It's just like any other night, I get off of work at 9:00 p.m. and I make my usual trek down Time Square, and into Manhattan where I live. I moved to New York about a year ago from Texas. I wanted to be a dancer but as life took its course, I broke my foot and ended up attending Columbia University. I know what you are thinking, was I a good enough student to get into Columbia? Honestly, no. I've always been your average teenager, I usually got C's in my classes, but that was only because I focused all of my attention on dance. I received a scholarship for dance from Columbia, but after my foot they offered to let me attend, there was one catch though; I had to pay for my tuition.
As I'm walking down 56th street, I take notice at all of the lights that illuminate from all types of buildings. It reminds me of the bright white lights my mother would put up around the house with the help of my two older brothers, at Christmas time. My mother has always supported me in my dancing however my father has always been a different a story. His philosophy was to do something that would make you money, that will financially take care of you and your family. So, you probably know what his attitude was anytime I asked him to attend any of my recitals. Just thinking about it reminds me of the day I left for New York. Everyone was there in our driveway my mom, and my brothers Danny and Michael. One important person was not there. My father had told me he was not going to be there, he was opposed to me leaving; he was convinced that I'd fail. I still genuinely thought he would be there to say good bye, I mean I am his only daughter.
I'm nearing the market , that is just 4 blocks from my apartment complex. I decide to go in and buy some things for a late dinner since my job does not offer a lunch break. Twenty minutes later, I finally enter my building and take the elevator up fifteen floors and I stick my key into the door that reads 121. Once I'm inside, I throw the bag of groceries onto my kitchen counter and head to my bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. All of a sudden, my vanity mirror begins to vibrate and some of my perfume bottles fall to the carpet. I'm not that afraid that it's an earthquake, for one it's New York and second I was lucky enough to grab the last apartment that is right next to the train that loves to pass at inconvenient times of the night.
I begin to prepare one of the easiest meals I can think of and one of my favorites too: Spaghetti. I finish chopping onions, tomatoes, garlic, and cilantro and pour it into my meat mixture. I check the noodles and they are beginning to soften but as I look up, I see something disturbing. A man about my age, 19 years old, is outside of my window on the narrow ledge and what seems to be climbing onto the roof. I divert my attention back to the meat that is starting to brown in the black, steel pan. Somehow I can't forget about the man, so I turn off the stove top, wash my hands and go put a jacket on because it's November. I lock my door and walk to the staircase that is only to be used in case of an emergency.
I open the door to the roof and all of the crisp, cold air rushes to me. I search the place for any sign of the man I had just seen minutes ago, scaling my window ledge. I search the far right, and see him standing at the edge of the building. I slowly walk over to him, trying not to make a sound, scared of him jumping because of my sudden presence. I guess I was not quiet enough because he abruptly turned around just as I approached him. His eyes shot right through mine. We didn't say a word, our facial expressions said it all. While bringing my jacket closer to my body because of the temperature had dropped tremendously, I managed to let out a whisper, "What are you doing out here?" He stared into my eyes, puzzled but then answered, "Isn't it obvious." However, it sounded more like a statement than a question. I thought hard about why he would be out here at 10:30 p.m. at night when it is this cold. After a few minutes, I look up slowly, having figured it out. Why would someone do such a thing? Especially when you are this young, and my observations told me that he was handsome. He was about 6 foot, had brown eyes, and black hair with a grey patch that sat on the right side of his head, and he seemed pretty athletic. I finally replied, "Why?" He rolled his eyes, probably annoyed at my interest in his life, though I don't even know him.
I came closer to him, hoping he wouldn't jump. I came close enough to actually sit down on the ledge next to him. "Can you at least sit down?" I was a bit nauseas thinking of how long the fall would be if he went through with it or if I decided to end it as well, I mean knowing my dad wrote me off when I moved, doesn't make me the happiest person in the world. He sat down with no response. For another 5 minutes, I estimated, we just sat there and stared of into the distance. I recognize the white cathderal that used to remind me of Disneyland. The sky was a combination of pink and purple that caused me to fade into dream state of mind. We were strangers but I somehow wanted to know everything about him and his life. He turned his head to face me, and asked "So why'd you come out here?" I gaped him, thinking that my reason was clear. "Well when you see someone just outside of yor window and you know for a fact you live fifteen floors up from the ground, you become curious." I replied. He smiled, and responded, "I like your sarcasm, a lot of people are too serious here." The corners of my mouth turn up into a slight smile, and still wanting to know what led him to be on the edge of this building, I ask "Are you going to tell me why you are up here?" Quickly answering, he says softly, "It's a long story, you wouldn't understand." I shrug and reply, "Maybe I don't but I can try to."
Some time goes by and I know that morning is fast approaching because the sun is rising gradually. He finally told me what got him here to this point, I was surprised he'd tell a complete stranger his problems. He's been living with his mom who lives two stories below me, because he couldn't afford to live in an apartment near NYU where he studies music. About 6 months ago his mom remarried, his father died when he was younger. The man who is now his step-dad is one of those typical men who think harming women will make them seem more of a man. He told me he's done horrible things to his mother, he's gotten into the middle of one of the squabbles but he ended up being admitted into the emergency room with a concussion. Now, the step-father is moving his mom to Washington, and he's not allowed to come along. He's afraid that'll be the last time he'll see his mother. He's got no one now, so he told me, "What's the point?" I understand but my problems are not at all as terrible as his. He's done talking and we sit there again in complete silence. I decide that I'll call my father was I made it back inside my apartment, because I miss him immensely. He stands up, and I become worried that he wants to deal with his issues the easy way. Instead he offers me his hand, and I take it. He's indeed strong, his hand grips mine and I'm finally safe, away from the itimidating height of the building.
"You changed your mind?" I asked, relieved. He answers, "Yea, I don't know what I was thinking." We walk back to the door, and down the staircase and to my floor. Right before I open my door, he asks one more question, "What's your name?" My stomach begins to growl when I finally remember I haven't eaten at all, and that the meat and pasta must be soggy by now. I mutter, "Melanie." He shakes my hand as if we had just met. Before he leaves, I yell, "Wait! What's your name?" He smiles, "Travis."
The End...
