Taking a Tumble

You lucky ducks-(Or people who somehow stumbled upon this by accident and are like- this is boring- this isn't porn/facebook)- two updates in one night.

Hanging rather pertinaciously from the aisle railing, Marcy took a quick second to document what just happened.

A rather quick second considering her current predicament,

"Jesus Marcy!"

Ah, well, the one good thing about the awkward high pitch yelp she had just made- it had caught the attention of her partner-in-crime. She grimaced up into the face of her clearly shocked, clearly wigged out friend of three years- Gerald.

"Allen!" His face disappeared for a brief, heart thumping moment, although his hands snaked over the edge of the old railing and grasped her wrists in a clearly panicked- but strong grip. "Get over here!"

"What's going on over- Marcy!"

Oh great- here came Elizabeth.

"Did she fall over the side? Marcy, how did you- Allen-get over here now!"

Elizabeth's high pitched alto was coming from somewhere underneath her feet and she was continuing shouting as her husband's face appeared over the railing, his hands grasping her left hand while Gerald switched his hands to her right. Both began to pull and the sensation of her arm's being torn off was nothing compared to the empty air her feet were currently kicking in futile desperate attempts to gain a footing.

Elizabeth continued to voice her obvious horror- with "Oh my god" and "Don't Drop Her" and "How the Hell-" with the occasional "Marcy" thrown in with unmasked frustration.

It wasn't as if this thing was a common occurrence. Marcy Jenkins did not go around falling off balconies.

Well.

Falling off things maybe- but not balconies.

Her foot landed on the gilded edge of the balcony bottom and she felt one last tug before she was pulled over the rounded gold brass and into Row E Seat 14.

And Gerald's lap.

Allen was already leaning back over the railing- gesturing at Elizabeth and shouting words of general reassurance. From the increasing shrillness of Elizabeth's voice, she was either on her way up the stairs or was getting more agiated.

Both- she decided, as Gerald nudged her off him and let her sink into the velvet back seat. He scooted over to the railing, looked over, and then looked back at her.

Elizabeth descended in a flurry of arms, blonde curls, and flapping fabric as she enveloped Marcy in a tight hug- which only made her arms hurt more before she pulled back and slapped her across the shoulder as hard as she could manage.

Which hurt considering Elizabeth had been getting active in marital art training over the past year.

"What the hell happened, Miss Monroe?"

She swung her gaze, still slightly fuzzy and shimmering around the edges to a very peeved looking older man who was staring down at her from Row F- arms cross and brows furrowed.

"Well I...actually, god, I just."

"Allen, go down to the box office and let Miss Herring know we are in need of a medical kit and some water. Let her know that Miss Monroe had a slight trauma and see to it that she comes up and checks the security of the hardware."

Allen nodded and pushed away form the railing, just as the words sank in Marcy's still racing and yet sluggish brain.

"But I'm fine, Alex."

"Marcy- just shut up."

She fixed her gaze on Gerald who was shaking his head in a mirrored expression of Elizabeth's obvious disapproval. Allen disappeared from sight, leaving her at the mercy of two very taciturn and unyielding men, and a very traumatized dental hygienist.

"What happened, Miss Monroe?"

She shook her head- the blood rushing through her head was beginning to subside into a deep pulse that was echoed in the pain shooting up and down her arms. There was a dull throb in her rib cage and her right ankle hurt like a bitch.

"I tripped."

"You tripped. I see."

He obviously didn't, Marcy concluded. He was wearing his glasses tipped down on his nose and was staring down the long nostrils straight at her. He practically was radiating barely concealed disbelief and annoyance paired with what may have passed as concern in most humans but in Alexander Hamilton was clearly disdain that she didn't manage to rid the human species of a lost cause by properly killing herself.

She gulped.

It wasn't like she had meant to trip in Row F, tumble into Row E and then spring upwards trying to prevent Gerald from seeing her head fall and managed to somehow vault herself over the brass railings of the Pompador Theatre's Presidential Box.

She had felt the impact in her chest and had reached out instinctively to grasp a hold of the object- any object- and had manged to grasp the middle railing of the polished brass railing that had recently been replaced- a subject of much debate and a reason why the Historical Society of Martinville was present at the Theatre.

Not that she really cared about the brass railing or the original chandelier or the reupholstered seats in the original crimson or the fire damage done in the back wings where an apprentice once almost burned down Georgia's oldest little theatre. 

