I scoff because I wish that Pete’s problems had been that simple, not that drinking and drugs are simple, but simpler than the problems he was going through. “Unfortunately, no he wasn’t that lucky. His parents were emotionally abusive; one was an alcoholic and the other one was cheating. They were starting the proceedings of a divorce and my friend, Pete, didn’t handle it well.”
Journey’s expression changes from a question to an emotionless stare as if she knows where my story is going. There’s no way she could know, but she’s assuming something. “Did he try to—was he um su—” she asks.
“Yeah. It was going on for a little while and I got a page from him one night. Did you have a pager? Those damn things were a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah, I had one for like a year, but I had no use for it. Wasn’t really into drugs or sending guys code numbers for I love you,” she says.
Fair enough. I had one because everyone had to have one. I didn’t have any actual use for it either other than being at the receiving end of Pete’s emergency cries for help. “Anyway, I got this 9-1-1 page from him one night. The shit hit the fan at his house, and he was literally standing on the end of a ledge when I found him.”
“A ledge?”
“Razor’s Edge. The tower. The one place he had always refused to go alone because of his fear of heights. It’s a spot that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world, but it was always out of reach for him. He couldn’t enjoy it because he was too afraid.”
“I don’t think I’ve been there. Where is it?”
“About two miles from my house in the backwoods, along the inlet of the bay. There’s a rope swing and a place for bonfires. The kids in my school spent a lot of time there.”
“Oh,” she says.
“So, what happened when you found him up there?” Journey wraps her hair behind her ears and scoots her body to the side to face me, giving me her full attention. The reflection from the streetlight in her eyes is making it hard for me to think straight enough to answer the question.
“I tried to stop him as he took that last step,” I tell her.
“Did you? Did you stop him? It was just water below, right?” There’s a look of panic in her eyes as if the scene is playing out in front of us as we speak.
“The water wasn’t directly below. We had a rope swing attached to a tree branch above the tower. If you wanted to use the rope to jump into the water you had to jump from the roof of the tower, not the wooden ledge within the tower.”
“So, what happened?” Journey asks. Her words are soft and full of concern. I can hear the inner workings of the heart she keeps hidden behind a brick wall.
10
“Pete,what the hell are you doing?” I say, grabbing his arm just as his second foot lifts from the boards beneath us.
My heart thunders through my chest as my grip loosens around his wrist. He’s falling but I have him. He’s my size and I don’t know if I can pull him back up. “Let go, Brody!” Pete grunts.
“Shut up, Pete. You’re an asshole. Why would you do this? You can’t do this,” I shout with more strength than I have left in my body.
I lie down flat against the wooden boards so I can secure my other hand around his one wrist. He’s dangling forty feet above a cluster of rocks and if I lose my grip, he’ll die. “Let me go,” he cries out. “You’re making this worse than it has to be.”
I try to ignore his words, pushing the meaning behind his thoughtless statements toward the back of my head so I can focus on what I need to do to pull him back up.
Sweat is dripping down the sides of my face as I struggle to look from side to side in search of something I can secure my feet against to give me more leverage, but there’s nothing. The slats in the boards on the side walls are too wide to give me any leverage.
“What are you two doing up there?” I hear through a shout in the dark.
Dad.
“Dad!” I scream.
“Brody, let me go, God dammit,” Pete continues to cry out.
Dad must not have gotten a clear picture of what’s happening at first, but he’s running up the stairs of the tower now. I didn’t think he could run as fast as he’s running, but I’ve heard adrenaline can do some crazy things.
“Pete, things aren’t this bad. They aren’t permanent like the choice you’re making. We can fix anything.”
“You can’t fix my life, Brody, shit!” His anger doesn’t relent, but neither does my grip. The sharp edges of the wooden ledge are slicing into my arms, but the pain isn’t comparable to what I would feel if I couldn’t hold on any longer.
It takes a couple of minutes before Dad reaches me with a look of a horror running through his tired eyes. “What’s—what’s going—” He doesn’t know what to make of it either.
