The Kite

The New York City skyline was beautiful, especially at dusk, and even Andrew could admit that. It wasn’t often that he could actually see the sky or the sunset. Most of the time his view was cluttered with buildings and other people. Tall, cold buildings and other people who looked very much like him. There was no comfort in his conformity.

Now his elevation allowed him the beautiful view. It looked unreal, as if someone had fixed a tourist postcard over his eyes. Somewhere in his confusion he knew that many people, all over the world, would give quite a lot to look at the view that he was now trying to ignore. To Andrew, it was a last look more than anything inspirational or breathtaking.

He wondered why there was always wind when one was this high off the ground. Why did kites pull harder as more string separated them from the person on the other end?

           

Andrew looked down. Quite a few people had stopped on the street. More than likely they had seen the cop cars and officers looking up and found it impossible to quell the curiosity that forced them to break their focus from their own subtle misery. 

It had been fairly difficult to find his way out onto this ledge. Andrew wondered, with the trend of happiness and positivity that he had noted in the general attitude of society of late, why it was still necessary to make it so hard to obtain his current position?

He had gained access to this ledge from the roof, but he had needed a key and a whole slew of excuses to do that. Why was it so difficult to see this view without it being obstructed by a guardrail or double pane security glass or, god forbid, chain link fence? If everyone was so happy and positive, why all the security? There would be no danger against someone with intentions that matched or exceeded Andrew’s, right?

Gone were the days of the rebel, of Kurt Cobain, of the McDonalds ‘Bucket of Fries’ and whiskey chugged from the bottle, the fuck-it-because-everything-is-stupid attitude that had seemed so prevalent during Andrew’s youth. Expanded consciousness, understanding, veggie wraps, slowly sipped mixed drinks and excitement over mundanity had long replaced these things.

Were accidents really so common as to necessitate this much caution? Were people, even happy people, really still so stupid that they would fall off an eighty plus story building if given the chance? Or were they lying? Andrew had been standing here for ten minutes and he had not wavered even a moment. He would not fall until he was ready.

“Hey there, chief,” a voice to Andrew’s right broke his stream of depressed bullshit thought.

Andrew turned his head, “Hey yourself. Is that really how they teach you to start this conversation?”

There was a moment of hesitation, “Um, no, I’d kind of hoped it’d be easier than you’re already making it to convince you to come back inside with me. I’ve, um, never done this before and it’s my kid’s birthday. So, what do you say, come on in?”

Andrew stared in amazement for a moment. Wasn’t this just his luck? “How old is your kid?” He asked with genuine interest.

“Holy shit, it’s fucking windy up here,” the officer leaned forward a bit and looked down before rejoining the course of conversation, “Sorry, six. He’s six. And his birthday party started forty minutes ago.”

“Oh, man, that’s tough,” Andrew shucked, “do you want to talk about it, officer…?”

The cop looked nervous at Andrew’s sarcasm, “Timms. Officer Andrew Timms.  And they just sent me out here to establish contact and until the real guy gets here. He’s stuck in traffic. We don’t get that many jumpers in this part of town anymore.”

Andrew looked at Timms.

Timms shrugged, “It’s mostly just the bridge now. People with a little less folding money. Not so much guys like you, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Guys like me?” Andrew asked as he stroked his shaved chin, “Well, Officer Timms, my name’s Andrew too. So I guess that, in a way, you’re only one degree of separation from the derelicts that you’re talking about over there on the bridge.”

Timms seemed at a loss. After a long, silent moment of neckties fluttering in the mysterious wind like the tails of ill-designed kites, he found some words that were appropriate for the ledge, “So, why are you out here, Andrew? I mean, the market crash was, like, eighty years ago.”

Andrew smiled at Timms’ casual approach and indulged him, “Well, officer, I suppose I’m out here because I fucked up, and I’m not right for the times anymore.”

“How do you mean?”

“I feel very self aware, Timms. I know that I’m not doing things right, and, in fact, I’ve bumbled my hand to the point of not having anything left to bet,” it was a fairly poor metaphor, so Andrew regrouped,  “At one point, I had a lot to offer, you know? Talent, drive, excitement. But it feels like I’ve slowly let all that slip away and now there is no more opportunity for big money or fabulous prizes. If I want to play the game now, I have to start over. Sure, I’m a little bit wiser for the experience, but I don’t have the power that I started off with. If I was to keep trying now, I’d have to be happy with merely dealing with consequences for the first few rounds. Building back the to a point where I naturally was not so long ago. And it would take work to even get back there. That just doesn’t seem very appealing to me.”

Timms sat for a moment, thinking about his son, “Um,” he started, unsteady, “That’s life, Andrew. We build up, we fuck up, we rebuild. All but a select few. You’re not the only person who’s ever fucked up. And you’re not the only person that’s ever felt unsatisfied. So, why don’t you quit the crybaby shit and the moping around and just get on with what you have to do, you know? Quit thinking about how hard it is and just do it.”

“Because,” Andrew smiled, “There isn’t any sympathy for the old, selfish bastard anymore. Everyone’s so concerned with projecting this air of positivity that if you can’t force yourself to do it, you can’t even have a spot in the conversation.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Timms was starting to feel cold, “most people are great, if you give them a chance. They’ll understand, they’ll come back, they’ll forgive if they really are as okay as they want to say they are…”

“Bottom line, Timms,” Andrew could feel his frustration starting to build, “the best one can hope for is to be ignored. Will people that I’ve argued with pick up the phone when I call? They haven’t yet. Will they accept my ‘re-friend-request’ online after they’ve de-friended me? I doubt it. Will YOU not arrest me if I come off this ledge right now?”

Timms was out.

“That’s what I thought,” Andrew all but yelled, “No, Timms, I’m sorry. But I still think that I’m too fucking angry for any of that. And I’m not getting any better. Not really. And change is too big to worry about at this stage. At one point I might have had something to offer, some grand gesture that would have let my heart sing. Something quotable or beautiful. Something that everyone could be happy about and get behind. But not anymore.  Now I’m just looking up at the forced smiles that I used to think were repulsive, wishing that I had the strength to even do that. Sorry Timms, but a flash in the pan of greatness may have been all I was capable of, because trying for any length of time is too much. I’d rather be brave enough to jump once than strong enough to get out of bed every day for another fifty years.”

And with that, Andrew jumped.

In a final act of misguided beauty, he decided to do a double flip into a swan dive on his way down. It was something for Timms to tell his boy about, when he got a little older.

For those last few moments, free in the air and experiencing something he never had, Andrew was happy and excited. He kind of wished there were more moments like this in his future; but, because of his final quick and careless final decision, there was not.

-SB

7-15-2014