My hands tighten around rusted metal scaffolding as I pull myself up onto a pair of wooden planks near the rooftop of an old industrial warehouse. I pause to catch my breath, using one hand to wipe away tears turned into tiny crystals of ice, making the skin around my eyes sting. In the distance, glimmering city lights weave through streams of heavy falling rain. It’s almost beautiful.
Climbing this high was the easy part. Buildings under construction always have something to grab on to. Now comes the real challenge. I take a deep breath and stand, attempting to steady my sneakers on the slippery slats of wood. I’m not wearing a hat, or gloves, or even a coat, which might seem odd considering it’s December...in Seattle, but I don’t need to be warm. At least not tonight, since tonight, I’m about to die. And people who are committing a mortal sin don’t deserve to be warm.
I glance up. I’m only a couple of stories from the rooftop, but I can’t climb any higher. Thin sheets of ice are forming on the wooden beams and my hands are bitterly cold. I peer over the edge and swallow. It’s certainly a long way down. Perhaps this height will do.
I climb under the wobbly guardrail and reposition myself so that my feet are turned sideways and both arms are wrapped around the scaffolding. The way I’m standing isn’t exactly ideal for a graceful, death-compliant leap. I’ll have to jump at a slant, but once I’m airborne, I can shift my body and fall backward like a stuntwoman, screaming all the way down until...
My chest tightens at the thought. Will it hurt? Can I handle it? Should I reconsider? I heave a heavy sigh. Only, the sigh turns into a sequence of shivers that reach all the way to my internal organs, causing my heart to skip a beat.
I’m crying. Again. Now the city lights in the distance are blurring and twirling like a Van Gogh painting come to life. I’m also soaked. My thick black hair is both wet and icy and scratching my face like dead pine needles. And the wind is snapping my loose T-shirt in all imaginable directions, sending cold rain up my abdomen and chest, convincing me that if I don’t die from this fall, surely I’ll die tomorrow, from pneumonia. I think of my sister Violet. As if I think of anything else these days? Even though she’s smarter, a little bit prettier, a whole lot nicer and in general...better, I’ve never been jealous. Instead, she’s everything I aspire to be. She is my best friend. Or at least she was.
I squint up at the Seattle sky, covered with dense clouds, and imagine God can see through the mass of darkness and sheets of heavy rainfall and is watching. Taking notes. Waiting for me to leap, so he can put me on the eternal naughty list and cast me away. I’ve often pondered: When people kill themselves, is there any part of them that wants to live? Now I know the answer. There is. At least for me. There is this tiny part of me that wants nothing more than to climb down this scaffolding, get my feet planted on solid ground and live. But then what would happen? My parents would still look through me, as if I didn’t exist, the kids at school would still pity me, while simultaneously longing for Violet’s return, and pain would continue to embody every part of me. Of course I want to live. But not like this.
“Help me, God...” My barely audible voice catches in my throat as a gust of wind slams into my chest, causing me to almost lose my balance. Shit! I attempt to stabilize, though ice has formed around the railing, burning the tips of my fingers. With each labored breath I take, I suck in cold air. It fills my lungs like a sledgehammer to the rib cage. Doesn’t help that I’m full-on sobbing at this point. Perhaps it doesn’t matter how I fall, just so long as it gets done. It’s not like anyone cares if I die dramatically anyway. It’s not like anyone cares if I live either. I am simply a sad reminder of the person who will be lost. A haunting reminder of Violet.
“Help me...” I sob. “Please, God, help me.” My shoulders shake, both from the sobs and uncontrollable shivering. “I beg you.”
I’m not exactly great at talking to God. This used to be one of Violet’s strong points. We’d hold hands at night and she’d say all these eloquent prayers with words like humbly and forthwith. But when it was my turn, I’d mumble something like, God, thanks for another day. Keep us safe. Amen. Violet never criticized or tried to get me to be more like her. She’d only nod in full acceptance of my pitiful prayer and repeat Amen. This is the Violet way—one of many traits that makes it so easy to love her.
“God! If you can hear me,” I cry out into the darkness. “I...beseech you!”
I don’t know what that means. Beseech? I remember Violet said it once in prayer. Sounded a lot less like a brand of hard candies coming from her than it does from me.
“I...” I pause.
Who am I kidding? I got nothin’. Seriously nothing to plead to God right before I die. Besides, no matter what I say or do, tomorrow will come, and against the desperate pleas of our family, Violet will take a fatal dose of barbiturates prescribed by our very own family doctor. Ending a yearlong battle with a rare lung condition. There is no cure. The doctors try to comfort us. Reminding our family that Violet is terminal regardless. Let her go, they advise us. Though it’s not as if we have a choice in the matter. Violet and I recently turned eighteen, and as a legal adult, she’s decided she no longer wants to suffer. She’s choosing “death with dignity.” Exercising her right, to the right-to-die law. Well, it’s my right, too. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, puff out my aching chest and prepare to mimic my twin’s bravery...die with dignity. A final moment of Earth glory. My very last fail.
I close my eyes and wipe at another frozen tear, that tiny piece of me that wants to live gnawing at my innards, creeping to the surface, begging the question: Why am I up here sobbing? And why am I gripping this icy beam as if I really don’t want to die? I suck air through my teeth as the realization settles within me. It’s because I don’t want to die. It’s because I won’t. Not on this night. Not when Violet still lives. It’s because even though all hope is lost...I cling to it still.
“Help me,” I whisper. “That’s what I need, God. Please. Why won’t you help me? Why won’t you help her?”
And the most bizarre thing transpires. A voice pierces through the noise of the pounding rain and answers back...
“Um... Why won’t you?”
I twist my body, terrified to think someone could be standing right beside me. But the sudden movement causes both feet to slip off the planks.
I lose my grip and fall.