Northern_Lights_2016

37 The Ledge The man sits on the familiar roof, the wind throwing his open jacket around him wildly. The hazy sky flickers with a few of the brightest stars, but even they are occasionally snuffed out by clouds and smog. He looks around the rooftop with begrudging acceptance. How did he get to this point again? Was he always at this point? No. No, he dis- tinctly remembers when he wasn’t. Stepping out of the shadows, I ease myself onto the hard concrete ledge beside him undeterred by the great height before letting his thoughts flood my head. It’s his birthday! He is officially seven, like every other kid in his first grade class. “Marcus, get down here please,” his mom yells down the hall to him. “Okay!” the little boy shouts as he scrambles off his navy blue comforter. Stomping down the hall, he emerges into the light blue living room. “Mommy?” he calls out as he strains his neck to look for his parent. “Happy Birthday Mark!” two loud voices shout at him from behind. Squealing, the little boy twirls around to see his dad and mom holding a small cake and a handful of presents. “Daddy!” he shouts, running to his camo clad dad. “Hi there sport,” he laughs, squatting down to hug the child. “I got you something.” Shrieking, Marcus jumps out of his father’s arms and looks up pleadingly. “Can I have it, please!” he begs. Laughing, the father hands down the boy’s present. Within a second, the wrapping is fluttering to the floor and squeals of excitement fill the room. “It’s the blue car I’ve wanted!” The small metal car had been hanging from the shelves of a local store for months now, taunting him. “Thank you daddy, I love you!” the boy exclaims, wrapping his arms around the older man. Oh, he remembers now. Reaching into his coat pocket, the man pulls out the rusted car. The once blue car is now brown with rust. “Marcus Lowry, please report to the principal’s office,” the secretary’s voice booms from the second grade speaker system. “Ooooh,” exclaims his classmates. Embarrassingly, he gets out of his seat and walks to the door. He didn’t do anything this time. Unless Bridget told the teacher how he threw paper at her yesterday. He knew he shouldn’t have, but she was talking about her dad. It angered Marcus for reasons he won’t understand for years to come. Passing turkey arts and craft projects and bulletins with leaves falling from them, Marcus enters the small office after knocking. “Marcus, come take a seat please,” the principal states while loosening the navy striped tie. “Mom, what are you doing here?” he questions. As he rounds her chair, his frown deepens. “Why have you been crying?” Instead of sitting in his chair, he crawls onto his mother’s lap. “Baby, your father, he’s-he’s-” his mother words get stuck on a sob. “What about dad?” Marcus questions, turning fully to look at his mother. “He’s not going to come back.” Battles have taken many a great man, but none like his father. His father’s death wasn’t supposed to happen for years to come, and Marcus wasn’t supposed to lead the life he has. His life has continued to progress down a dark path as he aged. If only I had more control over the finer details, it wouldn’t have. He slams the door closed, dropping his school bag by the door. Looking around at the yellowing blue walls, his nose scrunches at the smell of cigarettes and the sight of bottles. Maybe he should have signed up for the sixth grade science fair, at least it would have gotten him out of the house. “Mom, I’m home,” he calls out. Listening for a few sec- onds, he picks up on the sound of faint snores in the back room. Rolling his eyes, he goes into the kitchen to make a peanut butter sandwich. It was the only edible food in the house, even if he did have to pull away the corner covered in specks of green. Marcus pulls out the faded blue car, rolling it around his hands. On the left side, the paint has been chipped all away leaving the shiny grey skeleton of the car. “Where have you been?” a screechy voice sounds behind him, spooking him a bit. Without turning around, Mar- cus grabs one of the clean glasses from the cabinet above the counter while slipping the blue car into his pocket.. “I had school mom.” “Liar! I saw you out with that Mallory boy!” His mom whips a bottle, missing his head by a foot. “Wha-did you throw a bottle at my head?” Marcus screams while turning around with blurry vision. His mother stands there staring at her son like a stranger watching a horrible accident. “Just leave,” his mother whispers, grabbing her hair. she slumps to the ground. “Leave me alone!” she screams into the air with tears crashing to the ripped linoleum. Without a glance back, Marcus runs straight out the door, his jacket in hand. That’s the first time he found the rooftop. I watch as Marcus runs his fingers over eight gouges. Eight times he’s tangoed with me, nine now. “What am I doing?” he whispers to himself. Yes indeed Marcus, why have I found you here again? I watch as his fingers stroke Rachel Lynch