Letters From The Ledge (2 page)

The way he massaged the ledge seemed to convey more angst than death wish. Back and forth he went, carefully putting one foot in front of the other, looking more like a circus performer than a boy on a wide brick balcony. Then again, maybe he just wanted to fly away. Sometimes he would sit, then lay down on the ledge, his arm dangling haphazardly over the side, so still he might as well be dead already. Lack of movement will do that for you, she realized with some gravity–make you feel like you’re as good as dead.

Somehow she understood him without knowing him. If life was a circus then she’d spent the last two years on the high wire, walking the line between reality and insanity. This was all very normal, she’d been told. But none of the words meant anything when the thick black water rushed in over her head and the drowning began. Sometimes she thought about just taking that last big breath of thick, muddy water and letting it all end, but her end would be in a different, much scarier place than the morgue.

In general, there was no excuse for voyeurism, but she watched people all the same. It was her way–a habit born of shyness, fueled by betrayal, and necessitated by life in a city like New York. Some people watched soap operas, she just watched people. It was pure escape, like losing yourself in the characters in a book and wondering what makes them tick even after you put it down for the night. That’s what the boy on the ledge had become for her–a story other than her own to concentrate on.

After a minute or two, she pulled her blouse the rest of the way out of her pants, finishing the job Nate had started. When she stole a glance back through the window, he was lying casually on their Murphy bed in a t-shirt and boxers, going over some papers. He spied her watching and patted the spot next to him without looking up. That goofy smile of his was already becoming her undoing. The trembling that seemed to start somewhere deep within was only ever quiet in his arms.

She ducked back through the window, inhaling one last breath before closing it the rest of the way. Suddenly Nate was behind her again. His thin t-shirt would have been a scant barrier had he not removed it in his travels between the bed and the window. He grabbed the hem of her blouse and began lifting it over her head as she shut the curtains.

"I knew you’d come around," he whispered into her hair.

She turned into his kiss. "Thanks for waiting."

"Any time."

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

I hope I’m not the first one to tell you this."

- Life as a House

Sarah took a deep breath and thought about fish. It was the only thing that worked. If she closed her eyes she could almost smell the cannery instead of the sewers. Some people might argue they were equally bad, but to Sarah the smell of fish brought peace and tranquility unlike anything else the city had to offer.

“Hey! Sarah–wait up!”

She turned quickly. Jillian was sitting on the wall outside the school. Apparently she’d blown right by her. Jillian’s jet-black hair was perfectly styled and unmoving, despite the breeze.

“What’s up?” Sarah kept walking, causing Jillian to scramble for her books and catch up.

Jillian looked miffed. “I have to have a reason to walk with you?”

“No. I’m just in a hurry.”

“Where’s the fire?”

Sarah shrugged. “No fire. I just have a bunch of stuff to do.”

“You always have a bunch of stuff to do, but you never actually
do
anything.”

It was true, but Sarah didn’t need Jillian to tell her that. She was just anxious to get home.

“Let’s do homework together tonight.” Jillian suggested. “Maybe I could come over after dinner?”

Sarah smiled, thankful for Jillian’s friendship, which often pulled her head out of the sand long enough to take a few necessary breaths. “Ok. Sure. Sounds good.”

Jillian’s eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know. You just seem kind of pre-occupied lately.”

“Just looking forward to summer I guess.”

“Sarah? It’s only April sweetie.”

“I know.”

Jillian opened her mouth to say something else but her phone went off and she unfolded the screen, firing back a text in a blur of finger movements. She flipped it closed just as quickly, only to find Sarah staring at her. “Fastest fingers on the east coast!” she winked. “I gotta go. I’ll be over around seven. Maybe seven thirty.”

Jillian blew away just as quickly as she had appeared. A cold wind followed and Sarah popped her collar up, waving as she rounded the corner, but the toe of her shoe hit something solid and she stumbled, spewing books in every direction.

When she looked back a guy about her age was sitting on the ground looking up at her through glassy eyes. He seemed generally amused by the physical comedy of it all. His smile caught her slightly off guard. Nice teeth. Must have cost a pretty penny.

The rest of the picture was incongruent as well. Printed olive drab t-shirt over a long-sleeved thermal, Tommy jeans and a pair of beat-up, orange Converse All-Stars with rips up and down the sides. His dark mass of curls was a mess and he was obviously stoned, partially propped up against the wall with his legs sprawled out on the sidewalk like some vagrant. The brown sack beside him could have held any number of things and she wasn’t about to start guessing.

