Out of Orbit

By Ashton Widdison

Jude Carlisle: janitor, stutterer, orphan. He just lost his father in a car accident, both tragic and--given his past--not surprising. After visiting his grave, Jude hears a scream, and a young woman falls from above to the ground. Her name is Leslie. Correction. Her name is Pluto, and she's about to shake Jude's world up, for better or for worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312846661

Book preview

Out of Orbit

OUT OF ORBIT

OUT OF ORBIT

First Edition

Copyright © 2015 Ashton Widdison

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblances to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Distributor http://www.lulu.com

ISBN: 978-1-312-84666-1

DEDICATION

To Dad:

For teaching me how to work hard. I worked hard on this.

To Mom:

For constantly encouraging me to put my voice out there.

I’m an Orphan

Dad was, contrary to the gossip of his two neighbors, a good man. Good men have flaws. Good men have bad flaws. Bad flaws don’t make a man bad. Drinking doesn’t either. Drinking and driving makes a man a stupid man, but not bad.

I was a sad man. I had just received the news that Dad—a good man, a stupid man—had not survived the surgery meant to save his life. The doctor said he died from organ damage caused by the wreck; I say he died from a broken heart because if it weren’t for that, he would never have become an alcoholic and he would never have jumped behind the wheel of his rattling white truck when he’d already finished a case of beer. He wouldn’t have wanted that second case.

The doctor apologized once again, saying that he had done everything within his power to keep my father here, with me. I told the doctor that it was quite all right, that maybe Dad had finally found the peace he had been searching out for over twenty years. Giving me an odd and pitying look, the doctor said to let the hospital know if there was anything I needed from them. After I assured him that I was content, and that I only needed to make arrangements for the funeral, he left me.

Where was a person to go when he had nowhere? I strayed down a random hallway, head bowed, arms wrapped around my stomach to keep myself from blowing up at the center. That would be an interesting headline: Son Of Dead Man Explodes In Hospital.

Nurses shuffled around me, and another doctor in a long white coat hurried by. A smiling woman in pink scrubs asked if I was lost.

I stared at her, swallowing hard. The smile on her face slipped but immediately returned when she repeated, Are you lost, hon?

Yes, I whispered.

Where do you need to be? she inquired.

I stared at her again. I must have made her uncomfortable with my silence, but she didn’t excuse herself or call security. Instead she said softly, Hey, it’s okay. This is a large hospital. Tell me what room you need and I’ll lead you there.

N-no, thank you.

You needn’t go running around aimlessly, the nurse said. I’m more than willing to show you where you ought to be. It’s no problem.

M-ma’am?

Yes, sir?

My dad died.

The nurse froze, her mouth opening and shutting again. She worked where people were often hanging in the balance of life and death; she shouldn’t have been surprised by my father’s passing. I suppose she just wasn’t prepared for the truth that I had nowhere to go because the reason for my being here had slipped out of the doctor’s hands on the surgery table.

I began to cry. The nurse immediately took me into her arms, rubbing my back and whispering comfort, but I didn’t hear a word she said. People around us stopped, probably to see if everything was okay, and the nurse sent them on their way.

Is there anyone I can call for you? she asked.

My dad, I wanted to say. My dad’s always there for me. He’ll come pick me up. He’ll take me home. He’ll take care of me.

The nurse took the cell phone I offered her. D-Don, I choked.

She nodded and searched for my friend’s number. She made the call and after a minute hung up. He’s on his way. Do you want to wait out front?

Yes, I said.

Would you like me to walk you there?

Yes.

This way, she said, leading me down the direction I had come. She was a nice lady. I hoped she had a better day than I was having.

Do you believe in fate? I do. In the days where I completely lost myself, I found her. Not the nurse, although I’m sure she has a great story to tell—but I’m not a part of it.

The girl in question was named Leslie Astor. My Pluto.

Fallen Angel

The funeral ran smoothly and short. Don and his wife, Nora, came to support me and to say their goodbyes to the man who had always welcomed them into his home. A couple of the friendlier neighbors showed up to offer their condolences, and Dad’s sponsor, Chester, brought flowers and gave me a handshake. People hugged me, even ones I didn’t know, even my dad’s two neighbors, though they seemed more interested in observing what everyone else was doing and saying than grieving.

