Letters From The Ledge

Letters From The Ledge

By: Lynda Meyers

ISBN-10:
0-9849394-1-5

ISBN-13:
978-0-9849394-1-1

Copyright ©2012 Lynda Meyers / Hallway11. Third Edition

No portion of this book may be copied, retransmitted, reposted, duplicated, or otherwise used without the express written approval of the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Any unauthorized copying, reproduction, translation, or distribution of any part of this material without permission by the author is prohibited and against the law. 

Dedication:

To all the ledge walkers,

window watchers

and fire escape sitters...

You know who you are...

When lives intersect, nothing is certain.

When you’re out on the ledge, nothing is sound.

When you least expect it, life leans forward and nothing is the same…

"How do you become something you’re not?"

"What do you want to become?"

"What I’m not."

"What are you now?"

"I’m nothing."

- Life as a House

I haven’t learned much in the last seventeen years, but of this I’m fairly certain:

What you think you know doesn’t have much to do with reality.

I went back out on the ledge tonight. It’s a long way down. Of course, it’d be a long way up too, if you could fly. Madison Avenue looks pretty small from fifty-five floors up, but height does have its advantages. I’ve got a great view of all the other buildings on this block, but as far as I can tell, nobody else likes the ledge. I find that a little hard to believe, living in this soul-sucking crowd of eight million. Maybe that's just me.

My parents are out tonight. They’re always out–even when they’re in. Last week I added a second piercing to my lip, but so far they haven’t noticed. I’ve stopped cutting temporarily–decided to try the ledge instead.

I guess I just want Newton to be wrong about gravity. I know the flying part doesn’t hurt. It’s the landing I’m worried about.

When I was a kid I used to dream about being a pilot. I had a bunch of model airplanes and I would fly them off our balcony, then ride the elevator down and try to find them. Of course they were never there, so I figured once they left the balcony they must have become real airplanes–Pinocchio style. I know better now, but there’s a part of me that still wants to believe in miracles. When you make the leap, can you really become what everyone else says you can’t?

My aunt is an emergency room nurse. They have all kinds of nicknames for people who come in with different problems. I overheard her tell my mom once that they have a special name for jumpers. It’s called: "Failure to Fly".

“Prison life consists of routine, and then more routine."

– The Shawshank Redemption

“Would you mind telling me exactly what it is you’re looking for out there?”

Paige ignored the comment. She sat with her knees pulled up along the metal grates, arms wrapped tightly around them, back against the cold brick.

Nate wandered over to the window and dipped his head under the open sill. “I mean, you’ve been out here for half an hour. Aren’t you freezing?”

Paige’s head bobbed mechanically. She stared off into the night and wouldn’t answer him. He touched the back of his hand to her bare arm and swore under his breath, ducking back inside to grab a blanket off the couch. He opened the window a little wider and spoke gently into her ear. “Here. Lean forward.”

She did as she was told, and he slipped the blanket around her shoulders, tucking it in around her. As he leaned past he caught scent of her hair and stopped momentarily to breathe her in. That breath was always accompanied by an ache he couldn’t name, but he let it in anyway. Then he stopped in front of her mouth and brushed her lips, willing her back. Suddenly her breath caught and she leaned forward, softening into his kiss.

Nate pulled back ever so slightly and watched her eyes open. “Hi there.”

She smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re warm.” She slipped her hands out of the blanket and pushed them up his chest.

He wrapped her face in his hands and kissed her again, this time with intention. “Yes. Very.” His mouth curved up in a playful smile. “You want to come in now?”

“In a minute.”

Nate turned his head and looked out, while nonchalantly moving his hand slowly across her waist and then turning slightly north. “Are you trying to tell me that a bunch of cold concrete and metal is more interesting than this?”

Paige laughed, carefully removing his hand and threading her fingers through his. She kissed his fingers slowly, one by one. “No, but I am rather fascinated by the view.”

He smiled down, expecting to find her looking at him, but instead her eyes were focused elsewhere.

Paige looked up, but pointed her finger absently in the opposite direction.

“What are you pointing at?”

She shrugged innocently. “Them.”

Nate looked more than a little confused. “The… million or so people in our neighborhood ,or…?”

“No, silly–them!” Finally her face followed her finger and pointed more specifically in the direction of a lit balcony at the top of the building just across the way and slightly to the left of them. A young man stood at the edge with his arms spread out like an eagle.

Nate sucked in a full breath. “Holy sh-”

“Wait!” She put her finger over his lips as he leaned his head further out the open window. “He’s not alone.”

She focused his attention toward a window in a building to their right, where the silhouette of a young girl was backlit and visibly still. Focused, it seemed, on the same young ‘bird-to-be’.

“So you’re both watching the same kid? That’s great, you can compare stories! Are you crazy? I’m calling the police!” Nate started to push his body backwards through the window.

