The Peaceful Lover

The pedestrians pass like fish in a river, the current of the city moving them along with ease. Maybe they feel invisible too. If one of them would pause, to cast their gaze on the sky, framed with towering buildings of concrete and glass, they might have caught a glimpse of me. 

I took the step up onto the ledge, unshed tears burning the backs of my eyes as the world continued despite my disconsolation. With each day that passes where I remain unseen, I am one step closer to letting go. It would cut my misery short if I could slip and fall. I wouldn’t even scream when it happened, but for that scenario to occur life would have to be kind. 

Today I was thinking about home. Grassy planes that went on for miles, untouched creeks, undiscovered valleys. The sound of neighborhood children as they laughed and shrieked with elation. They never needed more to be satisfied. They weren’t me. 

I don’t know when it stopped being enough. When did I feel the desire to become a small fish in a cold and unusual ocean, instead of the fishbowl that I grew up in? It was as if one day, I woke up and realized that everything about my life was so simple. A simple life in a simple town filled with other simple people. I wondered what it would be like to feel extraordinary. I wondered what it might be like for some simple girl to look at me and see something she could never be. 

I moved to the city. My eyes were bright and filled with stars. Even when I heard my thousandth ‘no’. Even when my roommate disappeared, leaving me with rent triple what I could afford. It was my fate, my destiny. It was a small price to pay to become more. When I became that, this would be an anecdote in my story. So when I got this job as a barista, and my boss told me he knew people I would love to meet, I thought it had all been worth it. 

I had become like a fixture on the edge of this building this past week. Like one of those gargoyles or goblins you see on the scaffolding of the historic buildings. Every day, on my break, I climb the five stories to this roof and mount this ledge. I have never been so brave as to let myself fall. Maybe today I will find the courage. I fish around the pocket of my apron, the smell of coffee beans and syrup assaulting my senses. The watch feels cool and familiar in my palm, one of the simple things I didn’t leave behind. My eyes tune in to the fine details of the leather wristband. The wrinkles and creases that look like bolts of lightning, and the gold detailing on the clock face that softens the piece. 

Maybe simplicity was the thing I should have been striving for all along. Maybe simplicity was timeless and reliable. 

There were only ten minutes left in my break. Although maybe, I should take however long as I please. My boss owes me that at least. I would have never ended up on that couch last Saturday if it wasn’t for him. He must have known what he was doing. He could smell the desperation in me the moment I stepped through that cafe door. His eyes sparkled when I told him about my dreams, about my solitude. 

“Here’s a photographer,” he said, his lips pulling apart like oil into a slimy smile. His fingers brushed mine as he slipped me the card, “He can help you get started.” 

Finally, the stars aligned in my favor. This was my chance. 

I arrived pleasant, waxed, scrubbed, and ready. I was a shark, ready for anything, ready for extraordinary. Only, I wasn’t a shark, I was a gazelle and the photographer – a lion. Easy prey served on a silver platter. 

Now, at night, I no longer dream of twinkling skylines. Flashing lights don’t unleash a million butterflies inside me. What invades my thoughts are the memories of his hands colonizing my body. The panic climbed up my throat but could not escape with the release of a scream. Still, I could live with this, I thought. I could survive this. But lions exist in packs, and I did not prepare for his company. 

Today, there was a woman. She was short and thin, shadowed by the pile of books and folders she carried. At the sound of the chime punctuating her arrival and my departure, a singular page floated to the ground. 

Death must be a peaceful lover. 

So I take another step today, teetering over the ledge. My dubious balance is the perfect reflection of how I feel. Maybe I wasn’t invisible, maybe even in the very fiber of the universe, there is something that notices me. I had never considered that words on paper would be the thing to do it. Adrenaline courses through my veins as if someone injected it. A bubble of excited laughter fills my chest as I sway back and forth over the busy sidewalk. 

Because even if I’m not invisible – it was true, wasn’t it? That death must be a peaceful lover? 

Happiness is selfish and fickle and despair’s embrace is addictive but death is gentle and soft. A lover who wants to hold you forever. Of course, they want something in return but death is willing to give you the sweetest relief.

I look down again, observing the pedestrians below unaware of the storm cloud above them. Maybe it would disrupt someone’s day to see my skull cracked open on the sidewalk, what remained of the stars in my eyes dimming to nothing. It would ruin business for a day at least.  

‘Local Barista Jumps to Death.’

Death whose arms are wide open. Death, the peaceful lover. 

I lift a knee, swaying back and forth more violently with the wind. 

I close my eyes, ready to float away. 

“Lira!” Chelsea’s voice startles me and my legs spring back instinctively landing me on solid ground. “Stop playing around! Your break’s over,” she grumbles, holding the door to the stairwell open. “Sorry,” I mutter, peering over the ledge one last time. 

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready to run into your arms, to embrace your everlasting comfort, to reunite once and for all. Until then, I’ll flirt with despair. Still, you are the one I desire and one day I will take rest in your esoteric relief, mercy.