Zero

Zero

By

Jonathan Yanez

Text copyright © 2013 Archimedes Books

Just one step and it would all be over
. Alan
teetered on the ledge of the fifty-story building. The cold wind whipped around
him at dangerous speeds flirting with his tuxedo jacket and short blond hair.

Well, you came here to do it. You
came all this way.

Alan looked at the streetlights stretching
out in every direction, at the trim landscape so far below him. He swayed as
the power of the wind tried to pull him over the ledge prematurely. Alan winced
as the cold breeze forced itself against his face.

An ache reminded Alan of his black eye
as he squinted. Reaching a hand to his face, Alan felt the swollen area around
his right eye socket.

That’s going to leave a mark. It’s
going to have to be a closed-casket funeral… What are you talking about? Nobody
is going to come to your funeral anyway.

Alan bit his lip at the harsh but true
thought, immediately regretting his decision. Pain and fresh blood gushed from
his recently spilt lip. Alan grunted to the lonely night as the pain subsided.

The air was cold and dark.
Fitting,
Alan thought,
for this night to be my last
. The night he died would be
just like the life he lived. He hadn’t asked to be born, but he was. He hadn’t
wanted to be depressed and angry all the time but he was. It seemed like he
didn’t have too many choices in this world except for this one. He did have the
choice to end his own life.

One step, just one jump and it can
all be over. No more pills, no more being alone, no more looks of disgust
directed your way from kids at school or the adults you know. One step, Alan,
come on you can do this.

Alan swayed once again in the wind.
Goosebumps prickled at his hands and neck. A shiver ran down his spine. For all
the many reasons Alan wanted to jump there was only one holding him back. It
was giving in to defeat. More than anything Alan hated to lose. If he did jump
he knew he would be giving up, on—everything.

You tried; you tried it all. This
isn’t giving up. This is your last unexplored option. You did everything you
could, especially today and you still ended up looking like a loser. You still
ended up alone.

Alan looked down at his fancy clothes.
The tuxedo, the boutonnière, the clothes all the cool guys wore in the movies-the
clothes that were supposed to make him feel better about himself. They hadn’t.

For a moment Alan wondered how pissed
the tuxedo rental store would be that he had died and ruined one of their
suits. Then he wondered if they could, would they salvage the suit and re-rent
it?

Alan shook his head as he inched
closer to the edge of the building. Looking down made his head swim. The ground
below him zoomed in and out like a high-powered camera lens trying to focus.

It’s not giving up. How can it be
after today? You tried everything. You’ll always be a loser; you’ll always be
angry and depressed. This has to be the way… doesn’t it?

As Alan once again debated whether he
should take his own life or not, the wind made the final decision for him. A
violent gust came up behind him and before Alan could step back or try to
regain his balance, he was pushed over the edge. Buildings all around him
rushed by as Alan headed face first to the unforgiving cement floor below.

It was then that Alan knew he wanted
to live. It was too late now but he knew that this was giving up. This was the
easy way out. In that moment as the earth rushed to meet him, he knew he wanted
to see the next day. A burning desire heated him from the inside out, a desire
that told him to survive.

The ground came closer and closer,
only seconds away from embracing him. Alan’s life didn’t rush before his eyes
in his final moments like everyone says it does. Instead, the events from that specific
day did.

“Alan, you’re going to miss the bus.
Hurry up, you can’t afford to be late again.”

Alan ran down the creaking stairs
grabbing his worn backpack in one hand and trying to wrestle his shoulder-length
hair into place with his other. Tony waited for him by the open door with that
same look on his face. It was a look Alan hated with every fiber in his being.
It was a look that said, “I’m sorry, you are like this. I wish you could be
better.”

Alan flashed a practice grin to Tony.
A grin that was empty on Alan’s part but seemed to satisfy most anyone else,
“Thanks, sorry.”

Tony just wore that same look on his
face as he nodded, “Up late again last night reading? Those fantasy books
again?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I know.” Alan rushed
past Tony and out into the front yard. The house he lived in with Tony and the
two other boys wasn’t the worse to which Alan had been assigned. He didn’t want
to cause waves now, or do something that might get him kicked out. Running
across the lawn towards the waiting bus, Alan turned around, “I’m sorry, Tony.
I really am. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Tony just stood there with that same
look. An awkward moment passed as Alan thought Tony might say something. Maybe
give him some reassurance, or tell him that it was okay. He didn’t. Instead
Tony turned his back and walked into the house, letting the tired screen door
close behind him.

