On the ledge

The man drove until he could drive no more and when he could not go another mile he stopped by the side of the road.

He left the motor running, lacking the will and  the energy to turn it off and without ever looking back he started walking, in a straight line, away from the highway and into the forest.

It was the last days of summer and the air was full of sounds and smells and colours but all he was looking at was his boots. He set one foot in front of the other, not caring where they would lead him.

The man was limping slightly from an old injury that had never healed completely and his full beard, streaked with the first strands of grey, concealed the scars in his face. He wore the hat for that purpose too, to conceal, to hide. He was mostly hiding his eyes, those black eyes, that wandered restless. Assessing , searching, never resting.

He kept those eyes on his shoes today.

To not see.

To not find anything that would distract him from his mission.

He hunched his broad back and buried his hands in his coat pockets, clutching at the heavy objects in them, unwilling to let them fall. They were essential to this day.

He walked for a while longer, keeping his mind empty, and thankfully it obeyed. No intruding thoughts disturbed him, no spell of anxiety stopping him in his tracks. All he did was walk. Walk and not think. Walk. Walk. And not think.

When he stepped out of the dense trees he halted abruptly, his gaze still fixed on the tip of his boots, looking past them now, into a void.

The cliff was steep, and any unsuspecting man would have emerged from the thick of the shrubs and fallen to his death a moment later. But the man had sensed the shift in the air, had heard the distant rumble of the river down below and the echo that it threw onto the opposite wall of the canyon.

He leaned forward, just a little, aware of how loose the ground was under his feet and scanned for the bottom of the canyon. He bit his lip.

Two hundred feet, at least. The river below was white, flowing down from their origin up in the mountain, the water cold and clear. Any fall from up here would kill a man for sure.

He nodded.

“Perfect” he grumbled and then took 2 steps to the right and with a groan that came deep from his chest he sat onto the warm earth. He leaned back against a cedar behind him and then he closed his eyes.

“Don’t think” he told himself.

“Just rest”

He lifted a hand to wipe a tear from his cheek and then his hand felt for the object in his pocket, desperate. The weight was familiar, the surface smooth, the liquid inside the bottle still cool.

With shaking fingers he unscrewed the cap and took a long pull, gulping it down desperately.

Warmth ran down his throat and eased his breath. He drank again.

His gaze wandered over his surroundings, the trees on the other side of the canyon, swaying in the light wind. There were only few clouds and the late summer sun warmed his weathered face but failed to warm his soul. His eyes stayed in the shadow his hat threw on his face, dark and bereaved of all he cared for.

A bird of prey sailed past right in front of him, the predator eyeing him curiously as if he was asking what the man wanted here, in his forest, up on the ledge. Or maybe he was cheering him on to then feast on his remains.

The man huffed and raised the bottle before he took another long pull.

“Patience” he muttered to the bird.

He sat for an hour, almost motionless, trying to calm his mind with the stillness of his body, trying to soak up any warmth the last of the summer could provide, failing to melt away the ice around his heart.

His chin dropped to his chest in defeat and out from under his lashes he stared down into the canyon, collecting the energy to push away from the tree.

But his body refused to even do this little bit of work, to just flex a few muscles and straighten his posture, to push out towards the ledge for just a few inches and then let gravity take over. It refused, like it had often refused to serve him.

But to his dismay his trained senses still worked fine.

His ears had picked up a sound.

His heart beat quickened, and his palms tightened on the bottle as he calculated the timing and direction and evaluated his choices. He could jump up and hide or just push forward and complete the mission he had come here for. But then he did nothing and just lifted his chin and stared.

The woman had stopped just 3 feet away from him, her toes over the ledge of the cliff, a little avalanche of loose gravel noisily disappearing into the canyon. Her arm was out to keep her balance and then she inhaled noisily and screamed.

She screamed from the bottom of her lungs and the scream travelled and echoed from the canyon walls and came back to them both in its quieter version. A crow fluttered and complained and then the stillness of the late afternoon closed around the two of them at the top of the cliff.

The woman stood, her chest heaving and then she sniffled, and her knees wobbled, and she collapsed right where she stood into a miserable heap. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed quietly and the man still stared, so close he could have touched her.

