EXCERPTS: All Fall Down
by Dasha Kelly
ISBN: 0-9660447-5-4
"Wait, let's go in here," Denise interrupted, hooking Emorie’s elbow and pulling her into a handcrafts
boutique. After several minutes, the two women were standing side by side at the island, as Emorie examined
a large, copper urn with cobalt blue ceramic tiles affixed playfully down the front.
"Isn't this funky?" Emorie asked, stepping back to admire the piece. "I've been looking for some new pieces
to spruce up the house. I’m tired of the same color schemes, ya know? When we first bought the house, I was
all about symmetry and uniform,” she said, exaggerating her face and hand gestures to mock herself. “Now, I
think I want a look that’s more eclectic."
"Change is good," Denise replied, stepping back so their shoulders kissed, "and this would really bring out
the colors in your bedspread."
"You know what, you're right!" Emorie gushed and reached forward for the price tag. Then, like a car
drained of fuel, her hand slowed to a mid-air stop. Every other movement in her joints came to a similar,
grinding halt. She was suddenly quiet. Registering the advice that Denise had just offered, Emorie tried to
recall when Denise had ever been invited into her bedroom.
Actually, there was nothing to register. Emorie knew that she had never ushered Denise through those
doors. Being the youngest of five girls, with her closest sister being 16 years her senior, Emorie had been
mothered five times over with veteran womanly advice. One of the cardinal rules that was impressed upon her
to that fifth degree was that you don’t take your business out of the bedroom and never let anyone else’s
business in. In accordance, Emorie rarely allowed non-relatives into her bedroom, and never left her bedroom
door open.
Emorie slowly pulled herself erect, took a step back and turned to face this woman who was now a stranger
to her. Oddly, Denise's eyes held an expectant stare, as if she had anticipated Emorie's look of bewilderment
and had been anticipating this silent disclosure. Neither woman uttered a sound. Instead, a rapid fire dialogue
relayed back and forth in their eyes -- the accusation, the admission, the attack, the rebuttal.
To onlookers, they surely seemed caught in a trance, now standing two paces apart, perfectly erect, staring
into one another’s piercing eyes.
Emorie's eyes began narrowing to two, even slits. She felt her body grow hot and her veins fill to capacity.
Then, she turned up the fire on her smoldering gaze and stepped deliberately into Denise's very personal
space.
"I hope we’re having a communication problem,” she breathed, almost inaudibly.
But Denise heard. In fact, Emorie was certain she had detected a smirk as Denise took a slow step
backwards.
“There may be a problem,” Denise said coolly, cocking her head to the side, still backing away, “but it’s not
‘communication,’ and it’s not mine.” Slowly, she turned to leave the store.
♦ ♦ ♦
On the grocery shopping day before things when south, they turned into the checkout lane, Emorie with her
cart and Denise with her small basket. Unloading their goods, Emorie noticed Denise’s half-empty basket.
“That’s all you’re getting? I thought you had some shopping to do.”
“This is shopping, Em,” Denise replied, looking down at her handful of items. “I don’t cook so I don’t require
many materials. Bread, cookies, raisins, soup, shaving cream, a quart of milk, a few non-perishables. I’m
square.”
“Oh, I know the real deal,” Emorie smiled as she loaded her groceries onto the moving belt. “Not cooking is
only part of the story. I know that you and this secret lover of yours are doin’ the do and then going to Denny’s
-- day and night, night and day. You’re probably to worn out to cook!”
“Girrrllll,” Denise said, smoothing a hand over her hip. She fluttered her lashes and smiled at the mention of
J.
“How are things going with J anyway?” Emorie asked. “You haven’t mentioned him in a while. Did he break
up with his girlfriend?”
Denise hesitated and then shot a threatening look at the cashier who also seemed to be waiting for a
response.
“I don’t know,” she started. “Things are going okay … and then they don’t go okay. I mean, he has to be
the best everything I’ve ever had in my life – best friend, best lover, best adviser, best healer … But I can’t get
my arms around him because he made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Emorie asked, looking up from her checkbook.
“Yeah. He’s one of those good, honorable guys who got married for good, honorable reasons and not for
love.”
Emorie and the cashier halted their transaction.
“Did you say ‘married,’ Denise?”
Denise looked to the ceiling seeming to brace herself for the Sanctity of Marriage and “What Goes Around
Comes Around” speeches.
“Hey,” Emorie said softly, reaching over to touch Denise’s hand, “relax. I don’t need to tell you what I think.
You know how I feel, and you know right from wrong. At the same time, who am I to say that this guy is ‘wrong’
for you after hearing about how he treats you and how special he makes you feel? The arrangement is fucked
up, Denise, no doubt, but I wouldn’t judge you because of that. You and me are bigger than that. Okay?”
Denise met Emorie’s eyes. They were warm and sincere.
Bitch, Denise thought.
“Yeah,” she said quietly instead, her rigid shoulders softening. “Thanks.”
Emorie thought of that exchange as she lay across the bed listening to James tiptoe out of their bedroom
and down the stairs. She also remembered how peculiar Denise behaved once they were unloading the
groceries at Emorie’s house and James came through the kitchen door.
“Hey there, Mr. Perkins,” she had said with an odd nervousness in her voice.
“What’s up, Denise,” James had replied dryly, then turned to his boys with a 100-watt smile. Austen and
Marlin were seated at their activity table in a corner of the kitchen. Emorie’s Aunt Evelyn had just dropped
them off and they were only beginning to unload the countless sheets of colored paper and crayons and
trading cards that they had acquired from their stay.
James squatted down with outstretched arms, and each boy claimed a bicep with one single leap. With a
giddy grunt, James stood and carried his squirming sons away.
“That reception seemed a little chilly,” Denise said. “You two doing okay, or is it me?”
Emorie let out a slow breath, removing the groceries from their bags.
“He says we’re like two school girls,” she mouthed, her voice just above a whisper.
Denise chose her words carefully. “Do I make him uncomfortable? Does he think we’re up to no good?”
“No,” Emorie replied, laughing. “He didn’t say two delinquent school girls. He’s just not used to seeing me
spend a lot of time with any one person, that’s all.”
“Does he ever mention me?”
Denise re-phrased her question before Emorie could register the implications of her inquiry: “Is it causing
problems between the two of you.”
“Girl, naw,” Emorie snapped, looking away from the grocery bags and over at Denise. “I’d quit you before I
let that happen. I mean, you’re cool and all …”
The women laughed.
“Baby,” James called from the front room, “did we take that El Dorado video to Evelyn’s?”
“No, it’s in the boys’ back pack-–“
“Hey,” Denise said, reaching for the door, “I’ll catch up with you later. Kiss the boys for me.”
“Okay. See you.”
As she lay frozen on her side of the bed, still too numb from confusion and guilt, Emorie remembered watching
her girlfriend leave the house through the side door that evening and so many evenings thereafter.
But what she didn’t notice was that Denise unlocked the door to her car and looked over the roof and into
the Perkins’ house. She stood for what seemed an infinite length of time watching Emorie, James and the boys
in their living room. James was tossing the boys about and Emorie was looking on, smiling with her arms folded.
Every evening visit, Denise climbed into her car but did not stop watching them. In fact, she watched them
most of the night. She watched them, and she hated them more every moment for all she did not have.