Suicider

He knew he would jump.

The opening line is the most important.  He knew he was a writer but each time he chose to write he wrote nothing.  He once wrote often in grade school.  Entire notepads.  He knew writing was important but had less and less to say.

Not being remembered became less of a concern.  He found himself in bed early.  He found himself in drive-thru lines.  It wasnât that he didnât care about himself.  He just cared less than before.  Writing was almost the furthest thing from his mind.  He began finding comfort in the little monotonies of life.

He sat down to write that line a thousand times.  He put on his most inspiring music.  He sat in silence.  He showered.  He didnât shower.  He ate cereal.  He found himself in the drive-thru lines again.  It became okay but it took a long time.  He struggled less.  He tried less.

Then he was standing on the ledge of a 15-story building.  He was holding a pizza bag and wearing his Luckyâs Pizza uniform and his class ring that he got a decade ago.  He knew he had come to jump.  He knew it when he saw the Dennis Hotel delivery fall to his name.  He would go and deliver the pizza and take the elevator as high as it would go and then take the stairs the rest of the way and jump.  He would not complicate things.  He would not linger for a tip at the hotel room door.  He would not hold the door for the woman coming in from the rain.  He would leave his car running as if he were coming back.

He didnât know he would jump until he held the gaze of the woman in the wife beater who answered the hotel room door.  She smelled of cigarettes and was wiping her nose and exhibiting a sort of trash class.  She didnât say anything to him.  She didnât tip him.  She didnât smile.  He remembered that he liked her hair.  It was straight and black and dull looking.  He didnât know why he liked it.

He didnât know he would jump until he stepped out of the elevator on the 14th floor.  He remembered where he had seen that guarded expression the black-haired woman had on her face.  He had seen it on a blonde-haired woman.  She was telling him that she wouldnât be his companion anymore.  It was four years ago.  She was guarded because she was embarrassed that she wanted to sleep with other men.  It wasnât how sheâd planned everything would turn out.  She didnât want to hurt him but she didnât want to open up so much that his agony affected her.  She didnât want her emotions to trap her into staying with him as they had before.  She wanted out.  He did his best to understand and decided he did after awhile.  He decided he was sure he understood so he would no longer be uncertain.

He did not know he would jump until he picked up his right foot and his sneaker hovered over the drop.  He leaned and leaned until he knew he wouldnât come back.  He smelled the smoke and grit of the city below.  He fell quickly and shattered his body next to his still-running car.

She never tipped and knew she wouldnât when she made the order.

The Dennis Hotel seemed as good as any to get away for the night.  The man she was staying with was cranky and rubbing the wrong parts of her again.  She was raw with regret and shame from their last encounter and wanted desperately to just vanish for a while.  The man was addicted to pain pills and could not ejaculate.  She desperately wished for a man who would just ejaculate already.  She could only vanish for so long because she was totally reliant on this man for pills and other assorted addictions â mainly food and shelter.  This night at least she was able to sell a couple of his oxies that he had forgotten about in his underwear drawer.  They were forties and not eighties so she would only be staying one night.  But one night was enough.

She knew that she never tipped and wouldnât when the driver arrived no matter what sort of puppy dog look he had on his face.  She had nothing to give but the twenty and the food she was ordering cost a twenty and that was it.  She never tipped because she never had anything extra to give.  The world took all of what she had as soon as she had it and she saw no reason to be charitable to others when she had nothing.  All of what she had belonged to others and they demanded her body for its use.  No one had ever just given her anything.