think anyone can ride it. But does it matter?”

“Well, yeah it does. We could go on something bigger. Like say…” Irene looks around then spots a ride that is of some height with seats that drop quite fast, “…that one over there. Tower drop.”

Joy makes a face of amusement. She didn’t think that Irene would be adventurous about these sort of things. Irene has always been reserved, speaking when need be, friendly when need be. She occasionally likes to have fun, but she always sticks to her limits. She knows them and she doesn’t get past them. She’s controlled unlike Joy.

“Very well, then. Let’s go on it.”

It’s a terrifying height but the view of everything: the glimmering orange lights, little dots on black canvas. The nightscape. Like seeing a peek of the universe. Irene holds on to the safety bars that lock her body in place. Being up on that tower, secured and safe, still strike Irene with unease. The force of the fall…well…the forced gravity…upon the body is exhilarating yet an exhilaration that creeps up slowly dragged along by anxiety. Anxiety comes along with everything. The waiting before the drop always comes with anxiety.

Irene braces for the impact. It’s always the anxiety. The fear. It cripples the fun, drying it out until it’s nothing but ashes. But Irene swallows, bracing for the impact. Then it comes and then it goes.

It isn’t that bad. Irene and Joy try for another ride. The Viking—tick. Some sort of Pendulum ride—tick. A weird swing ride that keeps going and going in circles—tick. Soon enough, Irene finds herself gasping for breath, the laughter leaving her lips a singsong victory for Joy.

“That’s more like it,” Joy says. “When you let yourself go, Irene, you do have the bestest of times.”

It rings true. Irene puts a leash on herself to dwindle everything down to nothing but her goals, career prospects, grades. Focus. She is good at that. But exams are over now. A little bit of letting go seems like a good way to go.

“I’m going to get some food. I’m famished. Would you like some?” Joy asks.

“I think I’m alright, thanks. I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach it right now.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back then.”

Joy leaves Irene for a moment, heading to one of the hotdog stalls. Irene stands awkwardly as she waits nearby for Joy. The crowd has gotten bigger since they have arrived a few hours ago, their murmurs squabble with the heavy beating of that funky electronic bass being played on the speakers. The humming of meat sizzling on a hot grill can be vaguely heard, lining the sounds altogether, like a string wrapping everything tightly together in one bundle.

The night sky remains a sea of black, the stars absent, tucked away behind thick looming clouds. Irene continues to look around. Children with their parents, one kid holding out a cotton candy stick; burly men with cans of Budweisers, its contents leaking slightly down their hands. And then, right there, across the crowd, amidst it all, a sight Irene is confounded to see on this evening.

The hair, a shade of aubergine brown.

That aubergine brown.

Wendy’s aubergine brown.

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“Do you know something I don’t know, Joy?” Irene asks. Her tone comes off quite annoyed because she is.

Joy takes a breath. “Wendy’s trouble. She’s a nice girl but she’s trouble.”

“Trouble in what way?”

By this point, Irene is losing patience. It is not really curiosity that is driving her to ask these questions, but rather, a desire to hear out Joy and disagree with her. Somewhere inside Irene, she knows that there is a part of her that wants to defend Wendy.

“She’s the type of girl that gets too out of hand. Too much to handle. You’ve seen her friends, who she hangs out with. She’s not really that good of an influence.”

Irene is not really sure why, or how things work in the world. In what drives her to somehow protect Wendy and stand up for her. She is not sure if it is her brought up nature of caring for people and understanding them. In how her mother has taught her to treat people kindly, to never judge based on what you see; that people are more than what they seem. But nevertheless, she doesn’t like the words that come out of Joy’s mouth.

 * * *

Joy taps her on the shoulder.

“What are you spacing out for?” she asks.

Irene jolts and Joy laughs at her for it. It’s not her fault that she feels as if she has been caught spying. And really, Irene thinks, there shouldn’t really be anything wrong if she tries and gets close with Wendy.

