Brightside (20 page)

“Why are you going to the roof, Joe?”

I pulled him close, whispered, “I’m trying to challenge myself. Some personal improvement.”

“Like your jogging?”

“Just like that. Now can you help me out?”

Danny thought about it for a second, pictured his boss, Larry, yelling at him, but when he looked down at the drawing, his head started bobbing.

“Okay.”

Danny started taking off his coveralls right there in the open.

“No, no, one of your spares.”

He said okay and we walked back to his place. My drawings covered the walls. He’d kept every one, tacked them up like a museum.

Danny went to the closet, pulled out his spare uniform. He started to give it to me, but pulled it back. He was thinking about how I’d been avoiding him, angry at me for being such a crappy friend.

I told him I’d make it up to him.

“Can we have a party?” Danny asked.

“Sure.”

“What’s your favorite cake?”

“I don’t know, whatever you like.”

He handed me the uniform. “No, what you like.”

“Okay, Angel Food.”

“It’s spongy, right?”

“Yeah, it’s spongy.  But now I have to go.”

Danny sounded pretty sad when he said, “Okay.”

I got to the door and Danny stared at me.

Be safe, Joe.

I told him I would.

* * *

Break was to be taken at ten o’clock, but it had stopped raining and I didn’t want to risk waiting another twenty minutes. Sara was meeting with Carlos. I couldn’t let her know.

The stairwell was silent, not a noise above or below. It was for emergencies only, definitely not breaks, something Carlos loved reminding everyone.

I peeked over the railing, made sure I was alone, then headed up the stairs. There was a padlock on the roof access door, but I’d also borrowed one of Danny’s keys.

Quickly, I slipped on Danny’s spare coveralls and matching hat, both two sizes too small.

The Council had ruled the roof off-limits after Paul’s plunge. It was stupid to argue something could be completely fine one day, a liability the next. The roof was a roof. It wasn’t safe or unsafe. It just was. Just like a rope. A knife.

Puddles covered the rooftop. It’d been warmer these last few days. I wondered if it’d stay this way.

I told myself to stop thinking, time was running out. I needed to get back to my desk. There was a folding chair leaning against the wall where they kept the air conditioners. I took my first step, and even though I was nowhere near the ledge, I was already soaking Danny’s coveralls with my sweat.

Baby steps.

I moved over to the folding chair. Stepping up, even against the wall, made me dizzy. I looked out at the mountains toward the cemetery, couldn’t see a thing with the sun peeking over the top, my eyes useless without my sunglasses.

It wasn’t a great feeling knowing the Rangers could see me, but not so bad I’d be a good little citizen and go back downstairs. I needed to do this. I kept my hand on the wall at first then slowly peeled it away, just me standing on the chair, high above it all.

It wasn’t enough. I didn’t come here for the view so I got down, moved my chair a bit further. Closer to the tiny concrete ledge that spanned the front of the building. Closer to the ledge Paul said he tripped on.

If I couldn’t beat my fear of heights, Day 100 would become 200 then 300. I’d never leave.

I focused on the piece of duct tape on the pipe eight feet from the ledge. I wiped my hand on my pants. As brave as I could, I took the chair across to the strip of silver. My next goal.

I’d like to say it was easy, that I walked right up to that line and put down my chair, but that’d be a lie. It took a minute, maybe two, to get the chair there, only a second to sit my ass down, get closer to the solid roof.

The map Rachel had made crinkled in my back pocket. I took it out, held it tight as a gust of wind blew across the roof. I opened the map, looked at it until my heart stopped thumping, until I knew every line, could see every squiggle
.
Every road within five miles.

I folded the paper in half two times. Then I ripped it again and again until there was no piece bigger than a stamp. I threw my hand in the air, let the wind carry most of the pieces away, the rest floating down onto the roof, soaking up the water.

I was doing pretty good right then, didn’t feel nervous at all. Without a second thought, I scooped up the chair and duck-walked two feet, stopped about six from the ledge. My safe spot.

The move didn’t do much to me, I was doing okay, my breaths still rapid, but not out of control. Still, I had to go all the way. Today wasn’t the day to do anything half-ass. Not when it could mean getting my head blown off because I couldn’t climb out of the mineshaft.

I wasn’t scared. My father’s voice in my head,
Be a man!

The ledge was right there, close enough to touch. The building was less than a year old, but the foot-high hunk of concrete looked like it’d been slapped on as an afterthought.

I told myself not to freak out, that I was fine. Nothing was going to come along and push me off the chair, send me over the ledge. I was safe. I was doing it. I was being a man.

Somehow I got my right foot on the ledge, pressed on it a little to check for some give. I didn’t feel any.

I looked to the sky, figured this should be the part I got rained on. Maybe a thunderstorm, the world’s biggest flashflood, something to come and fling me off the roof, sending me to oblivion or a fancy wheelchair.

A long time ago, I learned God doesn’t answer prayers.

If I wanted something done, I was going to have to do it. Before I could chicken out, I reached forward,
put my hand on the ledge, the wet concrete, a rough slickness.

My heart was thumping like I’d run a mile, but I was holding onto the ledge. I straightened my legs, got my ass out of the chair. I took a step closer.

I was shivering, clutching that ledge like it was the only thing stopping me from going over. Scared shitless like a little kid. Scared of the American flag, snapping in the air.

Every day since my first one, I’d given myself two options; leave Brightside or else. But I couldn’t do either one stuck on my knees.

I squeezed the ledge tighter, holding my breath without even knowing it. I blew out and took three quick ones, made my heart slow down. I was twenty-eight years old. I could let go of the ledge. I could lean over and look down. Look down eighty feet, the wet sidewalk below, the exact spot Paul landed.

