Read Online Fallout by Nikki Tate - Free Book Online

someone.”
    She can’t seriously expect that I’ll go with her?
    The door opens to the bathroom and she slips inside. I think of her puking poem and wonder what she’s doing in there. Do we never get to leave our pasts behind?
    â€œGood luck,” she says when she comes out.
    â€œYou too,” I answer.
    For my third poem I do “A Bus Rolls into the Shower Stall.” The scores are good, but if Rosie has a strong finish, she’ll win easily.
    When it’s Rosie’s turn, it’s obvious she’s nervous, which isn’t like her at all. Her hands quiver and she licks her lips several times before taking the microphone.
    The day I jumped from the
Wishbone Bridge
    the sky was clear as a window to
heaven…
    Ossie reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I cannot tear my eyes from Rosie’s face as she recites her poem. She is both radiant and terrified. Instead of her usual rapid-fire style, she delivers the opening lines in a slow, smooth roll of images. She stands on a bridge, silently apologizing to her family. She reminds herself why she is there, dizzy when she looks down at the water so far below.
    Then she switches to a faster delivery and throws a string of abuse at herself, at us—
    Fat worthless slug
    ugly and useless
    you deserve this and only this
    Then she steps over the rail. Here Rosie slows down again and describes the moment of letting go, the moment when she teeters at the edge.
    Is it too late
    to reach for the railing
    and pull myself to safety?
    Falling. Falling.
    Then there’s the terrible moment when she realizes that she has just made an awful mistake. A mistake that’s too late to fix.
    I hold my breath and wait, wait, wait for the impact. Rosie slams into the water.
    The bones in my feet shatter
    ribs crack
    my screams drown
    in the siren’s wail.
    She delivers the final lines in a sweet, tender voice.
    To be alive is to live with pain
    knowing this, I’ll never jump again.
    When she comes back to the table I wrap her in a fierce hug. She doesn’t pull away. We both burst into tears. All the hurt and grief and fury sobs out. She understands. I understand.
    The organizer calls for a ten-minute break. It’s just long enough for us to splash some cold water on our faces in the washroom.
    â€œReady?” I ask before we head back out into the bistro.
    â€œReady,” Rosie says.
    I have never cared less about the outcome of a slam. Rosie wins, which comes as no surprise to any of us. When I congratulate her, I mean it.

Orca soundings
    For more information on all the books
in the Orca Soundings series, please visit
    www.orcabook.com .