As she stooped to pick up her books he didn’t move a muscle. He just kept staring at her and trying not to laugh. Her anger sparked and suddenly she didn’t care if he had a knife or a gun or a pound of heroin in that bag.

“You think it’s funny? What, you just lay here and wait for people to trip over you so you can laugh at them? Nice manners, bozo.”

His smile faded. “What did you just call me?”

Her heart started to beat against her chest.

“Bozo, was it?”

She was silent, unwilling to make a scene. There were still a lot of people around, so she felt relatively safe, but he straightened, then stood up. He had her by at least six inches. Her feet froze to the concrete.

“Like the clown, right?”

She nodded and he stuck out his hand and flashed a smile. “Then Bozo it is. Nice to meet you…”

He was obviously waiting for her name in return. When he started to sway she caught his hand reflexively to steady him. Why she had even touched him she had no clue. “It’s Sarah. And there’s a coffee shop right over there. You might want to grab a cup before you go home.”

She let go of his hand and walked away. He was talking to himself as she left, chuckling out loud. “Coffee shop…Ha…”

She clutched her books tightly to her chest as she walked, astounded that she had even talked to someone like him. At least he was a jolly drunk. Stoner. Whatever he was. Around the next block she ducked into a Starbucks, ordered a shot in the dark and sat down. She had just started going over her notes when stoner-boy walked in and plopped down next to her.

“Are you
following
me?”

“You told me to get a cup of coffee. So I am.”

The pounding started in her chest again. It was all she could do to keep her breathing at an even pace. He watched her with that same amused sort of disinterest.

“So, what’d you get on the exam last week?”

She whipped her head around. “What? What did you just say?”

He stood up and started for the order line. “The test in AP Bio. What’d you get?”

Her mind was racing and sweat started trickling down the middle of her back. She had to get out of there. What kind of a psycho stalker–

He was standing in the line with his back to her, then turned around and let his blue eyes pierce hers, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I sit three rows behind you.”

All the breath came out of her lungs at once. She swallowed hard and he turned back around. She tried to force herself to relax and steady her breathing. Her mind searched the AP Bio seating chart, but it was no use. She spent most of her school day in a daze. She wouldn’t have recognized anyone in that class except maybe her lab partner and a few of the other kids who sat around her.

He came back with a drip coffee, black, and sat down next to her again. Her arm moved away from him almost instinctively. His eyebrows twitched slightly, but somehow his eyes looked clearer than they had before. “Are you always this jumpy?” Again with the infuriating amusement at her obvious discomfort.

“Only around crazy people. Are you always stoned?”

He smiled, softer this time. “Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He was gauging her reaction. Willing her to look him in the eye. He was being almost…charming.

She was still flustered, confused by his opposing personalities. “Tell me again why you’re bothering me?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to think I go by Bozo. And I wanted to apologize. For putting my legs in the path of your escape.”

“Escape? What are you talking about?”

He dropped his head and stared into his cup for a minute, then lifted it back up and held out his hand. “I’m Brendan, by the way.”

“Sarah.”

“Yeah. I got that part already.”

He leaned closer and her heart sped up. His voice was lower and she was forced to lean his direction to hear what he had to say. “Listen you may not know this, but you were followed here.”

Underneath the lingering smell of pot stuck to his clothing he actually smelled nice, like a combination of soap and shampoo and shaving cream, but how he shaved around those piercings at his lip line was a mystery. Her heart wouldn’t stop thundering in her ears long enough to register what he was actually saying.

“Uh, no–I’m pretty sure I get that. I mean, you’re sitting right next to me.”

His eyes were serious. “Not by me.”

“Listen, I don’t need your help to get freaked out by this city, so just stop it, ok? Besides, why would anyone follow me? I don’t even know anyone.”

“Exactly. But don’t worry. He didn’t come in.”

“He?” She looked down at Brendan’s hand gripped around his cup and instead saw the hairy man-hand from her childhood. She gasped audibly.

“Oh, that?” He lifted the sleeve of his thermal just slightly above the scar that was showing to reveal it more fully. “Sorry. Does that freak you out?”

“No. It wasn’t that. But what is that from?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Anyway, when you walked away all hunched over your books like that, there was this guy–you walked right by him. You didn’t see him but he sure saw you. He got up and started following you. So I followed him.”

“Why would you do that?”

He thought about that for a minute. “Because I wouldn’t want my being in your way to have resulted in something bad happening. And besides, you were in your own little world. You were worse than stoned–you were oblivious. And oblivious will get you hurt.”

“I don’t know whether to be mad or grateful or if I should even believe you.” She sat back, exasperated and looked out toward the window. “So where is he now?”

