(Warning the story gets a lttle dark and has a sensative topic. I hope I portrayed it well and respectably)
The wind whips my hair into my face. “Ptew, ack.” I pull my hair out of my mouth and walk closer to the statue. Good ol’ Lady Liberty. I wonder if she feels guilty now. For all the people she deceived. Her torch is supposed to be used to light the way for immigrants, not set them on fire. As problematic as she might be, I still enjoy visiting the spot. It’s so interesting to see the history of the statue. The plaques and the symbolism in every little detail. Our forefathers( or forepeople as I like to say) placed their hopes, ideals and dreams for the future in this woman. They chose her to be their shining knight in armour.
As I read the helpful sign with more information I notice something taped to the bottom. When I look closer I realize it’s a small envelope with something inside. I grab the envelope, walk to the side and curiously open it. Inside is a letter.
To whomever,
Have you ever read The Catcher in the Rye? You know Holden? Yeah, well I’m him today. I’m done. I keep wandering around New York City trying to escape, but instead I feel a noose tightening around my neck. And no amount of girls, or sisters, or shows will ever make me feel better. I read the “Hope” is the thing with feathers poem 10 times yesterday, but I felt nothing. I felt no hope, no exultation. I think, no, I know I’m beyond saving.
My mom will be angry soon. She'll realize I threw out my pills this morning. Then she’ll holler, “Goddammit Barry, I told you you can’t pull that kinda stuff anymore. Do you want bad things to happen to ya?” Except today she can’t stare sadly at me, and wish she had an easier child. She can’t because I’ll be gone. I’ll be the thing with feathers flying through the air then plummeting to the ground.
People just don’t realize how hard it is. To keep going like this. To keep dragging myself down to my knees like I’m saying a prayer but really I'm just too tired to stand. To listen to Billie Eilesh in the dark and whisper along till my voice is horse not from singing but from tears. To look my teachers in the face and lie something along the lines of, “I’m fine.”
So today I leave you. On the top of the Empire State building I say goodbye.
Bye,
Barry.
For a few minutes, I just stand there with the note dangling from my hands. Then everything comes rushing at me. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This is a suicide note. Barry is going to commit suicide.
Before I know it I’m running down the stairs towards the elevator. I frantically punch the buttons and jump out as soon as the doors open at the bottom floor. Then I’m racing down the road. My feet are flying and my heart is pounding harder than it ever has before. Harder than when I had my first kiss. Harder than when I got on an airplane for the first time. People yell at me as I shove them out of the way, but I barely register. I only have one thought. Barry. He can’t do this. Not while I’m here, not while I can save him. Somewhere in the back of mind, I know I might be too late. I don’t even know who he is. Nevertheless I sprint down street after street until I make it to the subway station. Once I’m there, reality catches up to me: I don’t have a ticket and I left my card at home. SHIT! I cut to the front of the ticket line.
“Sir, I need a ticket.”
“You have to wait like everyone else.”
“Please, I really need this right now. It’s an emergency!”
“No. Back of the line.”
“Listen-”
“To the back or I’ll call security!!”
I look back at the long line, and start to pace. I make eye contact with a little girl as I walk. We gaze at each other. I’ve never had a religious experience, but at this moment I believe in God. Our minds connect and I know she feels what I feel. I see my anxiety, my fear, and determination mirrored in her wide, green eyes. She tugs her mom’s sleeve and whispers. Her mom confusedly looks at me, then her daughter, then back at me. She gives the girl their ticket. The girl walks towards me and shyly hands me the ticket. I simply hug her and rush down to the station.
I jostle my way onto the train and wait for it to start. As it moves I scan the people around me. A man with a long white beard. A woman with a hijab. A teenager and their service dog. Others. How many of them are truly ok? How many of them will write their own letter and say farewell to the world? How many of them are breaking without making a sound? The train stops and for a second I hesitate. Barry might’ve have changed his mind. Maybe he went home instead? Can I even stop him from doing this? Am I too late? But as I think of his letter, tears well up and those doubts are shoved away. Barry will not die tonight. I’ll make sure of that.
I emerge from the station and make my way towards the building. I survey the lobby. They don’t let people get onto the roof without permission. There is a clump of security guards talking. I overhear their conversation.
“The kid just won’t leave.”
“I tried to get him off but he has a knife.”
“Poor kid. He’s too young for this death stuff.”
Barry. They must be talking about Barry. I purposely stroll over to them. “Are you talking about the kid on the roof?”
“Yeh.”
I let my shoulders slump, make my lips tremble and my eyes droop. The perfect expression of sadness. “He’s, he’s, he’s my best friend and I th- th- think I can help him, but I need to get up there.”
The guards look me over. “He’s your best friend?”
“Yes.”
They look at each other then motion me over to the elevator. I am too apprehensive to feel victorious. I will the elevator to move faster. I say a silent prayer to God or the universe, or whatever. The elevator doors open. I cautiously step outside. There he is. Sitting on the railing near the edge. Barry.
