Brett Battles - The Pull of Gravity

And until that night-that morning, really-as I sat with a girl who had once been my friend, listening to her remember things she’d kept locked up for so long, I’d never known Larry had proposed to her.

I had come back to the Philippines because there were things I needed to know, questions I had never been able to answer. Now those questions were disappearing one by one.

“What happened next?” I asked.

Isabel made no response. I knew she had heard me, but I was content to wait until she was ready to continue.

“We can’t get married tonight,” she said. “It’s too late.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Larry told her.

They were standing in the living room, Isabel’s head against Larry’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Completely,” he said.

She smiled, but then thought of something else. “What about my visa? I can’t go back with you yet.”

“I know. Tomorrow, after we get married, we’ll go to Manila and get the paperwork started.”

“I’ve heard other girls say it may take a long time.”

“But we’ll still be married.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Yes,” she said, losing herself in the idea of it. “It will be different, won’t it?”

He chuckled, then said, “I’ll still have to go back home, though. We’ll be apart for a while.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “However long it takes, it will be fine.”

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so he could kiss her. As they embraced, Larry’s stomach rumbled.

“Sorry,” he said.

Isabel began to laugh, and he soon joined her.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“A little, I guess.” As he smiled, his stomach groaned again. “OK, more than a little.”

“Let me fix you something. Sit.”

She pushed him toward the couch, but he followed her into the kitchen and watched her reheat some chicken from the day before. There was still one of his beers in the refrigerator, so she pulled it out and opened it for him.

“Thanks,” he told her.

He ate where he stood, leaning again the wall, his eyes seldom leaving Isabel.

“Tell me about California,” she said. “I want to know it all.”

“And you will,” he said. He told her about the Golden Gate Bridge, about Nob Hill, Chinatown, the Presidio. He described his house to her, saying he wanted her to help him redecorate it. He said if she wanted, they could get a dog.

She wanted to ask him about children, but she thought it could wait. He would be such a good father, she knew, so of course he would want kids.

“You must be tired,” she finally said. “Shall we go to bed?”

“My suitcase,” he said. “I left it with the receptionist at the Las Palmas.”

“You took a hotel room?” she asked.

“No, I was waiting until I talked to you first, but I didn’t want to carry the damn thing all over the place.”

“You want to go get it now?” she asked.

He nodded. “I told them I’d be back tonight.”

They went together, walking down Isabel’s dark street to a place where it would be easier to get a trike. The ride to the Las Palmas only took them a few minutes. Once they got there, Larry and Isabel went inside and retrieved his suitcase.

“How about a drink?” Larry suggested as they neared the bar on their way to the front door.

“Whatever you’d like,” she said.

He ordered a San Mig, but Isabel only got a Coke.

“I can’t believe you came back,” she said.

“I can’t believe you tried to break up with me.”

She blushed and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s the problem? I talked you out of it, didn’t I?”

She nodded.

Back outside, they signaled to the group of trike drivers gathered in front of The Pussycat Bar. The one on the end started his engine and drove over to them.

It was a little more crowded in the enclosed sidecar now that they had Larry’s suitcase. Luckily it was only carry-on size, as he had opted to leave his larger one at home.

“Are you okay?” Isabel asked.

Larry was supporting most of the suitcase in his lap. “It only hurts a little,” he said, smiling.

They rode in silence, the sound of the trike driver’s motorcycle loud enough to make conversation difficult.

They were about half a mile from Isabel’s apartment when it happened.

Streetlights were hit or miss in Angeles, and they happened to be on one of the darker streets when a car raced by, then suddenly stopped in front of them too quickly for the trike driver to avoid it.

Motorcycle and sidecar smashed into the back of the beat-up sedan, sending the driver flying over the car’s trunk into the back window. The only thing that kept Isabel and Larry from the same fate was the canopy and front windshield of the sidecar. They lurched forward but remained inside the sidecar.

Isabel ended up under both Larry and the suitcase. Larry quickly sat back, pulling the suitcase with him and then throwing it onto the street, out of the way. Isabel’s arm was broken and her right foot was twisted in a way it was never meant to go. Larry leaned down to get a better look.

“You’re bleeding,” Isabel said, her voice weak. “Your head.”

He touched his forehead, and when he moved his hand back in front of his face, it was covered with blood.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

They heard footsteps approaching. Larry turned back toward the street. “I could use some help,” he called out.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away. Larry must have seen someone there because he smiled, relieved.

“Thank God,” Larry said. “My girlfriend’s hurt. Maybe you can help me get-”

Suddenly, several hands reached into the vehicle and pulled Larry out.

“Wait!” Larry yelled. “She needs help!”

But whoever he was talking to didn’t seem to be listening.

There was a thud and a slap, then Isabel heard a dragging sound as the feet moved away again. The accident made her confused. She didn’t recognize the sounds for what they were. She waited for someone to pull her out, too, but nearly two minutes passed and no one came.

“Larry?” she called out.

Nothing.

“Someone, please. I need help.”

Still no reply.

“Larry!”

Something was wrong. She knew it. She had to get out. She had to find Larry.

She tried to pull herself back into what was left of the chair. Pain screamed from both her arm and her ankle. There was also pain in her side and her hip, though neither as intense as the first two.

Once she was upright again, she leaned through the door and looked out. It took her a second to realize the sidecar had somehow swung around so that it was now perpendicular to the street. She couldn’t see the motorcycle portion from where she was, or the car they had hit. What she did see was an empty street.

“Larry!” she called.

As she pushed herself out of the sidecar with her good arm, an older woman appeared around the front end.

“ Naku !” the woman said. Then she shouted, “There’s a girl over here who needs help!”

Soon two people, the old woman and a girl not much older than Isabel, helped Isabel to the side of the road.

“My boyfriend. I don’t know what happened to him,” Isabel said.

“The driver?” the young woman asked.

“No,” Isabel said. “An American. My fiance.”

“There are only the two of you,” the woman said.

“He’s here,” Isabel insisted. “Someone pulled him out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Isabel yelled, nearly hysterical.

The young woman shook her head. “There’s only the two of you,” she repeated.