He waited for her tears to dry up and her breath to calm and while he watched her he wondered how she had gotten here, to his cliff, on his last afternoon.

The woman lifted her head and stared out over the canyon and then she tensed and turned and almost fell into the river way down below as her body recoiled in shock at his sight.

He lifted a hand, his palm towards her, as if to say to not fear him.

She looked at him a moment longer and exhaled a shuddering breath and then her shoulders sank and she turned her gaze away from him, back into the canyon.

And so, they both sat, in silence, oblivious mosquitos dancing between them.

He watched her from the corner of his eyes.

The blond of her hair was streaked with the first of grey, her jaw was set and her lips pressed into a thin line and her right eye was swollen and red. Her lip was cut and there was a drop of blood on the collar of her shirt, and another one on the scarf around her neck.

She sat with her legs trapped under her where she had crumbled, and he noticed her right hand was cradled close to her stomach.

She stared out over the canyon and he averted his gaze from her and stared in the same direction.

They sat without a single movement for the best part of another hour, watching the sun move to the horizon and the shadows grow longer and darker. The bird of prey circled overhead.

The man sighed silently and evaluated the content of his bottle and helped himself to another mouthful of amber liquid. His swallow felt loud in the still afternoon.

The woman wiped at the last of her silent tears and then straightened up, the soles of her riding boots now way over the ledge of the canyon. She rooted around in her pocket, using  the left hand to find something in the right pocket of her blue jeans and finally fished a small container from it. Pills rattled against their plastic cage.

The woman placed the container in her right hand but her fingers wouldn’t close around the container and it fell, bouncing once before she snatched it up with a hiss through her teeth and a twitch of her face.

The man watched her, unmoving, and found her right arm still guarded and now impressively swollen at the wrist. He would be damned if that wrist wasn’t broken.

The woman still fought with the small container, failing to open it when she jammed it between her knees and failing again with her teeth.

She huffed in frustration and he could hear her grind her teeth in an attempt to suppress a curse.

She dropped her hand into her lap in defeat and a shaky breath escaped her clamped lips.

The man extended his arm towards her slowly as to not scare her but still she  flinched and then stared and then her mouth gaped slightly when she placed the container in his huge palm.

He twisted the cap open, trying to ignore the writing on the label, and he held the little plastic tube out to her. She took it, careful not to brush her fingers against his. Their eyes met briefly before both averted them again to stare out over the vastness before them.

The woman interrupted the silence with the quiet sound of several pill falling into her lap and then she screwed the cap back on lightly and picked the pills up one by one, sticking them between her colourless lips. He heard her chew slowly and watched her shoulders rise and fall with silent sobs.

Once more he extended his arm, but this time his hand held the bottle of bourbon, more than half empty by now, the liquid glistening in the setting sun.

She regarded the bottle and then regarded him, but she took the bottle and took a swig and swallowed hard and then helped herself to another generous mouthful, washing down the bitter taste of the pills.

“Thank you” she whispered, maybe not trusting her voice, maybe hoarse from screaming   and crying and he touched the rim of his hat and inclined it slightly.

A shadow fell over them as the sun disappeared behind the wall of the canyon. The man took a breath and with his exhale he released all of the tension in his chest and allowed the bourbon to take up the room in it and fill him with warmth and he relaxed back against the tree and watched the sky grow darker and the moon come up in the east.

The woman sat closer to the ledge, her shoulders hunched forward, her elbow on a knee and she breathed evenly, her eyes reflecting the moon. They both waited for the signal to do what they came here to do, but the signal didn’t come.

The woman spoke first.

He felt her trying to muster the courage to say it long before she did, but when she finally opened her mouth, he still startled.

“I have nothing left” she said quietly but her voice was firm, grim. She didn’t look at him and there were no tears.

“He killed my child. He will take my farm. “

He didn’t answer for a long time, worked her words in his mind long enough that she thought he had not heard her. When he did, his words were heavy with alcohol, as his bottle was almost empty.

“And he hit you” he said.

She turned and glared at him, but then she nodded.

“This time I hit back” she proclaimed and moved her arm to show him her reddened knuckles but then she winced as her broken bone moved under her skin.