The wind kept on coming, the red, white, and blue firing
whack, whack, whack
. I was getting up. One way or another, I was getting on that ledge. If I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything.

I kept both hands on the concrete, my eyes on the flag, forced one foot up. I brought my other foot underneath me, had both on the ledge. I put my hand on my chest, felt my heart trying to break through.

There was no one around that could hear me, but I said, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the Republic for which it stands.”

And I was. I was standing so high above it all!

I squinted my eyes as the wind whipped at my face. “One nation. Under God. Indivisible. With liberty and justice for all.”

From somewhere in my head, my father’s voice,
Do it!

I’m not sure what happened, but I wasn’t scared. Of Dad. Of falling. Of anything. Dad couldn’t hear me, but I said, “Sorry. Not today.”

Then I heard Mom’s voice,
Come on, Superman. Let’s see you fly.

I flipped them off with both hands, middle fingers to them and the world.

Fuck them. Fuck Brightside. I was tired of getting picked on, told what to do.
I’d stand on the ledge all goddamn night.

A few
Brightsiders
took notice from across the Square.

I remained perfectly still, wondered who else was watching me openly oppose a Council sanction. The seconds ticked and the wind whipped, threatened to tip me over the edge. The longer I stood, the more ridiculous it got. I was being childish and irresponsible. I had a job to get back to, at least for a while, and I had the plan.

And then all of a sudden a woman shrieked from behind. “Joe! Don’t!”

I turned to see who it was and my right shoe went back too far, the heel hanging off the ledge taking my weight with it. Sara screamed my name again and ran toward me from the doorway. I began to fall.

Everything switched to slow motion.
My arms wheeling, Sara running, no way she’d make it in time.

I lowered my center of gravity and leaned forward, but my right shoe slipped off, took my left foot and the rest of me with it. I threw my arms out and they slammed onto the ledge, my chin bouncing off the concrete with a loud crunch. Blood filled my mouth.

I thought I might make it then my weight pulled me down, nothing for my hands to grab on. Sara kept running, about ten feet away, the sharp corner digging into my fingertips.

Like I wasn’t trying to with everything I had, Sara shouted, “Hold on, Joe! Hold on!”

I blocked the pain and
scissored
the air trying to find the wall in front of me. My grip was almost gone, fingers bleeding, feet coming up short.

Sara skidded to a stop and grabbed hold of my hands just as my fingers gave way. My right hand slipped through hers, but she held onto my left, her nails sinking into my forearm.

She yanked on my arm with both hands, but I was dropping inch by inch. I threw up my right hand and gripped the outside of the ledge. It stopped my descent, but it wouldn’t last
long. My weight had already pulled Sara to the ledge and if I didn’t do something, I’d be taking her with me.

I kicked my legs one more time and my right foot struck the smooth brick. There was a loud snap like concrete cracking and gravity kept pulling me down, but I held on, the tips of both shoes now pressed against the wall.

I was about to push off and up the wall, my one final shot, when Sara gasped and fell forward, losing her grip. Her shin smashed into the ledge an inch from my nose, a split second before my straining neck lost the battle and my head was pulled over the edge, my cheek dragged across the rough concrete.

I couldn’t see anything but the wall in front of me. I flung my hand where I’d last seen Sara and clutched at the air. My fingers touched fabric and grabbed. “Pull, Sara! Pull!”

Sara grunted and took off some of the pressure. I dug the tips of my shoes into the wall and kicked off and up.

My head popped over the ledge and I slammed my face against the concrete, used it to pry myself forward. There was a loud rip and my hand fell against the ledge, Sara’s sleeve beneath it.

I heaved up with everything I had as Sara pulled and grunted and pulled again. Finally, I was on my back, the wet roof feeling so good. Safe.

Neither of us said a word, our ragged breathing saying it all. I tried to catch my breath and stared at the gray skies. When I
was able to sit, I put my back against the ledge. Sara sat beside me.

I was too embarrassed to look at her and I hated myself for ripping her blouse and hurting her leg. I grabbed hold of my pants to stop shaking. Everything was numb, no pain anywhere, but I’d feel it later. All the blood and scraped skin promised that.

Once I could speak, I said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“How’d you…?”

“Danny called me. He said you were…”

“I wasn’t going to jump.”

“I get that now.”

Sara felt stupid, knowing she almost got me killed. She’d run right up after Danny’s call, terrified I was going to take the plunge like Paul.

She’d come to Brightside thinking that Danny was all that mattered, but then she had to go and meet me, the only person who’d ever been nice to her brother.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” she said.

I tried to lighten the mood. “I’m just glad you didn’t push me up here.”

We sat there awkwardly. I knew there were people down below who must have seen what just happened. I knew there were
people down there that were probably laughing their asses off. I wondered if Krystal was down there laughing, too. And Wayne.

Sara said, “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“Which makes you a bigger idiot.”

“Yeah…”

I’d thrown up my middle fingers to get caught.

“I hate that I met you, Joe. I really do. I don’t want my life to be complicated. I just want things to be normal. For once in my stupid life. But…”

I took Sara’s face, turned it ever so slightly, that cute little bump in her nose, those eyes. My lips pressed against hers.

Some kisses are just the prelude to sex. Others are simply a kind gesture, a more intimate thank you. But every so often, a kiss silences everything. The universe just collapses and obliterates your silly existence. You realize everything you’d been holding onto was plastic, stupid, just a distraction. Like Rachel. I didn’t love her, never did. I just wanted someone to hold, press against. She never felt like this. Not like Sara.