The bus had been rough at first. High
school politics were just as brutal as any grasp for power on Capitol Hill.
Alan used to have to find a spot next to someone that usually gave him a dirty
look or told him that the seat was taken. Now Alan went straight to the back of
the bus where everyone left a seat open so they wouldn’t have to sit next to
him.

Eyes directed to the floor now, Alan
made his way to the rear of the bus. With any luck he could avoid eye contact
with the already sitting passengers he knew were looking him up and down with
disgust.

Studying the black bus’ floorboards
Alan walked to the back. A snicker met his ears, “Well, the freak decided to
show up for the ride. What were you up late doing last night, weirdo? Playing
World of Warcraft on your Xbox?”

Alan’s mouth opened before he could
stop himself, “They don’t make World of Warcraft for Xbox, it’s a PC only game.
And no, I was reading.” Alan looked up shocked at his own words. Brent Carson
was your typical jock; the letterman jacket, the offensive line position for
the school football team and boyfriend to the prettiest girl in school,
Jennifer Richardson.

Brent’s face looked just as surprised
as Alan’s at his response. “Whatever, nerd. Get to your seat in the back of the
bus before you have an accident.” With a disgusted look he turned to Jennifer,
“Don’t worry I’ll have my license in a few weeks and then we can skip this
whole bus thing. We can leave the minions to their public ways of travel.”

Jennifer nodded not saying a word;
instead she gave Alan a look like Tony had. A look that said she was sorry; not
for her boyfriend’s actions but that she was sorry Alan was such a loser. It
was a look that made Alan’s stomach turn.

Alan made it the rest of the way to
the rear of the bus without incident, passing cliques of hipsters, jocks, and
goths. Slumping into the familiar black seat Alan let out a sigh. He was facing
another day; another day of being alone, of school, of avoiding eye contact.
Depression sank deeper, soaking in like a thirsty sponge consuming water. Alan
looked out the window at the passing homes.

“Alan, how is the medication working?”

Alan was sitting in Dr. Larson’s
office in a dark leather brown chair. His hands were in his lap and he was
looking around the room in awe. Although he had visited his psychiatrist’s
office for months now, Alan still got a sense of joy and wonder when surrounded
by so many books. Each wall was lined with shelves making the doctor’s office
look more like a library than an office.

“Alan?”

“Oh, sorry. The meds aren’t working. I
don’t feel any better.”

“Still depressed?”

Alan let out a sigh, “Yeah, depressed
and angry now too.”

The doctor cocked her head to the
side, “Angry? What’s making you angry, Alan?”

“Life. That I can’t kick this feeling
of depression. That it will never go away. I hate not being able to do anything
to feel better.”

The doctor nodded scribbling notes on
a pad she held just close enough to keep Alan from seeing what she was writing.
“These feelings of depression, are they rooted anywhere specifically?”

“Everywhere. The only time I feel like
I can get away is when I lose myself in a book.”

The doctor grinned, “Which book are
you reading now?”

Alan leaned down to reach into his
worn backpack lying by his feet. He pulled out a red covered paperback and
handed it to the doctor.

She took the book and flipped through
a few pages. “I should have guessed, another book about ancient Greece, gods
and mortals, Spartans and legendary creatures.”

Alan nodded with a smile. Even the
mention of those words brought images to his mind that allowed him to forget
his own reality for a few seconds and escape into a world he knew well.

“Alan,” the doctor handed the book
back to him. “There isn’t anything wrong with having a healthy appetite for
fantastical books, especially at your age. But you have to try and balance that
out with living your life in the present. Living here and now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you need to take steps to
better yourself everyday. I know it’s hard but start small and I promise that
getting outside of your shell will be easier and easier. Start by talking to
someone you don’t know at school. Maybe just saying a hello.”

Alan didn’t say anything out loud but
inside he was thinking,
Yeah, okay, that’s going to happen. I’m depressed
enough, even having suicidal thoughts without being blown off by someone I
actually try and talk to.

