Eric Turner

The Fallback

Louis is making two coffees—one hot with two scoops of sugar and one iced with oat milk.

He’s unpacking two cigarettes—a Marlboro Red 100 and an American Spirit menthol. And he’s missing her.

Ella is waking up. She’s standing just outside of the kitchen. She’s wondering if she should walk in. He doesn’t speak, he simply steps away from her coffee and her cigarette to let her know to come in. She does.

And now they’re both grabbing a coffee and they’re both lighting a cigarette and they’re both looking at each other and they both say nothing. They’re both missing each other.

They’re both reconsidering the past.

He thinks about those first few conversations. Back when love was like and coffee dates were special. All these years later his stomach flutters when he looks into her eyes too long. He’s looking into her eyes. Is she noticing?

The first thing Louis loved was her smile. The second thing he loved was how everyone returned it to her. Her smile was a mirror reflecting no flaws, was the moon refracting sunlight at midnight. He saw his eyes with no bags, his skin with no bruises, and his own smile with no falsehood. Louis figured there was some magic to her, there must have been.

She thinks about the trouble he used to cause. He never let a thought go unspoken. And she had never expected to fall in love with someone like him. Even now he makes her nervous sometimes. Her therapist says nervousness and excitement are functionally the same. The raised heart rate, the jumpiness, the stimulation. Even now he makes her excited sometimes. She’s looking into his eyes. Is he noticing?

They were so young when they started dating. Her family had planned her whole life: her desires, her wedding dress, her husband. He was meant to be a Man, the prototypical white-collar mid-level manager. She was meant to be a Woman, the stay-at-home mom with no ambition and a book group. They were meant to have a house and children, maybe a dog. She was meant to marry someone like her father and live like her mother. She was meant, even, to die of heart disease like her grandmother.

But no plan survives contact with the enemy. Louis was freedom and permission to be free. She couldn’t give a fuck about marriage and children. She probably would die of heart disease. Ella had never really wanted to be anything like any of her family members. Louis made that okay.

They’re thinking about how young they were when they got together. Sometimes they still feel young. So much uncertainty ahead of them.

They remember making wishes. They would lay with crossed fingers and held hands as hours faded like planes into starlight. They wished they would get old together. Wished they would get rich. Wished they would get married. Wished silly wishes.

They’re looking into each other's eyes. They’re pretending not to notice.

And now they’re both sipping their coffees and they’re both smoking their cigarettes and they’re both staring and they’re both remembering all of the wishes they used to make. They’re both missing each other.

She would wish for adventure, arousal. Arousal was often granted, so much so it became easy to take as such. She wished for it like the rich wish for wealth. Adventure was scarce. His old soul had set in its ways early. Louis could be a pain in the ass to get out of the door for lunch, let alone a weekend away. There was no parade he couldn’t rain on and she was getting tired of holding an umbrella. On the worst days, when the clouds covered the stars and life was a torrent, she could only wish for sunrise. It never seemed to come. If only wishes came true.

He would wish for approval, admiration. Ella was tough to pull a compliment from and he was tough to compliment. Admiration Louis could find—a scrap of talent creates yes-men like spores from a mushroom. But fairweather friends did nothing for him. Everyone looks good during golden hour. When the sun went down he always wanted to do the magic that Ella could do, wanted to draw that magic from her when he needed it. Every fight and every funeral he would try to get a laugh in hopes of a smile. He wished for permission to be flawed. If only wishes came true.

They would wish for actualization, achievement. Achievement was easy enough, but it was zero-sum. Ella or Louis could achieve or Ella and Louis could achieve but never both. And actualizing was Sisyphean. They rolled the boulder up the mountain—they tried new clothes, new jobs, new labels. And every day the boulder rolled back down—nothing ever fit, ever felt right. One day, they thought, they would reach the top of the mountain. When they did, they knew, they would kiss a movie kiss, one with finality and becoming. If only wishes came true.

How long has he been looking at her? How long has she been looking at him? How long have they been looking at each other?

They’re both setting their coffee down and they’re both tamping out their first cigarette and they’re both trying to think of something to say and they’re both grabbing another cigarette instead. They’re both missing each other.

Louis is thinking about last night.

Ella is thinking about last night.

Louis is thinking about how fucking stupid he was.

Ella is thinking about how fucking stupid she was.

And Ella is thinking about how fucking stupid he was.

And Louis is thinking about how fucking stupid he was.

What was it even about? What was it ever about? Always different. Always the same. His parents used to fight with such malice. Splintered memories. Broken blood vessels. Broken china. Broken marriage. When his parents split it seemed so right. He expected the same for himself, to know when it was time. He wasn’t prepared for doubt.

Her parents never fought, were never around long enough to try. Her dad would come home without saying hello, her mother would never acknowledge him. They created a minefield. Divorce was demilitarization. She refused to put the mines in the ground. She vowed to detonate them on sight. Now she’s realizing what shrapnel can do.

Louis is thinking about last night. Ella said he made her feel like he didn’t care. Ella said she wanted him to be present. He didn’t want her to feel that way.

Ella is thinking about last night. Louis said she made him feel like he wasn’t enough for her. Louis said he wanted peace every now and then. She didn’t want him to feel that way.

They’re both sorry.

They’re both pissed.

They’re both thinking about how to apologize.

They’re both struggling to find the words.

They’re both thinking about their parents. They’re both thinking about how every fight felt the same. They’re both thinking about the future. They’re both wondering if it will always be like this.

They’re both picking up their coffee and they’re both lighting another cigarette and they’re both taking another drag and they’re both pondering. They’re both missing each other.

Why can they never stop looking at each other?

She’s planning the future. She’s realizing how horrible it could be. He might never change. What if he doesn’t change? What if they’ve laid mines she hadn’t seen? Why doesn’t she just leave? Why can’t she stop staring at him?

He’s anticipating the future. He knows breaking up is easier than divorce. He knows he’ll never know when to put his gun down. Maybe he’ll never want to. Is she charming him again? Does he love the fight? Is fighting all he can do? Why can’t he stop staring at her?

They’re thinking about how it wouldn’t be all bad, could never be all bad. She thinks that even if he never changed he would always make her laugh. Always laughing he is. He thinks that even if she never changed she would always have that magic. Always enchanting she is. They’re both thinking about how fantastic the sex is. They’re both wondering if that’s a good enough reason to stay.

They’re both thinking about how good life could be, can be, will be together.

They’re both finishing a coffee and they’re both smoking a cigarette and they’re both remembering that love takes work and they’re both ready to punch in. They’re both missing each other and they’re both staring at each other and they’re both opening their lips and they’re both pushing out the words, “I’m sorry.”

And they’re both continuing to look and they’re both taken aback and they’re both choking up and they’re both saying, “It’s okay, I love you.”

And now they’re both kissing a becoming kiss and they’re both watching the sunrise and they’re both smiling and they’re both looking forward to the future.

Eric Turner is a writer and UAlbany student who hopes to one day pen a novel about a world where cars can only go in reverse, so people can only go places they've been before. You can find him on all socials at @etthebrain.