“I think I killed him”

He nodded and carefully set the bottle down next to him and then he shuffled forward, his fingers lightly touching her elbow, asking for permission. She stiffened but sat still as he felt for her wrist, brushing over the swelling.

“Its broken” he said softly, and she nodded in return.

His eyes met hers and she waited for him to judge her, but he had no judgement left. While he held her stare his fingers moved to her neck and carefully undid the knot in her scarf, pulling the fabric from her neck. The woman allowed it and watched him as he claimed a piece of shed bark from the cedar he had leaned against and brushed of the dust and dirt from it and then placed it under her wrist, gently resting her broken bone on the wooden splint. He tied her scarf over her skin, immobilising the painful break and then leaned back, nodding to himself.

The woman pursed her lip in acknowledgement and then inclined her head in gratefulness.

He blinked and only barely managed to ward of some memories that intruded his mind, memories from long ago in the desert, where he had splinted a many bones and bleeding limbs.

He was quick to take another pull from the bottle and then offered it back to her.

The woman hesitated, evaluating the amount left of the amber liquid but then took it and emptied the bottle in a big gulp.

She set the bottle down onto the cedar needles and nudged it with a knuckle and nudged it more until it balanced on the verge of the cliff, high above the raging river.

She looked at him and he gave a small shrug, and she used the tip of her finger to disturb the balance of the bottle and it tumbled out of sight.

They listened as it fell, and they both flinched just a little as it shattered on the rocks way below them. Silence fell between them.

When the first stars appeared in the clear dark skies the woman reached for her pill bottle again and shock out another handful and chewed them silently and then sat with her legs over the ledge, her torso swaying slightly.

-A good night for this- she finally said, her words only coming quietly and slowly and she did not see him nod in agreement. He could see her tremble slightly in her thin shirt. The night chill was setting in but he had not felt it, warmed by the bourbon and his jacket. He shuffled a little and twisted and managed to pull the second bottle of alcohol from his pocket and at the sound of him unscrewing the cap the woman turned to him. A smile played in the corner of her mouth.

-I see you came prepared- she stated, not without humour and he inclined his head and toasted to her and tested the quality of the bourbon. Then he handed her the bottle and she followed his example.

Her next words were strained, almost too quiet to hear them, her brain now struggling to form the syllables against the numbing of the pills and the alcohol, but his mind filled in the gaps where she failed.

-How’d …how were you planning to do it?- she asked.

He huffed. A good question, that he had tried to answer all afternoon. He doubted he would have had the energy to stand up and take the last step over the edge. He would have rather hoped to get drunk enough to not know, to just let it happen. Maybe while taking a leak, a misplaced step, a hand failing to brace him against the tree and he would have tumbled with no way to stop. Maybe he had hoped the alcohol would give him strength or bravery when he knew it had failed to do so in the 10 years leading up to this final night.

He shrugged. A small gesture with so much meaning. Helplessness and desperation was what he felt. Utter emptiness.

The woman turned to him, and he could see her blink slowly, her upper body swaying now.

-Me- she mumbled, -I ll just sit here. Until…-

She broke off and sniffled and then sobbed quietly.

The man felt a pull, an urge to touch her and so he leaned forward and shuffled a little and came to sit next to her on the ledge, his legs dangling next to hers, their knees touching. He snaked an arm around her back, and she took a shuddering breath in and leaned against his broad shoulder. And he held her there while she sobbed and her body leaned heavier against his and her chin sank lower and lower, now too weak to keep her head high or her eyes open. She shivered and he opened his jacket and and let her lean towards him and covered her with his jacket. And so they sat and listened to the stillness and quietly sobbed and he drank from his bottle, hoping for the alcohol to give him the final push he needed to make it all stop.

The woman in his arm was growing heavier to hold upright so he let her sink down and rested her head in his lap and covered her as good as he could and laid a hand on her ribs to feel for her shallow breaths and counted the seconds between them.

He just sat there on the ledge, trying to make sense of the thoughts in his brain, trying to find clarity through the haze of his depression and the alcohol.

He tried to give himself permission to just tumble, like the empty bottle had, to tumble and shatter and not worry about anything else.

But the permission never came and the clarity remained hidden and when his second bottle was empty the sun started coming up into the canyon, bathing him and the woman resting next to him in a new light.