The Standout (27 page)

I sob. Yuri, in an effort to console me, places his hand on my shoulder, which is hot with pain from trying to pull him up.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell, and Yuri recoils as if he’s been burned.

Everything around me becomes noise: the street below, the wind rushing past, and the pounding in my head. Surely it will all come together in a big explosion and this sick spinning will stop. But somehow I differentiate and realize that the pounding and the yells aren’t coming from within my eardrums but from behind the rooftop door.

“Robin,” I say to myself, and move to let her in.

“Zelda, wait!” cries Yuri. “We should not be up here.”

“It’s a little late for that!”

And then I open that door.

Robin’s model, Zelda, is hysterical. A Russian guy tries to explain what happened, something about dancing on the railing, and I try to understand.

We hear sirens. “That must be the police,” Robin says. “They’ll want to talk to you.”

“And to her parents,” I add. “Where are this girl’s parents?”

Zelda uses her sleeve to wipe away snot from her nose. “At their office, I bet.” Her chin quivers as she dares to glance toward the sounds on the street below. “I’ll call them. It’s better coming from me than the police.” She has calmed down enough to speak coherently so she turns to the Russian, who I am assuming is her boyfriend. “You should go,” she tells him.

“No. I stay,” he answers.

“They’ll deport you for sure,” she answers. “They’ll suspect foul play and they’ll make it your fault. You have to go.”

Robin asks them both questions, but I can’t decipher the words because I’m fixated on a ledge. I don’t actually make a decision to stroll over but my legs move me there, nonetheless. I look down to the street, where emergency vehicles’ siren lights are flashing and paramedics work to erase what happened.

But can it be erased?

She was here one moment, gone the next, and there’s no physical evidence of it on this roof. How is it possible that we are so fragile, that even in the act of being rescued, one wrong move can instantly end a life? The railing is still rigid, with no scratches or scuffs that would indicate she was thrown over.

Nope. She was just a girl goofing around; they tried to save her, and now she’s dead.

I’m on the middle bar of the railing but now I stand up straight, look out at the city, and I’m hit with the strongest sense of deja vu I’ve ever had. This is my dream, the one where I wanted to fly from the top of that building. I’m reliving it, if it’s possible to relive something you’ve only ever dreamt about. But the notion that it’s possible to be free, to be airborne, settles into me like a wave washing away sand, and the peace I didn’t even realize I was seeking is suddenly found. There is no more stress from a job I can’t handle, no wife who no longer loves me, no family members who merely tolerate me. I’m alone up here and the world is at my fingertips. I can touch it if I just reach out, so I climb up onto the top rail.

Balancing on the highest rail is easy; my stance is wide and my center of gravity is low. Even the fiercest of pushes wouldn’t make me fall. I spread my arms as if they’re wings and I’m ready for a launch. I remember Mom’s note:
Get yourself together, don’t be afraid, and jump.

So this is what she meant.

I wasn’t prepared for any of this. And though I never liked this so-called friend of Zelda’s, I still feel a crushing sense of remorse, like it was my fault and I could have prevented it if I’d just made better choices.

Zelda and Yuri exit through the rooftop door, ready to call Julie’s parents and to talk to the police. Only then do I think to glance around for Ted. When I see him, I have to bite my lower lip to keep from screaming.

He’s balanced on the railing like he’s a superhero.

I walk up with soft, slow steps. If I startle him from behind he might fall. Yet with every inch forward, anxious fear pulls me back. My heart is in my throat and I need somewhere to put my hands, like maybe on a doorknob out of here. Walking to that ledge is the stuff of nightmares and I realize that I am acting out my dream from last night. I am on the roof and I’m trying to save someone when I can’t even save myself.

But I had no idea that the person I’d be saving is Ted.

I force myself right up to the railing, so my face is parallel with the back of my brother’s knees. I have one shot at this and I move quickly. There’s no time for talking him down. I just wrap my arms around his legs and lunge back.

When we land I feel crushed, like a splattered, rotten tomato. The wind is knocked out of me and my lungs don’t work. For a moment I’m dying. But then Ted climbs off of me and I realize that anyone as angry as I am has to be alive.