I visited him every day after that, sitting just beyond the freshly dug earth and staring; I couldn’t speak well anyway, and I had nothing to say. At least nothing I thought was worth saying. There were the questions, of course. Why’d you have to do it, Dad? Why couldn’t you call me? I would have called Chester, or come over to make sure you were okay. I would have kept you safe. Why, after all this time of fighting, did you give in? That moment of weakness cost you a lot—cost me everything.

Work allowed me a little time off. Don called me later at night to check in and Nora brought over dinners, which I was grateful for. Cooking wasn’t my strong suit, and when I didn’t have the energy to feed myself…

I tried. I got out of bed. I went outside to enjoy spring while it was here—the air, scented with freshly mowed lawn and blossoms, was beginning to dry out and warm up, promising that summer was right around the corner. I went to my classes at night. I found my routine again.

The hours in my bed were the worst. When I managed to sleep, I had nightmares of my dad drowning and calling for my help, and I, who couldn’t swim, stayed at the edge of the water, stretching my hand for him—stretching, stretching, stretching—but failing to reach him and watching as his head disappeared under the inky black surface. Most the other nights I stared at the ceiling of my room, still decorated from my teenage years, and had mental conversations with my dad. I could only imagine his responses, but sometimes they comforted me.

Me: Dad? You up?

Dad: Of course. We’re always awake here.

Me: What do you do?

Dad: We live, even though we’re dead. It’s beautiful here, Jude.

Me: Is Mom with you?

Dad: She is. She says hi.

Me: Are you happy?

Dad: We are.

Me: Why’d you have to go?

Dad didn’t respond to that one. Maybe he didn’t know how or maybe he was ashamed of himself. I tried not to blame him too harshly, but the fact still remained that had he not gotten into his car drunk, in the quest to get drunker, I would still have him in my life.

One night was particularly bad. I didn’t feel good and was so tired, but my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I lied down, trying to speak to my dad, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk tonight. He was probably busy doing something important, but I didn’t know what angels did. He said he was looking out for me. I hoped that was true. The clock ticked time away, and sometime after one I slipped into a fitful sleep with the dream—plus visions that I couldn’t remember but were frightening enough that the feeling came with me when I pulled myself out of the nightmare. I couldn’t breathe right.

I needed my dad. As childish as it was, as pointless and impossible, I wanted him there to comfort me. I half-consciously made the decision to put on my shoes and go to see him, somehow convinced that being on the holy ground where his body was at rest would bring him back clearly into my mind. I was terrified he’d disappear from my memories like he disappeared under the water.

No one came into the cemetery at night, unless they were a trespassing band of teenagers behind the gardening shed, passing around the liquor they stole from their parents’ cabinets and puffing on cigarettes. It was probably too late at night for them to be out, though, because I was alone. It took me a long time to find Dad’s grave in the dark, and once I did, I sat down heavily, feeling exhausted and cold. Yes, summer would be here in a few months, but spring’s nights retained their chill that ate through thin pajama pants.

I didn’t speak aloud. I just rested my hand on the grave and sent him my thoughts. Mostly memories, like how Dad always made me breakfast on the important days—Christmas morning, first day of high school, graduation, job interview, etc.—even though he usually burned the pancakes; or how he picked up my mom’s picture, the one in a frame on his bedside table, and observed it for several long minutes like he was memorizing her face, so he wouldn’t forget it; or how he tousled my hair so that it lay messy on my head.

He was nearby, I could feel it. He had to be smiling at the good memories. We were great pals, he and I, and I’m sure he missed me as much as I missed him.

I wondered if I could sleep out here. If I curled up tight, I could trap the warmth inside, although I knew morning would bring dew that would soak me. I tried resting on the ground but it wasn’t comfortable enough. Had I been thinking, I would have brought a blanket, but no. It was time to go home. My fingers dug into the cool soil of my dad’s grave, and I told him I loved him and would visit again soon. I stood, my knees popping from being stuck in the same position for so long, and I took a moment to move my legs around to better my circulation.