He turns towards us. His eyes show slight annoyance at the men, and narrow in at me. He turns around so he faces the ledge again. I lightly tread near him. His whole body seems tired. From the fray of his shoes and stained sweater. His unkempt hair and hunched back. The pale sheen to his dark skin.
“Barry,” I whispered.
He still looked away but asked, “How do you know my name?”
This is it. My only chance to help him. “I read your letter. The one near Lady Liberty.”
“Oh, yeah.”
We stay there in awkward silence. The wind whips my hair into my face again, but I do not brush it away. I know he won’t speak so I do.
“I have read The Catcher in the Rye actually. I really liked it. Holden amuses me, but I feel so bad for him. He’s obviously depressed but he doesn’t know it-”
“And you would?” he cuts in sharply.
I look down ashamed. Who was I to talk about depression like I knew something about it to someone who wants to leap off a building?
“I guess not.”
He just sighs heavily.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Why not?” he angrily asks. This time shifting his body and facing me. I thought his entire body was worn out and broken but I was wrong. His eyes are alive. They are gray and blue like a sea storm with tempests swirling inside of them. Like a cloudy day with the sky trying to shove its way out. This gives me hope. This gives me hope because I know he’s not dead yet.
“Because you have a life ahead of you. Because you read a Dickinson poem 10 times!”
“She’s a stupid poet who tried to turn sadness into something fake. She tried to convince herself that there’s something keeping her going. Really it was just her own desperation.”
“You don’t believe in hope.”
“Hope exists for those who are wealthy enough to afford it.”
I consider his words for a second. He is kinda right. It’s easier to have hope when things are already going well for you. But he is also wrong. Hope has brought me here and it’s feuling me.
“Hope is the reason I’m here. Hope made me race through New York and down the subway station. Hope is the reason a little girl gave me her ticket. Hope is the reason I’m still talking to you. Hope is the freaking reason why! And I might have not believed before, but I believe now.”
We are both trembling now, and I can see tears threatening to let loose in his eyes.
“What’s your name anyway?” he asks.
“Ann.” I reply, breathing hard.
“Why do you care so much?” His shoulders are shaking now.
“I don’t know!” I scream, “I just don’t want you to die!”
I’m crying now and he starts crying, and that makes me cry even more.
“Please don’t die Barry.”
He looks out at the sky for a moment. It feels like the entire city, the wind, and the world are holding their breath. Then he climbs down from the railing and half hugs, half falls into me. “Yeah, ok,” he rasps, “ok.”
We both weep into the other's arms and hold onto each other for dear life. I can hear one of the guards sniffling in the corner. Once our tears subside, he looks at me and his eyes are more fresh rain than hurricane. I put my arm around him, and we walk toward the elevator, together.
The wind whips my hair into my face. “Ptew, ack.” I pull my hair out of my mouth and walk closer to the statue. Good ol’ Lady Liberty. I wonder if she feels guilty now. For all the people she deceived. Her torch is supposed to be used to light the way for immigrants, not set them on fire. As problematic as she might be, I still enjoy visiting the spot. It’s so interesting to see the history of the statue. The plaques and the symbolism in every little detail. Our forefathers( or forepeople as I like to say) placed their hopes, ideals and dreams for the future in this woman. They chose her to be their shining knight in armour.
As I read the helpful sign with more information I notice something taped to the bottom. When I look closer I realize it’s a small envelope with something inside. I grab the envelope, walk to the side and curiously open it. Inside is a letter.
To whomever,
Have you ever read The Catcher in the Rye? You know Holden? Yeah, well I’m him today. I’m done. I keep wandering around New York City trying to escape, but instead I feel a noose tightening around my neck. And no amount of girls, or sisters, or shows will ever make me feel better. I read the “Hope” is the thing with feathers poem 10 times yesterday, but I felt nothing. I felt no hope, no exultation. I think, no, I know I’m beyond saving.
My mom will be angry soon. She'll realize I threw out my pills this morning. Then she’ll holler, “Goddammit Barry, I told you you can’t pull that kinda stuff anymore. Do you want bad things to happen to ya?” Except today she can’t stare sadly at me, and wish she had an easier child. She can’t because I’ll be gone. I’ll be the thing with feathers flying through the air then plummeting to the ground.
People just don’t realize how hard it is. To keep going like this. To keep dragging myself down to my knees like I’m saying a prayer but really I'm just too tired to stand. To listen to Billie Eilesh in the dark and whisper along till my voice is horse not from singing but from tears. To look my teachers in the face and lie something along the lines of, “I’m fine.”
So today I leave you. On the top of the Empire State building I say goodbye.
Bye,
Barry.
For a few minutes, I just stand there with the note dangling from my hands. Then everything comes rushing at me. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This is a suicide note. Barry is going to commit suicide.
Before I know it I’m running down the stairs towards the elevator. I frantically punch the buttons and jump out as soon as the doors open at the bottom floor. Then I’m racing down the road. My feet are flying and my heart is pounding harder than it ever has before. Harder than when I had my first kiss. Harder than when I got on an airplane for the first time. People yell at me as I shove them out of the way, but I barely register. I only have one thought. Barry. He can’t do this. Not while I’m here, not while I can save him. Somewhere in the back of mind, I know I might be too late. I don’t even know who he is. Nevertheless I sprint down street after street until I make it to the subway station. Once I’m there, reality catches up to me: I don’t have a ticket and I left my card at home. SHIT! I cut to the front of the ticket line.