“Son of a bitch!” I yell, once I regain my breath. “What the hell was that, Ted? Did you think that was funny?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Are you okay?”

I move my arms and legs, my head and torso, and other than a bruised bottom I am fine, but I’m not telling Ted that. It would be letting him off the hook.

“What were you thinking?” I push him in the chest. “You have two sons! You’re not allowed to make crazy moves, Ted!! You of all people should understand what it’s like to lose a parent! God, what would Mom think?”

When I mention Mom, Ted’s face crumbles. “I don’t know,” he says with a sniff. “I wasn’t thinking about Miles or Mason.” Tears moisten Ted’s cheeks but he swats them away. “I wasn’t thinking at all. My life is kind of screwed up right now, and I just. . .” he buries his head in hands, and when he continues to speak, his voice is muffled. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

My brother is broken and I have no idea why. I put my hand on his shoulder and move in for a hug. Surprisingly, he hugs me back. “After we talk to the police, we’re taking the train back to Philly,” I tell him. “I won’t tell Tina what happened, but only on the condition that you do.”

I feel his ribcage move up and down as he takes a deep breath. We just hold each other, closer than we’ve been since I was a little girl. “I wasn’t actually going to jump.” Ted speaks into the top of my head. “I’m not saying that standing up there was a smart thing to do. It wasn’t, but I liked how free I felt. I never feel free anymore.”

Simultaneously, we let each other go and I look into his glistening eyes. They’re naked with honesty, just like each line and crease that his face has earned over the years. “I know you have a lot of responsibilities now,” I tell him.

“I’ve always had a lot of responsibilities,” he answers. “I’m not complaining; that’s just how it had to be, so you and Ian could. . .” he breaks off, thinking and scratching his chin. “I won’t say it’s what I chose, but I never tried to choose anything else, either. I guess I felt important, being in charge when Dad needed me. But now. . .” he rubs the back of his neck, “. . .now, if you took all my responsibilities away, I wouldn’t even know who I am. There’s just nothing left.”

“That’s not true.” A picture pops into my mind: a teenaged Ted as my babysitter, following a treasure map I drew of the backyard, humoring me, trying to find the bubble gum I had planted as the prize. How many more moments have I stored away and lost? “You are more than just your to-do list, Ted. Maybe you just need a vacation, or something.”

“Like what?” he asks wryly. “A Carnival cruise?” His laughter at my lame suggestion sounds cynical, but at least he’s laughing.

The moment is broken when the police come through the rooftop door, followed by Yuri, Zelda, and the building manager.

Hours later, after we finish giving our statements to the police, Ted and I take the train to his home in Philadelphia. It’s past 3:00 AM when our taxi from the station pulls up to his house, and he leads me around to the back, where he pulls a spare key from the nozzle of their garden hose. “I keep the spare key at our house in an almost identical spot!” I say.

“I know.”

We walk in through the back door and Ted punches in the security code. Then he quietly leads me to the guest room that I stayed in before. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” I say.

“Yeah, me too.” But instead of wishing me goodnight, Ted goes to our mother’s first run print and gazes at it. “Robin, do you believe in ghosts?”

I have to force myself not to collapse into the soft mattress by my side. “I don’t know,” I answer. “I think they’re possible. Why?”

“The other day I found a piece of paper in Mom’s handwriting. It fell from behind the Mats Gustafson.”

“Okay. . .”

“It said:
Get yourself together, don’t be afraid, and jump
.” He rubs the back of his neck as he veers himself towards me. “I know it wasn’t there before. I hung that picture myself.”

It’s a struggle to process my unformed thoughts. “Are you sure Mom wrote it?”

Ted shakes his head. “Of course not. We can’t be sure of anything, right? But I kept every birthday card and every Valentine Mom ever gave me. That note was in her writing.”

“And you think Mom was telling you to jump from the ledge? Why would she do that?”

