Beth Hyland - Fall Into Forever

The window above the toilet is open a few inches and doesn’t have a screen. But more important, if I stand on the toilet lid, I’m pretty sure I can pull myself up and climb through. It occurs to me that this is an old house and windows in old houses are notoriously sticky.

I push on it. The window slides open easily without even squeaking.

If that’s not a sign I’m meant to do this, I don’t know what is. I mouth a silent prayer of thanks.

A blast of frigidly cold ocean air hits me in the face. Not realizing I’d been holding my breath, I let it out slowly, inhaling and exhaling a few more times. I feel slightly less trapped.

But now what? It’s dark and I can’t see much. I could step out and literally fall to my death.

And then I remember seeing guys on the roof when we came to the Christmas party here last month. Two of them were singing carols with a megaphone, while others threw beads and hard candy, like they were on a parade float. A piece hit me in the shoulder when a few of us were walking around outside. I hesitated, because I’m a serious candy freak, but kept walking when I realized it was butterscotch. I hate butterscotch.

To make a long story short, the roof has a lot of flat parts.

Careful not to touch the towel, I step onto the toilet. If half-wasted guys dressed like nuns and priests can walk on the roof of this house, surely it can’t be that hard.

Two hours earlier…

When things don’t go the way you planned, something needs to change. Hoping a situation will magically get better without doing anything different has gotten me into a lot of trouble. I once heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of mental health “issues,” so I’m sensitive to stuff like this.

“What?” Cassidy yells above the music, leaning closer and cupping her hand to her ear.

“I think we should leave.” I blow into my bare hands. It didn’t occur to me to bring gloves.

She rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated look. “It’s not that cold, Ivy. Besides, we just got here.”

My roommate and I, along with a bunch of other people, are standing on the covered porch of the huge old house. With the rain coming down in sheets, we’re waiting to get into the first big off-campus party of winter quarter. Everyone’s huddled together trying to stay warm and dry, talking and laughing about what they did over the Christmas break. None of them look as cold as I feel.

“Yeah, twenty minutes ago.”

You have to be on the list or vouched for in person by someone who lives here. Guess they think that’ll stop the cops from busting them. But Cassidy’s cousin forgot to put our names down, which we didn’t find out until we got to the front of the line, so we’ve been waiting for him to come get us. Cassidy doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, even though her family used to live in Hawaii up until a few years ago. As a transplant from California, I haven’t built up my cold weather calluses yet. It’s like going barefoot for the first time in the summer. It hurts until your feet toughen up.

“I’m developing a serious case of frostbite. I think it could be fatal.” I let my teeth chatter for effect.

Cassidy puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Don’t be so lame. It’ll be worth it once we get inside. Trust me.”

I hope she’s right. Although I’ve been to a few parties since I started at Pacific State University in the fall, they’re not really my thing anymore. But since I don’t have a lot of homework yet, I couldn’t use that as an excuse not to come with Cassidy.

The guy and girl at the sign-in table are wearing mullet wigs. “Welcome to the FA Eighties,” the dude shouts to the people next in line. “Name please.”

Two guys in PSU baseball caps and high school letterman jackets step forward. I can’t tell if they’re still in high school (which would be weird) or if it’s just part of their costume.

“What does FA mean?” one of them asks.

“Fucking Awesome Eighties,” the sign-in dude says without looking up from the pages. He makes a check mark next to their names. The girl hands them each a red plastic cup and they head inside.

The guys who live here are known for throwing outrageous themed parties. The one last month right before the break had a “religious” theme. I say that in quotes because, apart from the costumes—Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Moses, Buddha, druids, even a pope—it was far from saintly. At least you don’t have to come in costume, because I’m not really the cosplay type.

The opening guitar riff from “Back In Black” pierces the night air. Cassidy lets out a little squeal, puts her hands on her knees and starts to shake her butt.

“Oh my God!” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Are you crazy?” Is my roommate seriously starting to twerk? If so, I am sooo disowning her. She’s not even buzzed—this is the normal Cassidy. I glance around. People are staring, not quite sure what to make of her either.

“Come on,” she says, trying to get me to dance with her.

I hold up my palms. “No, no, and no. I think you’ve got your decades mixed up.”

Undeterred, Cassidy continues to dance, and sure enough, a few others join her. I step back and watch, shaking my head. Cassidy is one of those self-assured people who doesn’t think twice about doing something totally crazy that draws attention to herself. I guess that’s what makes her so fun, even if she mortifies the hell out of me sometimes.

A girl from my humanities class last quarter is right next to me, laughing. I can’t remember her name. Kako, maybe?

“Is that your roommate?” she asks.

“Yeah, she—”

Kako starts taking pictures with her phone and I lose my train of thought.

“Are you…going to post those?” I ask warily.

“What?” Kako yells, not taking her eyes off the phone display.

“Online. Are you going to post those pictures online.”

“What?” she repeats. “I can’t hear you.”

I look around and realize that others are doing the same thing. When Cassidy makes devil horns and sticks her tongue out at someone taking a picture, I know I’m overreacting. I just need to relax. Not everyone is as concerned about online privacy as I am.

“Never mind.”

After the song is over, Cassidy comes back, laughing and out of breath.

“Nice,” I tell her. “Very classy.”

“If you’d joined us, you’d be much warmer now. You need a drink, Ives. A serious one. As soon as we get inside, we’re going straight for the keg.”

They call this place the White House, because it’s, well, white, and it’s a mansion. Someone’s grandma lived here until she moved to a nursing home a few years ago. It’s basically like a frat house for the grandson and a bunch of PSU guys, without the rules or the social obligations.

Cassidy catches me checking the time again. “Would you just relax? Tate said he’d be out in a minute.”

“You sure he’s not dogging us? Maybe he doesn’t want to corrupt his sweet, innocent cousin.”

She makes a face at me. “I’m sweet, but hardly innocent.”

“Tell me about it.” I lean against the pillar and cross my arms. “You’d better not be texting me another XOX tonight. I spent way too long in the TV room the last time. I ended up watching a bad sci-fi movie on Netflix with those two guys who live on the third floor, and I really don’t feel like doing that again.”

“I told you earlier Will was coming over. It’s not like you didn’t have any warning.”

“Five minutes is ample warning?”