Part 5: After Words
NOTE: In fairness to everyone who asked about this story, I have decided to include this afterword.
"It's time."
The voice on the other end of the phone is one that I hadn't heard in over two years. Since he hadn't bothered with pleasantries, I assumed that this call would be all business and it would be best if I kept it that way.
"Are you sure?"
We had agreed more than twenty years ago that when the time came, I would be the one to write the story.
"Five. There were five." His voice was shaky.
I don't often watch TV or listen to the radio. The only parts of the newspaper I look at are the puzzles. The rest is just too depressing. But, even as disconnected as I am, I had heard about the young people that were recently harassed to the point where they took their own lives.
The news affected me in the same abstract way as news of a distant tsunami or hurricane. For John, this was personal. I could hear the storm surge crashing within him, eroding the foundation out from under him.
"I have the note, I can fax it to you."
There were many things that I wanted to know. The most important, how are you, went unasked. I gave him my fax number and he said he would call me in a couple of days. He hung up and a minute later my fax line rang.
Like a necromancer, the machine dragged ghosts and things long dead back to life. I stood looking at something best left buried.
Over the next two weeks I wrote his story, the one you have read here. We talked every night, agreeing and disagreeing, working and refining, concealing and revealing until last Thursday.
"It's good. Good enough to publish."
I was relieved. This was the most difficult piece I have ever written as it contained something that was not imagined. What you read really happened and it happened almost exactly as it was related to you.
Our biggest point of contention was the second part, the actual note. To be able to recreate that note, to be able to express the same ill logic I had to go and stand on that bridge where John stood. I had to arrive there naked and cold with my feet bloody and numb. I had to look over the edge, into the darkness, and to want nothing but blackness.
It was neither fun nor easy.
I was going to call this an epilogue or afterword but epilogues come at the end and this story is not over. There is more to tell, a lot more.
All of the characters in the story are real: John, Shelly, the old man.
Shelly did marry the young Italian. They have three daughters and 'Uncle John" is godfather to all three.
The old man turned out to be not so old. He is only two years older than John and one year older than I am. Alcohol and living on the street just made him appear old. His name is Karl but John calls him Karma.
Sitting in the bandshell after the ordeal John realized that he owed Karl something for saving his life. When John fell, he fell not toward the water, but sideways, down the abutment. He attributes the direction of his fall to the fact that Karl was standing there, calling to him and trying to get his attention. Had he not looked over at Karl he would have been looking forward and he believes that his fall would have followed his line of sight.
John did not know how to thank him so he asked Karl what he would like most. Karl's response was immediate. He wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower, eat a hot meal and sleep in a comfortable bed for just one night.
John asked Karl to walk him home. On the way, they made a deal, Karl could live with John as long as he didn't drink. One drink and he had to go.
For the next year, they lived together, each helping the other through the rough spots. During that time, Karl went to AA every day and John joined SA, Suicide Anonymous.
In that time, Karl turned a part-time day-laborer's job into a full-time gig and was able to earn enough to afford a small studio apartment of his own.
As odd as it seems, John's attempt is responsible for saving not his own life, but most likely Karl's, too.
John lives in the same space he lived in back then, only now it is a condo and he owns it. Somewhere in the span of years the neighborhood gentrified. Old warehouses became desirable lofts, cafes and galleries opened on the street level and Starbucks moved in across the street.
John volunteers on a suicide prevention hotline. He is one of the only survivors on the line. Most of the others are families and friends hoping to keep other families and friends from having to ask themselves the same question every day. Why?
As I wrote this story there was one thing that bothered me.
John had thought through all of his motions. He knew where and when. He knew the date and time. He was meticulous about everything. He even worried about leaving his clothes at the top of the bridge because he wanted them to be found by someone who could use them.
So, why did he leave his apartment furnished, with clothes in the closet and food in the refrigerator?
I never asked John about it. Maybe because I already knew the answer.
I'm glad you included this ending. It is good that some stories still have a happy ending.
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