Irene points towards Wendy, to that shade of aubergine brown, just inside the ice rink. It’s a small gesture and Joy takes some time in following the exact place Irene is pointing at, in figuring out what Irene really is wanting to show her.

“Ah,” Irene hears. “What’s she doing here?”

“One of the three jobs she has?” Irene guesses.

“Huh. It’s strange how Wendy is almost everywhere all of a sudden after I’ve met you.”

“Maybe she has been everywhere and you’ve just never really given any notice to her.”

“And the funny thing is, is that you do,” Joy takes a bite out of her hotdog and then asks this question again, as if she’s never asked Irene before and it’s probably because Irene has never really given her an answer. “What is so interesting about Wendy?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” Irene hesitates. She thinks. She knows the answer, it’s just hard to put them all into words—putting Wendy into words. She settles for a question instead. “You don’t find her interesting?”

“Not at all,” Joy says. “Sure she looks cool when she performs at the pub but other than that, I don’t really want to get to know her that much, not as much as you want to.”

It’s a circle Joy and Irene are in. The same question. The same answer. Irene is not sure herself why she’s so interested. Maybe she’s the type of person that’s interested in people who perform. Maybe she’s the type of person that likes mysteries. Or maybe she’s the type of person that likes a smile given to her during the middle of a song. All maybes. Possibilities that branch to more questions, veiling them all into one peculiar wonder that is Wendy.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Irene says, eyes not leaving Wendy, whose figure is in a momentary pause, as she leans herself on the wall that separated the edge of the rink to the tarmac.

“I’m being ditched now, am I?”

Irene shoots an apologetic look, facing Joy this time, as hard as it is to look away from Wendy at this moment.

“It’s Christmas next week. Aren’t you going home?”

“Probably. I’ll text you, anyway.”

“I warned you, Irene. Just…keep your eyes open.”

But Irene is already halfway to the rink and the words that Joy has just said have gone and mixed in with the laughter of the crowd’s and their conversations, getting lost, unheard.

Irene stands just outside the rink, the cold air brittle against her cheeks. It may snow in a couple of hours. She covers more with the scarf, nuzzling her face in the woven yarn. She stays there and watches. A group of kids fall and Irene watches as Wendy goes up to them and asks, “Are you kids alright?”

There is a small smile on Wendy’s face as those words of concern leave her lips. A different smile, at least to what Irene has seen when Wendy has been around her. The smile Wendy is wearing right now feels forced.

A mask. Wendy’s mask.

It’s when Wendy rounds the corner that she catches sight of Irene. Wendy’s hair is in a ponytail despite the cold weather.

“Hi,” Irene says. She notices Wendy’s coat is not as thick as it seems to come off as and it makes Irene ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

Wendy shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

“Part-time job?”

“Yeah, only temporary, though. This carnival is only here until tomorrow night.”

“So you’ll be here again tomorrow night?”

“Why?” Wendy asks, not looking away from Irene. Irene sees a sparkle in those dark, compelling eyes and she thinks it may be because of those yellow bulbs from the stalls beside them. Wendy continues, a hint of a growing smile somewhat visible, “Are you going to visit me again?”

“Sure,” Irene says, without much thought and Irene hopes that her straightforwardness will change something in Wendy’s expression. Just a small falter, that’s all. But there is nothing. Not even a slight raise in her eyebrows.

“Okay. I’ll be here. From 6PM.”

“I’ll be here at 8PM then.”

Wendy laughs. “Okay, whatever suits you.”

Irene thinks she must be misinterpreting things. Delusional? Yeah. She thinks it’s all her delusions. That Wendy’s laugh somehow sounds different when she’s with Irene, just a really subtle difference but a difference nonetheless. That Wendy only really laughs this way when she’s with Irene. Irene remembers to cling onto these little hopes, these little signs.

“Want to skate?” Wendy asks after a while.

“I’ve never really skated before.”

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Wendy holds out a hand and despite being covered in woollen gloves, Irene feels something as she takes them without much hesitation. Wendy guides her to where the ice skates are, asking for her shoe size, Irene giving a reply that it’s somewhere around a size 4 or a 5. Wendy gets a 4 and a 5, making Irene try both and then asking her which one is more comfortable.

