Finding the Pure Note

Not Giving Up

I'm not knocking on doors, and Fletcher's phone goes straight to voicemail, but I know another way into Fletcher's room. It wasn't exactly one I wanted to use again. I wasn't raring to make the climb. The last time the two of us tried to climb out of his window to escape his mum's wrath, Fletcher's foot became well acquainted with my face. Long story short: a hedge split and I dislocated my ankle. Fletcher got off without a scratch. I still haven't forgiven him for that.

But it's okay. I got him back the next time, laughing when he broke his arm that day with the tree. I felt bad afterwards, if it's any consolation.

You see, there's these weird foothold... things along his wall. Perfect for the aspiring burglar. Or a lousy boyfriend who was here to get things back to normal.

Leaping over his fence, I land with a jarring pain in my feet and ankles, and as I bend to rub them, I fall ever so slowly, like a tree falling majestically after being cut down, back into the fence... which swings open, sending me toppling to the ground.

Apart from a hideous whine from the fence, I make relatively little noise, thankfully. Lifting myself up, I throw my hood on, as if that will somehow make me blend into the shadows.

Pushing the fence back into place, I swerve around his bins and then I'm in his back garden, trying to make out the little holes in the wall. Turning my phone flashlight on, I groan when I see how tiny the holes are. I guess they're all good when you're ten-year-old Clay and the world is your playground.

Muttering a silent curse under my breath, I face the light against the wall so I can find my footing, and then, placing the phone in my teeth, I grab two little holes and make my climb.

It's not gracious. In fact, I'm sure little kids would be in tears if they could see me. Fletcher's sister, Taylor would not let me hear the end of this. I might have bone-thin hands and feet but it doesn't make the holes any less daunting. I twist my fingers on several occasions, and I swear multiple times, careful not to open my jaw too wide and drop my phone. All in all, I'd say I got to his window in a record eighteen minutes. Smashing.

Shit! I am victorious! I made it up here, but... I didn't consider what I would do if his window was locked. I start to lean against it, as if pushing it will solve all my problems.

I guess I can knock on it and hope—Oh never mind, just like with the fence, the window flies inward. And so do I.

I applied too much pressure leaning against it, and now my fall is anything but like the tumble with the fence. There's a large crash of things falling from his desk, plus me hitting the ground with the force of a bowling ball. I'd be surprised if the neighbours on both sides didn't hear my blunder.

My phone lies in the middle of the mess, it's light a beacon dimly illuminating the room. I can see Fletcher swallowed in his blanket, and I sigh with relief and acquiescence. Of course sleeping beauty here wouldn't wake up if the house across the street was suddenly hit by a falling bomb!

There's this perfect stillness, the eye of the storm, and then, naturally... I sneeze. And that's the finger pulling the trigger.

In an instant, Fletcher springs up, tripping so he falls in a mess on the floor, still enveloped by his blanket. I watch with grim amusement as he fights to stand, breathing heavily amidst a barrage of tics—mostly a lot of f-bombs and pretty vulgar shit—a kid in a cheap ghost costume throwing his arms wide to remove the sheet. Eventually, he does discard it, and I see him in his full glory: underwear, birds' nest hair and squinting eyes.

I suppose his slightly raised fists were the best he could muster against this would-be intruder. Yet the moment realisation dawns in his eyes, he instead throws his arms around me, clinging on for dear life. But it's okay. I kind of like the clinging.