She turned her head to call after him but didn’t make a move to follow. “He’s been out here three nights in a row Nate. I don’t think he’s going to jump.”

Nate stuck his head back out the window. “Did you say three days?”

“Nights, actually. I’m not here during the day.”

Nate whipped his head in the direction of the lit balcony, agitated by his helplessness. “Well what’s he doing out there? Are you saying you don’t think he means to jump?”

“Seems to be the million-dollar question.”

“And this doesn’t…
bother
you.”

“Look Nate, all I know is, every night he comes out here about the same time and walks the ledge. Sometimes he sits. Sometimes he sticks his arms out like a bird–like that.” She pointed to his current posturing. “Sometimes it looks like he’s reading or maybe writing. Then he goes back inside. The next night? Same thing. At least so far.”

Paige was uncharacteristically calm, considering the circumstances, which concerned Nate almost more than anything else. He looked again to the right, but couldn’t find the window she’d pointed to before. “And the girl?”

“A mystery as well. She sits in her window and watches him. I think she journals a lot. Sometimes there’s a light on in her room, but mostly she’s in shadow. I noticed her first, actually. Kept trying to figure out what she was staring at, sitting so still for so long.”

“Maybe she’s a spy and she doesn’t want him to know she’s watching him.” Nate spoke in an exaggerated whisper, trying to lighten the mood, but Paige was buried in thought again. He watched her pull the blanket more tightly across her shoulders. The irony of her sitting on the fire escape was not lost on him.

She blinked a couple of times. “Maybe she just wants to hide.”

“And you can tell that by her silhouette?”

Paige just shrugged, her eyes focused on something far away. “Maybe she doesn’t know what she wants.”

“Are we still talking about her?”

Paige glared and waved him inside.

After Nate pulled his body back through the open window, she climbed in after him. “And you didn’t feel like calling the police, even the first time you saw him?”

Paige shook her head, shaking out the blanket and refolding it. “Oh, I was shocked initially, just like you. But if you watch him, it’s kind of fascinating, really. I don’t think he’s serious, but I can’t explain why. It’s just a feeling I get.”

Nate couldn’t argue that one. “It’s just…I gotta tell you, it’s a little morbid–you watching him like that. I mean, what if he jumps and you have to watch him die? Or worse–what would it be like reading tomorrow’s headlines and knowing you could have done something?”

Paige became increasingly irritated. “Something about what exactly? A guy who likes to spend time out on his balcony in New York City? What do I know? Maybe he’s a scientist, studying the effects of the wind on wispy thin bodies at high altitudes.”

“A little young to be a scientist, don’t you think?”

She laid the blanket across the back of the couch. “Look, it’s not my problem. And I’m not his mommy.”

Paige disappeared into the bathroom and left Nate standing by the window.

He peeked out through the curtains one more time and sure enough, the boy was still there. “No, you’re not his mommy. But where is she? And why isn’t she the one watching him?”

__________

“My God, Brendan! What
is
that smell?” Ginny wrinkled her nose and swayed a bit, leaning up against the doorframe to steady herself.

“It’s called ‘Boy.’ Abercrombie just came out with it. Do you like it?”

She took short little sniffs, as if she was checking the milk carton for freshness, afraid to suck in a whole nauseating lung-full. “I’m not sure. Smells like a mixture of burnt grass and dirty gym socks to me.”

Brendan dipped his eyebrows up in genuine admiration. “Good guess.”

An abnormally long pause ensued. Brendan watched as she tried desperately to focus on his face. “Is there something I can do for you, mom?”

“I didn’t realize I needed an appointment to talk to my own son.”

“Well, we pretty much exhausted the whole ‘what’s that smell’ conversation so I figured maybe we should move on.”

Her eyes were so glazed that Brendan wondered if she hadn’t gotten a better whiff than he realized, but then she lurched forward unexpectedly and when he caught her arm the air filled with the smell of stale brandy–her crutch of choice.

Brendan’s head tilted as he tried to get a better look at her. “You ok?”

Ginny straightened. “Of course I’m ok.”

He was skeptical, but used to the routine. “If you say so.”

“I came in to tell you I bought you some new t-shirts. I’m getting tired of seeing you in black all the time. It’s starting to feel like a goddamned morgue around here.” Whenever she said “goddamned” her New Jersey accent came out from behind its carefully practiced masque of etiquette. She never seemed to notice and it never failed to amuse him.

“They’re in the living room by the front door.” She stumbled out of the room before he could protest – much less say thank you.

Brendan chuckled softly, shaking his head as he pulled open the dresser drawer and lifted up the socks that covered the ashtray, then pulled out the snuffed joint and lit it again. “A very good guess, actually.”

__________

"Paige? Have you seen my briefcase?" Nate walked out of the bathroom with his jacket slung over one arm, loosening his tie.

