He just wanted to fly. Wanted to feel the wind rush past his face as he lingered in suspension. He just wanted to escape. Wanted to feel what it would be like to leave his body and soul and wounded heart behind on the roof above as he tumbled in a freefall. He wanted to see if he had wings after all. He wanted to see if they were enough to save him. But he knew that they werent. He knew that nothing could save him. He jumped. And among the screams and the whispers and the tears at the fall, I knew. He just wanted to fly.
People stopped on the sidewalk to turn their faces upwards in whispered wonder and silent amazement. Others rushed past, pointing their eyes deliberately at the ground in front of them, wishing not to see the spectacle unfold overhead, fearing that they might have to care. Far above the crowd, he stood in silence, silhouetted against the grey-blue sky, his toes hung over the edge of the roof in anticipation of what was to come. Any who saw his eyes would find them focused on the ground beneath him, but a deeper look would reveal that they were instead focused on the space between the two. He stared silently into the stretch of emptiness between himself and the sidewalk, seeming to have no notion of the many eyes pointed in his direction, or of the world around him at all. He stretched his arms out and turned his palms gently upwards. The gasps and exclamations from the crowd fell on deaf ears, for he knew only the space in time into which he would fall.
Time passed. People lost interest and moved on their way, still whispering as if relating an unspeakable secret. Others passed on the sidewalk for the first time, and stopped in the same way as those before them. And all the while, he stood silently, watching and waiting, but for what not even he himself knew. The fire trucks came blazing in their colorful glory, the police cars flashing their lights as if to signal some approaching danger. The men climbed up, gathering on the edges of the roof, fearful of getting too close, of startling the silent man into carrying out his apparent intentions. He stood silent still, dropping his arms back to his side as he stared blankly ahead of him. The men took this as a sign that it was safe to come nearer, and to start reasoning with the man. But there is no reasoning with a broken soul, for the mind has long ago lost all control. The silent man never once turned around to look them in the eye, or to acknowledge their presence at all. Tentative footfalls, breath held in expectancy of the unknown, they drew closer.
Suddenly a cry rang through the air that startled the silent spectators and the fearful rescuers. Face lifted in anguish, all eyes upon him, he cried again, “You will not bring me down!”
I gazed at him through eyes that mirrored the silent sky. Listening to the intensity of his words, I could tell that there was something more behind them. I could see that he had been saying those very words his entire life. Those people throughout his life that had tried to tell him that he wasn’t good enough. The limits they tried to set around his tight, structured world, telling him what he could never do, and what he would never be able to reach. So many times had he heard those words: “You are not good enough”, “You will never amount to anything”. And so many times had he uttered in response: “You will not bring me down”. I guess they finally won. They had finally brought him down. In tearful surrender on the darkened floor of his lonely apartment, with empty bottles strewn around him, with only the moonlight through the soiled window to light the tears upon his face that he simply could not withhold any longer, he whispered now empty words to the night: “You wont bring me down”. They finally brought him down. So he climbed up.
All this was in his eyes as he shuddered atop a desolate rooftop, trying desperately to build enough strength into his voice to speak once more. And for the last time, he opened his mouth, and quietly spoke into the open space beneath him, “You wont bring me down.” A single tear formed in his eye, and glittered motionless, on the brink of falling. He silently raised his arms once again, lifting his open hands to the motionless sky. It would be nice to fly, he thought.
