Fall

I will start from the beginning because to understand the end, you must understand the beginning.

It was on a swelteringly hot summer when I first met Arabella. She came through the door to the clinic, bringing with her a light breeze. She was dressed in black – black top, black jeans – a questionable choice of outfit for the dead of summer. She was attractive, but it was her eyes that caught my attention. Her eyes, those dark eyes of hers had a vacant and haunted look to them like she had lost all hope. It was later that I realized her irises were black, not dark brown, but black, like the color of the sea at night.

“I’m here to see Dr. Johansen, appointment at 3, the name’s Amy.” There was a quiver in her voice. The way she blurted those words out made me wonder if she had rehearsed them before coming in.

“Let me look it up in a second,” I smiled up at her. In all my years here, I had never seen her before. The computer pings with a confirmation of her appointment slot: Arabella Williams (Amy), 3 pm, Dr. Johansen. I wondered why she calls herself Amy, which was a far cry from Arabella. I much preferred the name Arabella; it suited her face more. I gestured to the sofas at the reception area, “Yes, you can wait over here for a bit, Dr. Johansen will be available in a moment.” 

She quietly thanked me and seated herself on the plush sofa. I watched her from behind the counter, taking in the way she drums her fingers against the arm of the sofa, eyes darting around the clinic, clearly agitated. A while later, Dr. Johansen sent his 2 pm appointment out with a pat on the back and welcomed Amy into his office.

I watched as the clock ticked, wondering what they were talking about, what made Amy come to see Dr. Johansen. But I could not ask, in this line of work, confidentiality is of the utmost importance. Amy emerged from his office just as the hour hand of the clock finished its round. There was a red tinge to her eyes. And it was at that moment that I knew that I wanted to fix her, I wanted to make her happy.

For weeks, I watched her behind the safety of my desk. I could not bring myself to threaten her state of mind, afraid that I would scare her. So, I merely watched her. I started to know to differentiate her state of mind by the color of clothes she wore – black when she was in a terrible state, lighter colors when she was buoyant. I knew this because her footsteps were lighter on those days, and she doesn’t emerge from Dr. Johansen’s office with tears staining her face.

I first heard those five words when I mustered the courage to ask her out for coffee.

She was wearing a light sweater, and her usually vacant-looking eyes seemed to be twinkling – it was a good day. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she nodded yes to our coffee date. I brought her to a quiet café around the block. Their food was palatable at best, but I was sure she would feel more at ease there than a bustling café. Admittedly, I was shocked that conversation fell easily between us – it had been some time since I had shared about myself openly, and I thought she would be reluctant to talk about herself. But when I heard her laugh, looked into her amused eyes, I heard those five words: you are falling for her.

It was fall when we finally held hands and I kissed her for the first time.

She let me call her Arabella. At first, she doesn’t react whenever I called her that. She said she went by her nickname since her teenage years, so long that she didn’t feel like an ‘Arabella’ anymore. I took her hand, assured her that she can be Amy to the world, but with me, she will always be Arabella. After a while, ‘Arabella’ took on a new meaning to her. It no longer signified the loss she suffered in her teenage years; ‘Arabella’ now meant love to her. And it meant home to me.

As much as we loved spending time together, it was mostly in comfortable silence. She painted while I read. And when I got tired of reading, I took pictures of her while she painted. I loved to watch her paint. She painted day and night until she was tired or until inspiration ran out. Then we would lie together, and I would watch her face. My heart swelled when I see her smile, and I would hear those words again: you are falling for her.

Yes, and I decided that it was time to make her truly happy.

It was a cool fall night when we arrived at my parents’ cabin up in the mountains. It had been a miserable week for her; I had counted four black tops. When I suggested going up to the mountains for the weekend, she quickly agreed.

The sky was clear, the brilliance of stars more signified away from the city lights. After dinner, I wrapped her up in her thickest wool jacket and led her up to the mountains. She protested at first, but I told her that we might be able to catch the first snow of the year up in the mountains, where the temperature was lower.

“It’s fall, snow doesn’t fall,” she chided.

“It might, it’s near the end of fall now,” I said.

She thought for a moment, stood up, and stretched. “Okay,” she agreed to my delight. I heaved a sigh of relief; my plan would not work if she refused.