“Isn’t there a dance tonight?”

Alan looked at the doctor like she had
recently escaped a mental institute and he had just found her eating grass in a
field. “Yeah, there is a dance but I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding me? There isn’t
enough time in our hour session for me to explain to you the reasons why not.”

“Try me. And stop looking at me like
I’m an alien.”

Despite himself Alan had to grin at
her response. “Well, I don’t have a date. I don’t have clothes. I don’t have a
way to get there and I have no desire to be there. And even if I was there, I
would be alone anyway, so what’s the point?”

Dr. Larson nodded, her glasses
reflecting off of the sun from the open window. “There will always be excuses,
Alan. There will always be reasons it would be easier to not try at all. I’m
sure you’ve read about plenty of heroes that would have had a much easier life
if they made excuses and took the easier route. I would consider the idea that
it is better to try and fail, than to not try at all.”

Alan bit back a sarcastic comment but
he knew she was right.

“Alan, you said you were frustrated
about not being able to do anything about your depression, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, here is something you can
actively do. Try it. For one day, one day, Alan get outside of your comfort
zone and you may be surprised at what happens next.”

Alan was about to open his mouth to
tell her again the reasons he couldn’t do that when a knock on the door
interrupted their meeting.

“Come in,” Dr. Larson said glancing at
the watch that hung off of her slender wrist.

The door cracked open just an inch and
the elderly female secretary’s voice could be heard from the other side. “Oh, I’m
sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but your next appointment is here.”

“Thank you. We are just finishing up.”

The door closed in response. Dr.
Larson stood up handing Alan back his book. Alan had to stop himself from
looking the Doctor up and down.

Eye contact, keep eye contact.

Dr. Lisa Larson was a recent college
graduate and couldn’t be more than five or six years Alan’s senior. She was
tall and slender with a slight muscular touch that hinted at a few trips to the
gym every week.

“I know you, Alan. You won’t give up.
Have faith that with more effort and time we’ll figure this out. And think
about what I said; get out of your shell for one day. I’ll also look into
another prescription for you. Stay positive, Alan.”

Alan slung his backpack over his
shoulder. He nodded at the Doctor’s comment as he exited her office. It was an
interesting idea, Alan had to admit. It seemed he had tried everything over the
last few years, but he hadn’t gone so far out on a limb to attend a school
dance on his own. Maybe Dr. Larson was right. Maybe this is what he needed.

The school halls were jammed full as
Alan made his way to his last period class: history. Kids, freshman through
senior, ran or walked along the halls all with their cliques. Individual groups
of friends wadded upstream through the constant flow of human traffic. As usual,
Alan did his best to avoid eye contact with anyone and made a beeline for the
history classroom.

He was staring along a wall to avoid a
group of cheerleaders when his eye caught sight of a large yellow sign that
read:
School Dance Tonight!
Alan’s eyes skimmed over the rest of the
information as a plan started to form in his mind.

No, that would be crazy. Even if
you did go you would be no better off than you are right now. You would be
trying to avoid people the whole night. You might as well be invisible.

“You’re not thinking of going to the
dance tonight are you?”

Alan felt his body clench as he
recognized Brent’s voice. He forced himself to turn. The jock was there with a
smirk on his face. One arm slung over Jennifer’s shoulder he chuckled.

“I—well I was thinking—“

“Better not to think, dude. You might
end up getting hurt.”

Alan felt blood rush to his face as
students began to notice the conversation between the two. Eager eyes soon
began to stop, waiting to see if there would be a physical confrontation.

Alan looked down at the floor remaining
quiet.

“Leave him alone, Brent,” Jennifer
said. “If he wants to go he can go. Come on, we’re going to be late for class.”

Alan still didn’t look up.

“Yeah okay,” Brent said as he turned
his attention away from Alan. “I was just trying to give the loser some advice.
Let’s face it he needs all the help he can get.”

A sigh escaped from the crowd that had
begun to gather. All anticipation for a fight was lost. Now with their hopes
crushed, they broke into their groups heading to their next classes.

High school could be just as brutal as
the Coliseum. Anger warmed Alan’s chest, anger not at Brent or the other
bullies that made him feel like nothing everyday, but anger at being weak and
helpless.