40 stories idk

    “It won’t matter soon” I mutter. I throw my hands up to fully bask in the fresh air. I take a up and stand on the ledge of the forty story tall business tower. I close my eyes and wiggle my toes, as if I’m still at the beach with her. But I’m not. I’m wiggling my toes in my black work shoes. 

    “But I will” I say, “we’ll be together again.” I smile, reminiscing on all those fond days together. She always has a great sense of humor. I think of all those days we would go to the beach together. I would buy her an ice cream. We would messily slobber all over the delicious treats, despite our ages, despite our worries. We would lock hands, watching the sky. She would tell me what the different clouds’ names are She always knows knew odd little things like that. I interlock my fingers, just like she and I did. 

     “I love you” I say hardly over a whisper. “I never told you” I look down once again. I think back to the image of her laying there. Seeing those machines around, making her breathe. She always hated technology, it feels like they’re mocking her now. I feel another breeze. I stumble a bit, not knowing if it’s because the wind, the pills I took, the booze I drank, or my nerves. Probably all. I reach into my pocket, fishing out the picture. 

    “Soon” I say, “ I miss you.” I hold my breathe and pull the photo into my chest, cradling it. I close my eyes, “soon my love.” I put out my right foot. I walk forward.  I let go of my breath as I fall, but not the photo. I watch the windows go crazy fast across my line of vision. As I’m falling to my, now unstoppable doom and paradise, the world oddly stops. I hear ringing, louder than the ringing in my ears. I look down at the vibrating pocket. I reach down, as if I’m in quick sand, and pull my phone out. Dr. Orthal. I press answer and put it up to my ear. 

      “Hello” I say horsely. 

      “Hello Mr.——-“ she says a little too chirpy.  “I’m calling about ——. I have some news about her.” I cringe, “she’s gotten off of the machines! She’s been doing much better than the last time you came to visit.” The image of her surrounded with the one thing she hates crosses my mind. 

      “You should come in to visit! She’s breathing all on her own now!” She says overexcitedly. I let a smile spread on my face. I go to talk before I realize where I am again, I look down, now horrified for the doom awaiting me. 

     “I’d love that” I say oddly calm, “I’ll have to clear my schedule.” I say monotone. There’s a pause on the other end of the line. 

     “Splendid!” She finally exclaims, “there’s visiting hours tomorrow. They’re at….” I tune her out. I think of all the beautiful times we had together, all the ice cream we shared. I realize I’ll never get them back. 

     “I’m sorry Dr. Orthal,” I say, looking down at the picture in my hand, “I’ve ‘ought to be going now, thank you again.” I say, not waiting for her response and hanging up. I let go of my phone, letting it fall. I watch it as it falls, and shatters on the concrete down below. Right when it shatters, all the sounds of the world come flooding back. So does my dissent from the top of the building to the hard ground. I hold onto the picture. My last thoughts, of her. Her and the beach, and toes wiggling, and sand, and ice cream. I look at the photo. The last thing I see, her.