“I don’t know. When you came in here he kept walking.”

“So how do you know he was following
me
? He could have just been walking the same direction for a while. And how do I know you’re not just totally making this up to hit on me?”

“Well, first of all, you’re just going to have to trust me. And second…you’re just going to have to trust me.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Why should I trust a total stranger?”

“I’m not a
total
stranger. We have a class together, remember?”

He was smiling again, and it was hard to resist feeling comfortable around him. She lightened visibly, unable to keep a straight face. “Or so you say.”

He sat back, tapping his fingers on his cup. “The thing is, this is New York, and like it or not, the weak ones get picked off. You can’t look scared and expect to survive.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Well what if I
am
scared?”

His hesitation stopped her short. She realized what she’d revealed and wished she could pull the words back into her mouth, but there they were, hanging in the air between them, ready to vanish as soon as the next sentence pushed them out of the way.

“Then I would have to say you’re not alone.” His eyebrows twitched and he swallowed funny. “But you still can’t let it show.”

“Where I come from that’s considered being two-faced. Not exactly the best plan if you want to make friends.”

“Yeah, well–not everybody’s looking for new friends.” Brendan sat back against the chair.

“Seventy-nine.”

“What?”

She closed her book and set it on the table in front of her. “On the test. I got a seventy-nine. I’m barely passing that class.”

He took a long sip of coffee and smiled. “Well, you sure look studious.”

“How about you?”

“I’m passing.”

“No dice, Bozo. What’d you get on the test?”

“Ninety-seven.”

Her eyes registered the shock. “Shut up!” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged like a little boy wearing a silly smirk. God he was cute. She swallowed again and took a sip of her coffee. “Geez. That makes me feel just great! Maybe
I
should try getting stoned more often.”

“More often than what? Never? Don’t be ridiculous. And you don’t have to impress me.”

“In what universe is getting stoned an impressive quality?”

He looked hurt by that comment and again she found herself wishing she could erase the words from the atmosphere. “I gotta go, but uh…if you need help, let me know.” He stood and started for the door.

She shook her head. She’d done it again–let her mouth speak before her mind could consider the impact. It was ending badly–again–but she didn’t know how to make it right.

“Nice shirt.”

He pulled the bottom out away from his stomach to look at it, as if he had to remind himself which one he put on. “You like eagles?”

“I’ve never met one, but I like what they stand for.”

“America?”

She shook her head. “Freedom.”

His eyes locked on hers for a brief moment and then he was gone. She sat for a while, wondering if what he’d said was true, dreading the walk home. There was one good thing about New York, though. If you traveled by day the streets were almost always crowded and that meant plenty of witnesses. She ducked out of the coffee shop and practically ran home.

__________

“So tell me, what’s so special about this summer?” Jillian was lying across Sarah’s bed with her head and arms hung over the edge, limp like a rag doll. She’d finished her homework and was bored, waiting for Sarah to finish an essay.

“I’m spending it with my aunt and my grandparents, up in Brigus.”

“Is that anywhere near Brigadoon?” Jillian laughed an incredulous sort of laugh, as if nothing Sarah ever said was real.

“Very funny. It’s a little town on the coast in Newfoundland.”

“Newfoundland?” Jillian’s head shot up. “Like the big hairy dog?”

“It’s in Canada, and actually my aunt owns one of those dogs. His name is Joe. She got him after my uncle died. Said they were both sort of big and hairy and drooled a lot so it was kind of like having him around still.”

Jillian giggled. “Don’t tell me, your uncle’s name was Joe.”

“Actually yes. Pretty lame, huh?”

Jillian looked back down at the floor and started pulling her fingers through her hair to see if it would touch the ground. “I think it’s cute–like she’s still protected and everything. I can’t imagine living alone.”

Sarah thought of Brendan’s smile and she felt a little spray of warmth at the way he’d protected her for no reason.

Jillian’s head turned to the side and she was looking at Sarah through a massive black curtain. Her almond shaped eyes looked very strange from the side like that.

“What are you all smiley about?”

Sarah started folding some stray pieces of clothing. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how cute it is too.” She lied.

Jillian narrowed her eyes. “Hmph.”

“They were very much in love, you know.”

“How did he die?”

“Whaling accident.”

“Now
there’s
something you don’t hear every day.” Jillian rolled onto her back and looked up at Sarah. “What exactly is a whaling accident?”

She realized how weird that must sound to someone who’d grown up surrounded by concrete and steel. “He worked on a whaling ship. You know, out on the ocean? Got caught in the line and drowned in the sea.”