"Have you checked the West Wing?"

"Very funny."

She shook her head, smiling. "You set it down by the door when you came in."

"Oh. Right! Thanks." Nate grabbed up the leather satchel and began unloading file folders and a laptop. "We just secured three new clients and all of them are interested in both web development and a marketing package–they want everything we have to offer."

"Wow. That's great!"

"You’re telling me. I’ve had my eye on someone I’d like to hire but I needed to make sure I could pay him first. Now it won’t be a problem."

Her hesitation was slight, but pointed. "You do realize you possess a strange combination of business savvy and compassion that may very well break you some day."

"Well, that’s why I hooked up with a five-star accountant, so she can keep me from hiring all the homeless guys down at Battery Park and going broke in the process." He finished with a gallant sort of smirk.

She smiled indulgently but shook her head. "Laugh now. We’ll see what Peter says next time he cooks your books."

"I know what I’m doing Paige. My company is doing just fine." His voice scraped against the surface of the challenge.

"I know that, I just find it a little scary that we live in a studio apartment and you can still misplace your briefcase."

Paige continued washing dishes at the tiny sink in their kitchen. A light breeze from the open window blew the pale yellow curtains toward the suds and then sucked them back against the screen. The night air beckoned. Still, it felt good to do something brainless after pouring over ledgers all day long. "God forbid we should ever move into a house."

"Mmm. I like the way you think." Nate came up behind her and threaded his arms through hers, pretending to help wash the dishes while kissing the back of her neck. "Want some coffee? I’ll make a pot."

"I thought you had to work?"

"I do. Hence the offer of caffeine–or, whatever else you might have in mind."

His lips brushed against the base of her neck, launching a shiver that landed somewhere south of her belly button. She shook her head clear. “You don’t play fair.”

He breathed in the scent of her hair and slid his hands down the outside of her arms. “I’m not trying to cheat. I just asked if you wanted some coffee.”

Paige smiled and looked back over her shoulder. “I’d better not. I’ve had way too much caffeine today. I’ll be lucky to sleep as it is."

He slipped his soapy hands under her blouse. "I’m pretty sure I could help you with that."

She stepped out from under him, reached for a towel and tossed it playfully at his face.

He tried to look shocked but his eyes were laughing. "What? I was just trying to help."

Her kiss was perfunctory–a mere drive-by. "Why don’t you get your work done first? I’m going to sit outside." She started to climb through the window but stopped short. "We’ll
talk
later."

Nate hung the towel on the peg next to the fridge and proceeded to mash his nose against the windowpane like a third-grader. "You promise?"

Paige rested her forehead against the opposite side of the glass until they were face-to-face, grinning at his schoolboy antics. She could feel the heat from his body through the bottom of the partially open window. His warmth pulled her toward him and the sudden surge of feeling gave her a thrill that bordered on panic. For reasons she could hardly explain, times like this drew her deeper in love with him.

"Nate?" She stared, searching for the words buried in the last two years of rubble. He’d been infinitely tolerant of her sudden mood swings, patiently holding the lamp as she tried to dig her way back to ground zero. "Thanks."

Nate looked from the floor to her face. "Hey–that’s what friends are for, right?"

"Yeah, but I don’t usually kiss my friends like I kiss you."

His eyes were soft but full of life and light, dancing across the surface of the tension. “Thank God!”
She smiled with a tenderness that betrayed her normal shell. It was a small victory, but he decided not to push his luck. He pointed at the glass and smirked playfully. "And don’t forget–we need to talk about the office party."

She immediately rolled her eyes. "You mean the one where the guy who signs my pay checks that I have absolutely no feelings for had to give me a ride home because I drank too much but absolutely nothing happened? Sure, we can talk about that–right after you give me one of your world famous massages."

A muscle twitched in Nate’s jaw as he backed away, shaking his finger at her. He nearly tripped over the coffee table in the process. "You’re good Paige. You’re very good."

She turned and sat with her back against the bricks. Nothing relaxed her more than sitting on the fire escape, listening to the sounds of New York. Being in a city that didn’t sleep had never bothered her. She didn’t sleep much either, and the perpetual lights made the finality of the darkness somewhat easier to bear. Besides, the unspoken presence of her fellow insomniacs was strangely comforting.

The city’s low-level electric hum was an undercurrent to every other sound. Its white noise kept all the other voices at bay. The spring breeze was unseasonably warm and inviting, bringing with it the stench of raw sewage. She shook her head with a smile. The address said uptown, but it still smelled like Queens.

And then there was bird-boy. She found herself thinking about him even when he wasn’t there, like a movie that ends without a decent plot resolution. Sometimes she made up beginnings, middles and endings to his story. She imagined him as a young rock star with more money than sense, or a tortured Emo poet. But mostly just a messed-up kid.