A Prose With No Direction

falling from ledges

"What are you doing on the roof?" He calls below me. "It's dangerous."

I scoff. "And you think I care?" I look down at the tall height below me. "It's not like I'm afraid of heights."

"Or falling," I murmur. 

"I'll come to you," he tells.

I shake my head. "The door's locked," I respond. "Let's just talk from here."

He looks at me before nodding, sitting on the steps of the porch and looking out at the street in front of him. 

"Do you always sit on the rooftop?" He inquires.

I look but not at him. "Before," I say. "I used to do it to clear my head. I used to sit here with my dad, and we'd just talk."

He glances up at him. "And where is he now?"

I smile, looking at the aerial view of the city's Downtown. "Somewhere probably with my mom," I say. "They're inseparable."

"I don't mean to pry," he continues, "but my Mom mentioned that you live alone. Are they living abroad or something?"

My smile grows wider. "In a way, yes," I answer. "They're probably living somewhere high in the sky in a little house with my brothers."

"You have brothers?" He asks.

Nodding, I reply with a "yes."

"I had two," I say. "But they don't live with me. They live with my parents somewhere high in the sky." I meet eyes with him. "I don't like talking about them."

Hugh rubs the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry to pry..."

"It's fine," I say. 

I look at the sky, a clear, light blue reflecting on me with puffs of white cotton candy. Birds soar high in that ocean of air, reaching for heights I know I can never reach. Music plays in the air, but not the kind you hear in the radio. It's a kind of music that the air plays, a whistling of wind mixed with the chirping of birds and a subtle rhythm of running cars from the highway not too far from us. It's a beautiful song of life, one that gives me a bittersweet feeling inside. 

I then look at the concrete below my swinging legs, wondering and wondering and wondering. 

"You know," I begin. "I tried jumping off this roof once, imagining I was jumping off a bridge and plunging into the coldness of water instead of getting my guts and organs splattered below." Hugh stands up and looks at me with worried eyes. "Jumping into water is more—how do I explain it—more... exciting, I guess. More classy."

"You—" He starts. "You won't..."

I shake my head, smiling. "No, no I won't," I say, glancing at him. "Not today, that is."

"Clara—"

"I would tell you if I do," I chuckle. "Don't worry."

"You know more than anyone suicide is not a joke," he says.

I purse my lips.

Eyes look at the world beyond its reach. 

"I was crying when I was about to jump," I say. "I remember, I wore a white dress—I was very dramatic—and I had no shoes on. My hair was tied—I never tie my hair up—and I actually put a little makeup on me. My toes were on the edge of the roof, and I was mentally prepared to jump. But emotionally I wasn't."

I smile. "In the end, I started thinking," I say. "I thought about the most random, the most stupid, the most obnoxious things about life from our five senses to beats in someone's writing. I thought about a lot of things as I imagined myself being submerged in water, sleeping."

Hugh doesn't talk. He just listens.

"I also thought it was funny how people say, 'she jumped out the window,' or 'he jumped off the building' instead of fall," I say. I laugh. "I, myself, also say that."

"Is there a difference?" He asks.

I nod, pursing my lips. "You see, you don't really jump out the window or jump off a building, do you?" I say. "You don't jump, because if you did, you would attempt to jump up first before you fall. When you jump out the window or off a building, you're not jumping, you're just simply falling. Because when you jump, you go up first, while falling, you just go down. And in that situation—" I look at him— "a person just falls and falls until the darkness claims their sight. And I guess that annoyed me, and I ended up not falling."

I did ask the question why people say 'she jumped out the window' or 'he jumped off a building.' And then I realize, it's because of pride.

Since when you jump, you go up first.

While falling, you just go down. 

When you say someone jumped out or jumped off, it saves them their pride, telling others they attempted to rise and better themselves first before falling into the abyss that drags them into becoming the pathetic, suicidal person they are.

Because when you say they fell out or fell off, it hurts their pride, telling others they made no attempt to save themselves and, simply, just gave up on life.

Maybe I'm just overthinking.

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People don't jump off of ledges.

They just fall from it.