Wendy crouches and reaches for them as soon as Irene has picked out the right one. The shoelaces. That’s what Wendy goes for, her fingers moving towards them at an abruptness. Irene doesn’t really expect it and she gets startled.

“It’s okay. I can do it,” Irene says.

“Nah, I’ll do them for you.”

It must be Wendy’s job, Irene rationalises. Wendy is just doing her job.

Irene sees nimble fingers. Those dextrous fingers of Wendy’s. Without the gloves, they are beautiful. Irene has never really taken a good look until now and she makes sure to remember this too. Beautiful, really, they are.

The blade touches the padded mat and it feels weird. It’s definitely weirder than walking in heels. Wendy holds Irene’s wrists. Long, slender fingers yet they have such strength in them, which Irene also finds weird.

Irene grips tighter now, on Wendy’s arms, with both hands, as she feels the slipperiness of the smooth ice under the blade of her skates.

“Are you okay?” she hears Wendy ask, to which she nods what possibly looks like a distressed nod because Wendy laughs at her, a mellifluous clanging of chimes. Maybe this is what angels sound like when they laugh.

“Here,” Wendy says, turning around in one swift movement. It happens in a split second, before Irene can even blink. The way Wendy lets go of her hand so quickly then proceeding to face her, skating backwards. “Grab my hands.”

Irene does. She grabs those strong hands. Irene feels the support. A support Irene doesn’t expect Wendy to have at all and she wonders where all that strength will go—have gone.

Wendy leads her, one slide of a foot at a time. Wendy talks her through it.

One, two. Careful. Make sure to look straight. Don’t look at your feet. At me. Yes, that’s right. You’re getting it.

The sparkle is there in Wendy’s eyes. Irene is sure of it; that it’s not the yellow bulbs this time because it is a different colour of sparkle. Like how diamonds glinted, more like, and not something like the silhouette of a bulb. When Wendy asks Irene to look at her, Irene sees that sparkle.

It’s a sparkle of hope, of delight. It glows bright, different from any other. As bright as that second star to the right. It drowns out everything, the music, the squeals of children in near of slipping. Everything else fades except for Wendy and that sparkle in her eyes. Irene suddenly feels the need to protect that sparkle, to keep it there, glinting bright; to stop it from burning out to nothing.

“I’m going to let go,” Wendy says.

“D-Don’t—”

But before Irene can protest, Wendy has let go. The anxiety comes back to Irene. The fear quells up in her stomach, rising up to , choking her, almost.

Irene remembers hating this about Wendy. It was since this moment. Wendy likes to let go, to distance herself before Irene can object, and just like now, with such difficulty, Irene stumbles and fails to grab Wendy, to be back in those arms again. The anxiety grows deeper and deeper, clutching at her chest, making it a bit difficult to breathe.

Irene’s feet flaps about, refusing to coordinate themselves. Silly legs. Irene fears the fall. She knows it is coming. She fears it. She knows. The anxiety nags at her.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Wendy reassures her and just like that, with just those words, Irene is washed with a sea of relief. It’s another thing that Irene has hated about Wendy. How she grabs Irene anyway. How Irene doesn’t really need to try because Wendy comes back to her, even if it’s only for a short moment. Wendy comes back to her, supports her with those slender fingers and those stable arms.

Irene smells it. Wendy’s scent. Cigarettes and a tiny hint of perfume. But the cigarettes are stronger. Irene thinks that Wendy should stop smoking but will Wendy ever do it? She hears Wendy’s laughter again and this time it is like a warning bell buzzing in her brain, in her heart. Warning. Warning. It is still mellifluous, however, and Irene hopes she’s the only one who will ever hear this beautiful sound—or has ever. Irene hopes.

Irene feels Wendy’s hold on her, the texture of waterproof material on her cheek. The smell of cigarettes. Oh, how strong they are. How the smell of cigarettes reminds Irene of nothing but Wendy. She feels Wendy’s breath on her forehead as her laughter drags Irene into another world. A world where she hopes she can stay in forever. And not at that place. Not there.