“Sir, I need a ticket.”
“You have to wait like everyone else.”
“Please, I really need this right now. It’s an emergency!”
“No. Back of the line.”
“Listen-”
“To the back or I’ll call security!!”
I look back at the long line, and start to pace. I make eye contact with a little girl as I walk. We gaze at each other. I’ve never had a religious experience, but at this moment I believe in God. Our minds connect and I know she feels what I feel. I see my anxiety, my fear, and determination mirrored in her wide, green eyes. She tugs her mom’s sleeve and whispers. Her mom confusedly looks at me, then her daughter, then back at me. She gives the girl their ticket. The girl walks towards me and shyly hands me the ticket. I simply hug her and rush down to the station.
I jostle my way onto the train and wait for it to start. As it moves I scan the people around me. A man with a long white beard. A woman with a hijab. A teenager and their service dog. Others. How many of them are truly ok? How many of them will write their own letter and say farewell to the world? How many of them are breaking without making a sound? The train stops and for a second I hesitate. Barry might’ve have changed his mind. Maybe he went home instead? Can I even stop him from doing this? Am I too late? But as I think of his letter, tears well up and those doubts are shoved away. Barry will not die tonight. I’ll make sure of that.
I emerge from the station and make my way towards the building. I survey the lobby. They don’t let people get onto the roof without permission. There is a clump of security guards talking. I overhear their conversation.
“The kid just won’t leave.”
“I tried to get him off but he has a knife.”
“Poor kid. He’s too young for this death stuff.”
Barry. They must be talking about Barry. I purposely stroll over to them. “Are you talking about the kid on the roof?”
“Yeh.”
I let my shoulders slump, make my lips tremble and my eyes droop. The perfect expression of sadness. “He’s, he’s, he’s my best friend and I th- th- think I can help him, but I need to get up there.”
The guards look me over. “He’s your best friend?”
“Yes.”
They look at each other then motion me over to the elevator. I am too apprehensive to feel victorious. I will the elevator to move faster. I say a silent prayer to God or the universe, or whatever. The elevator doors open. I cautiously step outside. There he is. Sitting on the railing near the edge. Barry.
He turns towards us. His eyes show slight annoyance at the men, and narrow in at me. He turns around so he faces the ledge again. I lightly tread near him. His whole body seems tired. From the fray of his shoes and stained sweater. His unkempt hair and hunched back. The pale sheen to his dark skin.
“Barry,” I whispered.
He still looked away but asked, “How do you know my name?”
This is it. My only chance to help him. “I read your letter. The one near Lady Liberty.”
“Oh, yeah.”
We stay there in awkward silence. The wind whips my hair into my face again, but I do not brush it away. I know he won’t speak so I do.
“I have read The Catcher in the Rye actually. I really liked it. Holden amuses me, but I feel so bad for him. He’s obviously depressed but he doesn’t know it-”
“And you would?” he cuts in sharply.
I look down ashamed. Who was I to talk about depression like I knew something about it to someone who wants to leap off a building?
“I guess not.”
He just sighs heavily.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Why not?” he angrily asks. This time shifting his body and facing me. I thought his entire body was worn out and broken but I was wrong. His eyes are alive. They are gray and blue like a sea storm with tempests swirling inside of them. Like a cloudy day with the sky trying to shove its way out. This gives me hope. This gives me hope because I know he’s not dead yet.
“Because you have a life ahead of you. Because you read a Dickinson poem 10 times!”
“She’s a stupid poet who tried to turn sadness into something fake. She tried to convince herself that there’s something keeping her going. Really it was just her own desperation.”
“You don’t believe in hope.”
“Hope exists for those who are wealthy enough to afford it.”
I consider his words for a second. He is kinda right. It’s easier to have hope when things are already going well for you. But he is also wrong. Hope has brought me here and it’s feuling me.
“Hope is the reason I’m here. Hope made me race through New York and down the subway station. Hope is the reason a little girl gave me her ticket. Hope is the reason I’m still talking to you. Hope is the freaking reason why! And I might have not believed before, but I believe now.”
We are both trembling now, and I can see tears threatening to let loose in his eyes.
“What’s your name anyway?” he asks.
“Ann.” I reply, breathing hard.
“Why do you care so much?” His shoulders are shaking now.
“I don’t know!” I scream, “I just don’t want you to die!”
I’m crying now and he starts crying, and that makes me cry even more.
“Please don’t die Barry.”
He looks out at the sky for a moment. It feels like the entire city, the wind, and the world are holding their breath. Then he climbs down from the railing and half hugs, half falls into me. “Yeah, ok,” he rasps, “ok.”
We both weep into the other's arms and hold onto each other for dear life. I can hear one of the guards sniffling in the corner. Once our tears subside, he looks at me and his eyes are more fresh rain than hurricane. I put my arm around him, and we walk toward the elevator, together.
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