“No. . . I don’t know.” He scratches his head and breathes through his nose. “Maybe she somehow knows that I’m lost, and she’s trying to help me. . .” he shakes the thought off. “Forget it. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

Get yourself together, don’t be afraid, and jump.
That could apply to all sorts of situations and I have no doubt that Ted needs guidance. I’d also love to believe that Mom is capable of writing us notes, but if so, where is mine? I’d certainly like to hear from her.

I don’t say any of this and Ted sinks to the bed. The quiet settles around us, beautiful and precarious. Ted sighs. “I don’t know how Tina will react, once she knows that I’m home.”

“You have to talk to her, Ted.”

“Like you’ll do with Nick?” He asks gently.

I close my eyes and my head finds its way down to a pillow. “I can’t think about that right now. I need sleep.”

A moment passes before I feel Ted’s hand briefly rest on top of my head. “Good night, Robin.”

Then things fade to black, like the end of a scary movie that I hope won’t give me nightmares.

I find Tina’s skinny form in the twisted blankets on our bed. I sit on the edge of the mattress and tenderly touch her shoulder. “Tina,” I whisper. “Hey, wake up for a minute.”

Her eyes flicker open. She’s always been a light sleeper. “What are you doing here?” The question isn’t exactly angry but her voice holds no elasticity.

“Tina, I’m so sorry.”

She rolls over, away from me. “Whatever, Ted. I want to go back to sleep.”

I inch closer and put my hand on her back. “No, not whatever; I have something important to say.” She doesn’t respond so I just hope that my words reach her. “Tina, I had this moment tonight, where I was so close to. . . to jumping off a building. A really high building.”

My confession is a mild temperature change, an excuse for her to shiver, to wrap that blanket more tightly across her body. But she sits up abruptly, shedding the covers and exposing her skin to the cool air. “You’re not serious.”

In the dark I can still make out her features that I know so well. I can still see the girl I fell in love with. “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

“Because you never joke about anything.”

My ears had been ringing but her comment stops the annoying sound. I’m reminded of a conversation long ago:

“Of course your family likes you,” she’d said. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“They think I’m no fun. Seriously, I’m not joking.”

“Because you never joke about anything?”

For years afterwards, every time I told her I was serious, she would laugh and reply, “Because you never joke about anything.” Then I’d laugh and somehow she taught me to have a sense of humor about myself.

But she stopped using that line on me years ago, which probably was when she also stopped loving me. So I can’t laugh now, but I offer her half a smile. “Do you ever have moments when you just want to let go?”

“Only two or three times a day.” She says softly, but loud enough for me to recognize that her unhappiness mirrors my own.

“You can’t let go. I. . . I don’t know how to let go of you. So what do we do about it?” I’m desperately hoping she’ll have an answer, or at the very least, that she won’t flinch at my assumptive use of “we.”

“I don’t know, Ted.”

Dejection threatens to settle over me, but then my crappy expectations explode through the roof, because Tina leans in, presses her warm, skinny body against mine and her lips find my lips in the dark. “But it’s going to be okay,” she whispers in my ear, “because I’m not ready to let go of you either.”

I grab onto her like she’s that railing along the rooftop. Then I’m crying and my tears land in the balmy curve of her neck, but instead of pulling away she only holds me tighter.

Please pick up, I pray as I call my mother. There's a ring and another ring and I lose hope after the third ring, but on the fourth ring, a split second before voicemail is about to pick up, she answers.

"Yes?" is all she says.

"Mom, I need you." My whisper is a shout. "Julie died and it's my fault."

She takes three deep breaths before answering. “Where are you, Zelda?”

"At the police station. I just got done making my statement."

Another deep breath. "You should have called me right away—
before
you gave a statement."

I don't respond. What's there to say? I could write volumes about all the "should haves" I've left unfulfilled recently, but it wouldn't change anything. Julie would still be dead.

"Do you want me to come to the station to get you or would you rather just come home?"

"I just want to come home.”

Yuri insists on taking my train and walking me to my building. When we get to my door it's so late, or so early, that the doorman isn't there, so it's just Yuri and me and the stillness of the night. Yuri was silent for the entire journey, from the police station to my front door.

"Are you going to be okay? I ask.