“Are you okay?”

Irene is not sure if it’s the first time Wendy has asked it because it feels like she has blanked out for ages.

Irene breathes in. Oh, that cigarette smell. “Y-Yeah.”

Wendy helps Irene out, steadies her and laughs again. It’s probably the most she has laughed tonight, or at all, for that matter. “Maybe no letting go for now.”

“Yeah. Don’t let go for now.”

“I’ll try.”

They skate for a bit longer, trying to get Irene used to the ice, trying to get her to get the feel of it. They swerve past a group of teenagers who are attempting to do some sort of choreographed routine. Irene wonders if she’ll ever retain her balance as good as they have.

“You’re a slow learner, aren’t you?” Wendy asks. Irene senses the mirth that coated the edges of Wendy’s words. Wendy is having fun even if teaching Irene is proving to be quite a task.

“Physical things, yeah. I’m not really that good with my body,” Irene says, clutching hard onto Wendy’s gloved hands, afraid to let go of Wendy.

“You’re quite flexible though.”

How did Wendy know? Irene blushes at the comment. No one has really ever given her that type of comment before. It’s always about her face, how pretty it is, how people would kill to have a face like hers. Never anything about her flexibility. No one notices those things. It astonishes Irene that Wendy has noticed it.

“How did you know?”

“Your body sort of undulates when you’re about to fall. It’s very fascinating.”

“Fascinating. Huh. Thanks, I guess,” Irene says. Simple, short. Irene wishes she has said more but what more can someone say about their own flexibility? It’s not like Irene has taken ballet lessons when she was young or participated in yoga sessions as an extracurricular activity for her to tell funny stories that revolve on how she became flexible.

Wendy continues to skate backwards. Graceful as ever. She is making sure Irene doesn’t look down but Irene can tell it’s not that easy to skate backwards, especially with a rink that is getting a lot busier as the hours droned by, the night getting deeper, chillier. Wendy bites her lip and stops moving. It happens so abruptly that Irene bumps into Wendy, not knowing how to stop skidding on an icy floor in such short notice. Wendy stays still, however, stable on her feet. The skills of an expert. She catches Irene and asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” Whoever’s idea it is to invent ice skating must have been out of their minds. Why did Irene even agree to it? Oh, right. Wendy’s hands, the sparkle in her eyes. Baits. Irene steadies herself and looks at Wendy, her expression as unreadable as always. “Are you okay? I shouldn’t have bothered with this.”

“It’s fine. You’re not doing so bad, really. I mean you can probably do better but…” Wendy tails off and she watches Irene’s reaction, a hint of mischief twinkling just right on the corners of her eyes.

Irene knows her eyebrows have creased, but she also knows Wendy is teasing her so she scoffs. “Right. Very nice of you to say.”

“Anytime. Let’s take a break, shall we?”

Wendy doesn’t really wait for Irene’s reply. She guides her out the rink until Irene can sit down comfortably, taking off her ice skates afterwards. Irene makes a fuss about it but Wendy insists and once again, Irene convinces herself that it is part of Wendy’s job. That’s all. It’s Wendy’s job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Wendy tells Irene that she’s going to get them some drinks, again not waiting for Irene’s reply. Such impatience. She comes back a few minutes after with canned drinks. A coke and a root beer. Irene assumes the coke is for her. She’s right.

Wendy stands next to Irene, leaning against a tree, then takes out something from the inside of her coat. Her packet of cigarettes. She takes a stick from that packet and puts it between her lips, then she turns to Irene, “Do you mind?”

Irene does mind, but she shakes her head and says, “You’re okay.” Irene hates the smoke that transpires from the end of the lit stick, the smell of it, even just the idea of it. Yet, here she is entertaining the idea. Ridiculous.