For God's sake, it was Martinville. And who beside Alexander Hamilton, Dean of History at York Community College and the board members of his historical society really cared? Marcy saw Allen, President of said society, come quietly back in with a catatonic Ms. Herring in tow. The woman seemed to be not long for this world- who so far had only spoken the words "Please don't spill anything" and walked in a forlorn, half asleep kind of way since they had entered the building a few hours ago.

Marcy swung her eyes back to Elizabeth, who was probing what must have been a bleeding cut on Marcy's temple. Elizabeth had attended CPR training and took a few refresher first aid courses when she had been studying for her exams for dental school. She was secretary of Alexander's little club- more of a way of sharing Allen's hobby than real interest and then of course Gerald was a member.

Which left Marcy Monroe.

Who was failing History II and had needed extra credit in order to graduate.

And by the looks of things- was not going to get said extra credit.

"Really, Marcy," Gerald sighed behind her. "You're a walking disaster."

"It was an accident-"

"Just like Rome?" Elizabeth muttered.

"Well, Lizzy, Rome wasn't really her fault- no way we could have known that ledge would have given away over the lake-"

Marcy nodded emphatically, only stopping when Elizabeth yanked her head back down and pressed a makeshift bandage to her temple. Good ole, Allen- always true, always faithful-

"Although that time she fell off the loading platform at Trenton was just pitiful."

Big mouthed Allen-

"And when she fell off the altar at the wedding? Thought your mom was going to lose it."

"I didn't mean to knock the candelabra over!"

Professor Hamilton was quietly talking to Miss Herring- his eyes flickering over briefly met Marcy's long enough for her to know he was listening to everything.

"Yea, but you did." Gerald sighed. He ran his hand through his short curls and shook it back out in exasperated worry. "You fall, Marcy. That's what you do."

"Geroff Lizzy-" Marcy growled, pushing her away in furious annoyance. She straightened and brushed her sweater back down so it lay normal. Gerald's grey eyes stared at her but he stayed silent. She brushed past him towards the two older adults talking in the archway entrance of the Presidential Box. Allen went and sat by Elizabeth- their heads bowed in muted conversation. She could tell Elizabeth was shaking from nerves. She was a little surprised when Gerald's hand stopped her forward movement and she looked down to realize she was shaking as well.

It was true after all. Marcy Monroe fell. She fell off hills, she fell off ledges, porches, stairs, couches, and chairs. She toppled off beds, over cracks in the sidewalk, and over her own two feet. She tripped over socks, balls, and baby carriages. She stumbled off the side of altars, stages, and the occasional diving board. And it wasn't as if she was scared of heights- she just always managed to fall- as if her body thought it was somehow destined to be on the ground- face first.

She had been to the ER more times than she cared to admit, had so many stitches and casts that she had lost count, and picked herself up from sheer humiliation enough times to learn to laugh it off.

And sure, the time she had fallen into the lake had been scary- but it was only a twenty foot drop and it had been a deep lake. The time she had fallen through the attic door had been straight onto the plush couch she had just helped bring down and the only serious injury she had sustained was the time she tripped over the kitchen table and broke her left arm, concussed her head on the chair, sprained her ankle.

So, she was the girl who fell. Gerald had once joked it was because she thought she had wings- but he had stopped joking now. His eyes were serious as Professor Hamilton's. Marcy's eyes flickered to the balcony edge. It was a good thirty foot drop and there was nothing to cushion the fall but old cement floors covered in unraveling oriental carpet. She would have been seriously, possibly mortally injured. And her friends knew it. Professor Hamilton knew it. She wasn't quite sure if Ms. Herring knew it- but she couldn't really tell if Ms. Herring knew what year it was.

But she knew somethings the way she knew her name.

It had been an accident.

She was fine.

And she was pretty sure she was going to throw up once she got out of sight.

She passed by Professor Hamilton who barely acknowledged her as he continued to apologize to the obvious daft and unconcerned warden of the theatre and kept walking until she was almost out of sight of the group- she put her foot on the stair case which would lead her up to the ladies powder room-

And then-

"Damn it Marcy!"

Well, she mused as she stared at the dirty rug that was now pressed against her right cheek- it could have been worse. She felt the footsteps approaching from behind her, the smell of Gerald's aftershave as his hands wrapped around her torso and pulled her up from the floor-

But who the hell falls walking up the stairs?