The Bradbury Chronicles

If I Fell

Prompt ▼

The song used for this story was "If I Fell" .

         “Are you getting all this on video, babe? Make sure you get my good side, all right?”

         “What the hell is your good side?” she replies with a laugh.

         The camcorder nearly slips from her grip, but she steadies it just as he starts waving his arms wildly, lip-syncing to “YMCA” by the Village People.

         Her laughter grows louder as he wiggles his bum for good measure, then yells a childish “Geronimo!” and swan-dives into the waiting lake below.

         It’s a perfect splash, and she cheers from high above—though her heart skips a beat when he doesn’t surface right away.

         “Whooo!” he bellows when he finally emerges, motioning for her to join him. “Come on, honey! You can do it!”

         “No way! I’m not as crazy as you!”

         “Aww, come on!”

         He keeps urging her, his voice filled with encouragement that almost brings tears to her eyes. Whether from laughter or the overwhelming realization that her heart now fully belongs to the man threatening to drown himself without her, Maryann isn’t sure.

         All of this feels like a dream, she tells herself as she inches closer to the cliff’s edge. A year ago, I was the perfect housewife in a loveless marriage—now here I am, a thousand miles from suburbia, about to leap off a cliff in the jungle.

         She rubs her arms against the chill—not from the waterfall’s mist, but from the fear and thrill of change.

         For five long years, she had been with "The One."

         Alex. The kind of man you could proudly introduce to your parents. Average looks, lean build, obsessively neat, and firmly rooted in routine.

         Maryann didn’t mind his quirks; everyone has them. But looking back, she realizes she stayed long after the love faded, clinging only to the fear of disappointing their parents.

         So, when are you two going to give us grandkids?

         The question haunted every visit, every phone call.

         Alex was always “too busy” for family trips or fun.

         “Maybe we should take a vacation,” she’d suggested one bitter winter morning over coffee. “We’ve never really gone anywhere, just us. It could be fun—”

         “Be practical, Mary,” he’d said in that warm but dismissive tone. Not angry, but never inviting. “We need to save for that new house. The one with the garden you loved.”

         Three days in the sun wouldn’t break the bank, she’d wanted to say. But she only nodded and changed the subject to home improvements.

         Her job at the local library didn’t bring in much. She even tried selling cosmetics on the side. But it was during one particularly dull afternoon, dusting high shelves on a ladder, that she met a man who made her question everything she believed about love.

         He looked wildly out of place—expensive beige polo, khaki trousers, bronzed skin, silver hair, and a movie-star smile. He looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht.

         “Excuse me, Miss,” he said with a light wave. “I was hoping you could help me find a rare book. I heard this library has it.”

         Hours passed—not just searching, but talking, laughing, connecting. They ended up having lunch together. Maryann felt guilty coming home late, empty-handed, with no dinner made for Alex.

         “I would love to see you again,” Jeremy – for that was his name – had cajoled as he had said his goodbyes. “Can’t remember the last time I enjoyed talking about books so much.”

         She might have declined his offer, which would still not explain why she found herself spending extra time finding the right outfit to wear or adding just a little extra smudge of make-up in the hopes that Jeremy would still show up.

         And he did.

         I’m a married woman, her conscience screamed during each secret meeting.

         This is wrong, it would roar the night they shared their first kiss at the back of his shiny convertible while the open beach serenaded them over the remnants of champagne, caviar, and the Beatles.

         She would learn of his love affair with the famous British band, even confessing that he had been to a couple of their concerts and had taken John Lennon’s passing the hardest. She, who only had a general knowledge of the band, willingly waded into the waters of Beatlemania with Jeremy. She would, eventually, come to appreciate the four men who changed music forever, and sometimes – unbeknownst to her – she would hum a few of their tunes while doing chores around her home.

         Alex noticed.

         “You like the Beatles now? That’s new.”

         She lied. Said the library was hosting a Beatles-themed event and the staff needed to brush up. Afraid he’d check, she convinced her boss to make it real. To her surprise, her coworkers ran with the idea.

         Jeremy even joined in, serenading fans with Beatles songs on his guitar.

         Later that night, after another “late shift,” she sighed in his arms, “Is there anything you can’t do?”

         “Make you fall in love with me?” he replied with a sad smile; his voice laced with hope.

         You could have any woman in the world, she thought. Why me?

         Yet, she melted whenever he whispered how sweet her hair smelled, or how soft they felt when he ran his fingers through the curly salt and pepper tresses. He would tease the wrinkles around her eyes and lips with tender kisses before savouring her lips as if they were the best thing he’d ever tasted. He couldn’t get enough of them.

         Still, she remained chaste and held him at bay whenever he wanted to take things beyond that. In such moments, the image of Alex – dear boring yet devoted Alex – would flash through her mind forcing her to curtail her sinful enthusiasm.

         It’s the reason why she digs her toes into the edge of the cliff and struggles to fight back the tears. As if noticing her distress, Jeremy stops his antics and wades back to shore. In time, he climbs up to join her again, where her hunched and sobbing figure forces him to simply cradle her within his arms; never wanting to let go, but knowing what reality presented to their relationship.

         “I can’t leave him,” she whispers brokenly. “I lied about this trip. But I think he knows. His silence… it kills me. I need to be strong enough to end things the right way. Do you understand?”

         He nods.

         “I don’t expect you to wait forever,” she says, eyes meeting his. “We’re not kids anymore. But know this—every moment with you has been magic. I’ll never forget.”

         He smiles—a smile full of sadness and love.

         “And even if you never say those three words,” he replies softly, “I’ll say them enough for both of us. I love you, my dearest Maryann. And I’ll wait—until you’re ready to begin again.”






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Word Count: 1139