Wendy blows the smoke so nonchalantly, as if it has been a part of her daily life for a really long time. Irene glances every now and then but she settles at looking at the sky after a while. The skies have gotten darker, the stars completely obscure, the moon barely showing. There’s the odd smoke coming from Wendy that drifts past Irene’s vision. Irene wants to look at Wendy really, but one can only observe a person in such a limited amount of time before they start to notice something amiss.

Irene feels the cool aluminium metal of the can on her palms. Irene looks at it and it ignites a memory in her. A memory from a few weeks ago of a note on a bottle of iced tea.

You look quite pretty when you sleep… kind of like Sleeping Beauty? I hope you were having a good dream. Here’s something to get you through the night. No thanks needed.

She turns to Wendy and says, “How did you get inside the library that day?”

Wendy blows another cloud, her lips protruding. She looks like she is whistling, the lips forming that shape. Like a tight pucker. Is that how Wendy kisses her lovers? “Say again?”

“You gave me a bottle of iced tea. There was a note on it. I’m pretty sure it’s from you.” Not delusions this time. Irene is definitely confident about this.

Wendy replies with a smile. Her slender fingers hold the cigarette, fitting so well as if the cigarette belongs right there, in between her two fingers, all this time. Irene cannot help but think that Wendy resembles one of those actresses in those 1950s crime films who smoke so casually before they give a reply to the person before them. So natural. Irene wonders if anyone else looks as cool as Wendy when they smoke. She doesn’t really ponder on it. Wendy is most likely the only one.

“So? Tell me. How did you get in? You’re no longer a student, right?”

The orange glow lasts for a quite a while this time as Wendy continues to inhale. She lets it out through her nose gradually before looking at Irene. “They haven’t taken me off the university system so my library card still works.”

“How come? You said you quit your course?”

Wendy shrugs.

“You really don’t know?” Irene wonders if she’ll ever get any answers from Wendy at all.

“Why are you so curious?”

“Why are you so difficult?”

Wendy smirks. The amusement is there again, coating the edges of her smile.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’m just a bit wary since there you were a few months ago accusing me that I follow you around when in fact, you’re the one who seems to be following me around.”

Wendy laughs. “I just happened to see you there dozing off like you haven’t slept for ages.”

“And why were you there if you’re a drop-out? What is there you need to do in a university library when you’re not even attending university at all?”

“Well, unlike some of us—” Wendy leans in all of a sudden, just like at the party back then, the distance slightly too close for Irene’s comfort, “—I don’t exactly have enough money to fund my books.”

Wendy’s eyes are a pool of obscurity, as if Irene is looking through a deep well, pulling Irene in, blanketing her in a wave of blackness, that only Wendy’s eyes seem capable of. The spark Irene has seen earlier is faintly visible, made vague by the murkiness of Wendy’s dilated pupils. It is much like on that night, at the party, under the bright glow of that captivating moon amidst the strewn up lights of multi-coloured bulbs that hung sloppily on the shrubs. And just like last time, Irene finds herself flustered once more.

Something hits Irene’s nose. Something cold.

Wendy leans back, goes to the position she was in a few minutes ago, back against the tree, taking a whiff of her cigarette once more before blowing it all out to the tiny snowflakes that are slowly falling their way to the ground.

“Look at that. First snow of the year,” Wendy says.

Irene takes some time to register, blinking a few times, trying to get her head around what Wendy has just said. Snow. Okay. “Y-Yeah.”

“You okay there?”

Irene swallows. Is she feeling anxious right now? Is that what’s causing some weird sensations in her tummy? Because this is what she felt when she was bracing for that impact at the Tower Drop, when she was expecting for that fall at the ice rink earlier. The anxiety is here. It’s anxiety.

The anxiety before the fall. 

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A/N: Honestly, I aim for this story to touch lightly upon darker themes but we're just not quite there yet. I've been struggling on working out what chapters to put out that will go along with the plot and how to pace everything and it's getting harder to update recently as I've lost the essence of the story somewhere in the depths of my mind. Anyway, I hope for this story to progress well and find its way soon. Comments and upvotes are much appreciated.