A Message from Above

What was it Fairuza said? “It sure is windy at the top of it all. One hard blow, and you go topplin’ down.”

When did she say that? Wasn’t it after Kadmos’s business crumbled? Wasn’t it after she was moved up, into his position? A word of warning, she called it.

Well, I gotta say, Ginevra, after all that’s happened, I think it’s true. Even on the days when you don’t sneak into my dreams, a pale, white ghost in the corner, I know that I made a mistake.

Yes, it’s windy. It’s windy as h. And, I sit on a chair, on a ladder. The people below me, as if the wind isn’t enough, shake the ladder mercilessly, begging me to fall. I’m tempted sometimes, just so they can get a taste of how it feels; how horrible it is at the top.

Worse, I miss you. Terribly. And even though I wish you hadn’t gone, I am glad. I am glad because you won’t ever be forced into this position. Did you know it’s hereditary? I only got this job after that one guy, Klaos was his name, fell. He had no one to take over, no children or partners. I was a co-owner, brought in after Fairuza moved up. She toppled, he toppled, I sat. I haven’t toppled yet. But I want to.

Boy, do I want to. I want them all to watch, watch me hit the ground. I want the next in line, another co-owner, to rise up and understand. ‘Cause I understand now. Do I ever.

Ginevra, is it nice where you are? Did you find love in that distant land that mother used to speak of? She begged me to go that route, you know, not to get wrapped up in the business of friends. But I didn't listen. I never did.

But you did. You moved there, and I bet your life is perfect. A husband (or wife) and children, probably. You always wanted children. A nice house, with a bright blue pool. A lawn of all shades of green, plenty of space for the littles to run and play. Did that life ever come? For the sake of my sanity, I hope it did.

I bet you’re wondering right now if I ever got married, had children. But you know that life was never for me. You can’t very well build a sturdy home when you are trying to balance on a ladder. It would’ve been hard. I bet it would've ended in divorce, with a joint custody arrangement coming through to where I would only see my children every other weekend, maybe a holiday or two. A card on birthdays. But the two main motivations were as follows: a) my children would need a father, and I wouldn’t be one to them, and b) I would never put my children in my position.

I guess a family could come, after, of course, I fall from the ranks. I hope it happens soon.

Next, I was thinking recently, about long ago. When we were children, life was bright. A sun was always shining in our imagination. But now, when I imagine my ladder and the chair I sit atop, I only see a great, white moon, reaching out from a backdrop of navy sky and blinding stars. There is no day now. Only night. But I bet where you are, in the village or town or city that you call home, I bet it’s always sunny. A light breeze, instead of a howling wind. Fluffy, white clouds instead of sharp, piercing stars.

You used to think stars were beautiful and great testaments to the power of the small. But from my point of view, stars are greedy and full of themselves, and certainly not small. Sometimes they come near me and talk on and on about their beauty. I have to beg the moon to take them away.

As for the moon, it is a friend. You used to hate the moon, said it followed you when we were in the car and watched you from your window. You said it had craggly teeth that wanted to eat you. But,I’ve met the moon. He’s a changed man. Still the same cold silver, but he has a warmth. His teeth have been polished and his appetite has changed from eating the fears of small children to drinking the dark night. He truly is sorry for scaring you.

You probably think I’m crazy, talking about the moon and the stars as if they were real people. But every isolated man needs a friend, imaginary or otherwise. And currently, I can’t afford to have friends. Real ones. They stab and lie and cheat. They all want my job. I would give it to them, but surrendering isn’t my job. My job is to let them watch when the pressure hits me like a bag of bricks.

Now, I only have a few more questions for you before I wrap up my letter.

First, how is mom doing? I haven’t seen her in years. I haven’t seen any of y’all in years. If she is still around, if you see her on the daily or weekly or monthly or yearly, tell her I miss her. Tell her I love her. Tell her I wish I never got to my position, that success is a horror story written in the form of a comedy. Tell her I’m coming home soon.

And second, my last few sentences, do you miss me? What has life been to you? A friend? An enemy? A lover? Do you wish I had still been around when it all went down, when dad died and Julia ran and mom cried? I wish I was. I wish I hadn’t heard what happened from a secretary and that I was there, to grieve with you. I’m so sorry, Ginevra. I miss you. I don’t know if you…resent me, hate me, anything. I might just be someone in the back of your mind. But, if this letter finds you, and if you see it in yourself to talk to me, write back. I want to see you. I want to meet you. Whatever happened in our past is that past. I want to come home.

Anyways, I’m sorry. I love you, Ginevra.

Sincerely,

Everett