We began the slow track up the mountains. It was an easy uphill journey that took about twenty minutes. I liked the view up here the most because you got to see the sea down below without any obscure. When I was young, my family would come up here every summer to spend the weekend.

But it seemed a misjudgment on my end to go up there that night. It was no longer a calm fall night up here. The temperature dipped, and the wind was howling. The absence of the moon made it impossible to see the sea down below. It had lost the magnificence it had during the day.

The sea crashed against the rocks down below, making it difficult to hear what Arabella was saying.

“I said, let’s go back down! It’s freezing here and the wind is so strong, it might bring us both crashing down into the sea!” Arabella shouted.

“Wait, I have something to give you!” I shouted back.

She struggled against me as I dragged her near the edge of the mountain. “Look,” I said, pointing to the sea below. “Your eyes reminded me of the color of the sea when I first met you.”

She laughed, “My eyes are not blue.”

“Colour of the sea at night,” I corrected. I wrapped my arms around her tighter, trying to shield her from the wind. “You looked broken the first time I saw you, haunted, so fragile. I knew then that I wanted to make you the happiest person on earth.”

I turned her around to face me. When she looked at me, she seemed to have forgotten about the wind, but she still trembled. I would always wonder if it was because of the cold, or if it was in anticipation of what I would propose to her.

“You came crashing into my world that summer day. You made me the happiest guy on earth when you agreed to be my girl. And now, Arabella, I ask your permission to make you the happiest woman on earth.” I held her at arm’s length, looking into her dark eyes with trepidation that she might say no.

After a moment’s silence, she laughed. “Aren’t you going down on your knees? And where is my ring?” she asked.

I could not comprehend what she was saying. Why did I need to get down on my knees, and why did she need a ring when I just offered to make her happy?

But just when I was getting down on my knees, she stopped me. “I was just kidding,” she smiled. “I allow you to make me the happiest woman on earth.”

And that was all the confirmation I needed.

I hugged her tightly, we kissed long and deep. “You will be happy now, I promise,” I whispered to her.

Then, I extended my arms, gave her a slight push, and watched as she fell off the mountains. Her screams of joy broke my heart. But I knew that no matter how much I wanted her to stay by my side, she deserved all the happiness in the world.

Then I heard those words again: you are falling for her.

Fell, I corrected it.

The voice was right. The timing was as expected. 

“In fall, she will fall for you.

In fall, she will fall.”

I walked towards the darkness alone, contended that at least one of us was happy.

***

“We are charging him for murder,” Detective Emily Jackson said. “He admitted to pushing Arabella Williams off the mountains. According to him, he asked for her permission to grant her happiness, and she accepted. Given his psychological history, the jury might try to plead insanity. We are hoping to get input from you, Dr. Johansen, as his long-term therapist.”

Tommy Johansen drew a weary breath. “Yes,” he started slowly. “Alek was a patient of mine, so was Arabella Williams. I believe they met at my clinic a few months ago. I had been seeing him since he was 12, offered him a temporary job at my clinic as a receptionist while he was at university. He seemed fine during our sessions; I even encouraged his relationship with Arabella. I am not sure what triggered him to do that.”

“We understand, Dr. Johansen. If we need you to present your statement in court, would you be able to do so?”

“Yes,” Tommy said. He stood up, shook the detective’s hand, and left the interrogation room.

***

Tommy was dreaming.

In his dream, Alek was telling him about Arabella. He went on and on about their conversation at the café, how she looked happy for one minute, then sad the next. He wanted to make her happy so much it hurt. And he suggested to Alek that he was falling for Arabella.

“You are falling for her, you are falling for her, you are falling for her.”

“Make her fall for you, fall, and she will be happy.”

His dreams shifted and he was standing at the top of a mountain – the mountaintop where his family always went to when he was young. Night has fallen. He saw his dad and mom standing precariously at the edge of the mountain. He never saw his mom so beautiful. She was wearing a red flowy dress, and there was a smile on her face. His mom never smiled. They said the depression took it away from her. But she is smiling now. Does it mean the depression is gone?

But suddenly, his mother threw herself off the mountains.

He didn’t scream. He stood frozen at the other side of the mountain until his father turned and saw him. He tugged at Tommy’s hand, guided him back to the cabin.

He didn’t scream then when he was 12.

He screamed now, at 40.

He tried to erase the nightmare of his past from his mind, but his father’s last word to his mother was etched into his brain, “Jump,” he had said to her.