I was only a block down the street when there came a scream, and I jerked around, frightened by it. It sounded like a girl, but who was here at this time of night? Well, other than me. I knew I should shout back, but my throat tightened and I held the sound inside me.

The scream came again, drawn out and loud, as if the owner had held something sick inside her until the pressure burst from her lungs. I set off in the direction it originated, feet moving quickly. There were no other sounds, but I thought my best bet would be the bridge—a stone arch at the entrance of a walk path that wasn’t far from me.

A voice, not a girl’s, made me jump and a young guy with his hair stuffed in a beanie jogged beside me, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. You heard it too? Man, I was just taking a walk, having a smoke. My gal hates the stink and she makes me air out. Stupid, right? But the gal’s always right.

I nodded, uncertain what else to say. Together, we found the bridge, standing tall in the moonlight. From it, a girl fell.

My companion cursed. There she was, sinking through the air like she had been dropped from Heaven, her back to the ground, her arms extended. I watched her hit with a dull thump—and she did not rise. Snapping out of the daze, we ran to her, skidding to a stop, flicking bits of dirt from the path.

I knelt down, feeling a particularly large pebble dig into my knee cap. The girl was sprawled out, glazed eyes locked on the stars. She blinked slowly. I put my hand next to her head to brace myself as I leaned over her, and something hot, wet, and sticky trickled beneath my fingertips. A-are you…okay?

She didn’t flinch or scream or respond in any way. Her eyes slid lazily to my face and she stared, but that light you see in people’s eyes was dimming, like something inside her that peeked through her pupils was drawing away.

We need to call an ambulance, the guy said. You got a phone? I left mine.

I dug into the pocket of my pajamas for my cell. I’m going to h-help you, I said to the girl. D-don’t worry. My fingers shook as I dialed 911.

The girl blinked slowly, her eyelids drooping. She shifted her hand like she wanted to reach out to me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I slipped my fingers through the spaces of hers and held tight. My heart hammered loudly in my ears, making it hard to hear the voice that asked me what my emergency was.

My emergency? I didn’t want anyone else to die, even a person I didn’t know. She had to be someone’s child, sister, cousin, maybe even a mother though the girl looked too young. The ambulance was on its way.

H-hang on, I pled with the girl. M-my name’s Jude. I’m…I’m here.

Her eyes drifted shut and she said nothing. I didn’t know CPR, and I didn’t have the courage to lean over to hear her breath or feel her heartbeat for fear that neither would be present. I just held her hand and whispered that she needed to stay alive. My companion paced behind me, eyes searching the street.

High pitched sirens drew near and I stroked the girl’s knuckles with my thumb. They needed to come faster. Faster, faster, faster.

Paramedics jumped out of the ambulance once it arrived. One gently nudged me away and I moved back, not listening as they shouted at one another. She had to be okay. Whoever she was needed to be okay because the world would not be the same without her—someone who loved her would not be the same without her.

They somehow got her onto a stretcher without moving her head or neck too much and loaded her into the back of the ambulance. I heard someone tell me I needed to answer questions. I think I must have nodded my head, but I focused on the door of the ambulance slamming shut with a valuable life clinging and struggling on the other side.

Her Name is Leslie

Did I see anyone on the bridge? No. Was there anyone nearby? No. Do I know this girl? No. I’ve never met her before. I was walking and I heard her screaming. I followed the sound and saw her falling. I don’t know what happened.

I was worried the cops thought I could be a suspect, like I had pushed her off the bridge, but no one read me any rights or handcuffed me. My companion retold his story of walking while having a smoke, and that he had seen me ahead and ran to catch up.

She was falling, the guy explained again to the cops. Me and him ran over to her once she hit. There wasn’t anybody around except for her. Must’ve tripped or jumped.

It was my turn to ask a question: Will she be all right?

The cops didn’t know. As soon as we finished our statements and were released, I went one direction and my companion went the other. I ran back to my place and grabbed my truck, immediately driving to the hospital.

Are you a relative? the nurse