Brightside by Mark Tullius (story books to read txt) 📕

BREAK WAS TO BE TAKEN at ten o’clock, but it had stopped raining and I didn’t want to risk waiting another twenty minutes. Sara was meeting with Carlos. I couldn’t let her know.

The stairwell was silent, not a noise above or below. It was for emergencies only, definitely not breaks, something Carlos loved reminding everyone.

I peeked over the railing, made sure I was alone, then headed up the stairs. There was a padlock on the roof access door, but I’d also borrowed one of Danny’s keys.

Quickly, I slipped on Danny’s spare coveralls and matching hat, both two sizes too small.

The Council had ruled the roof off-limits after Paul’s plunge. It was stupid to argue something could be completely fine one day, a liability the next. The roof was a roof. It wasn’t safe or unsafe. It just was. Just like a rope. A knife.

Puddles covered the rooftop. It’d been warmer these last few days. I wondered if it’d stay this way.

I told myself to stop thinking, time was running out. I needed to get back to my desk. There was a folding chair leaning against the wall where they kept the air conditioners. I took my first step, and even though I was nowhere near the ledge, I was already soaking Danny’s coveralls with my sweat.

Baby steps.

I moved over to the folding chair. Stepping up, even against the wall, made me dizzy. I looked out at the mountains toward the cemetery, couldn’t see a thing with the sun peeking over the top, my eyes useless without my sunglasses.

It wasn’t a great feeling knowing the Rangers could see me, but not so bad I’d be a good little citizen and go back downstairs. I needed to do this. I kept my hand on the wall at first then slowly peeled it away, just me standing on the chair, high above it all.

It wasn’t enough. I didn’t come here for the view so I got down, moved my chair a bit further. Closer to the tiny concrete ledge that spanned the front of the building. Closer to the ledge Paul said he tripped on.

If I couldn’t beat my fear of heights, Day 100 would become 200 then 300. I’d never leave.

I focused on the piece of duct tape on the pipe eight feet from the ledge. I wiped my hand on my pants. As brave as I could, I took the chair across to the strip of silver. My next goal.

I’d like to say it was easy, that I walked right up to that line and put down my chair, but that’d be a lie. It took a minute, maybe two, to get the chair there, only a second to sit my ass down, get closer to the solid roof.

The map Rachel had made crinkled in my back pocket. I took it out, held it tight as a gust of wind blew across the roof. I opened the map, looked at it until my heart stopped thumping, until I knew every line, could see every squiggle. Every road within five miles.

I folded the paper in half two times. Then I ripped it again and again until there was no piece bigger than a stamp. I threw my hand in the air, let the wind carry most of the pieces away, the rest floating down onto the roof, soaking up the water.

I was doing pretty good right then, didn’t feel nervous at all. Without a second thought, I scooped up the chair and duck-walked two feet, stopped about six from the ledge. My safe spot.

The move didn’t do much to me, I was doing okay, my breaths still rapid, but not out of control. Still, I had to go all the way. Today wasn’t the day to do anything half-ass. Not when it could mean getting my head blown off because I couldn’t climb out of the mineshaft.

I wasn’t scared. My father’s voice in my head, Be a man!

The ledge was right there, close enough to touch. The building was less than a year old, but the foot-high hunk of concrete looked like it’d been slapped on as an afterthought.

I told myself not to freak out, that I was fine. Nothing was going to come along and push me off the chair, send me over the ledge. I was safe. I was doing it. I was being a man.

Somehow I got my right foot on the ledge, pressed on it a little to check for some give. I didn’t feel any.

I looked to the sky, figured this should be the part I got rained on. Maybe a thunderstorm, the world’s biggest flashflood, something to come and fling me off the roof, sending me to oblivion or a fancy wheelchair.

A long time ago, I learned God doesn’t answer prayers.

If I wanted something done, I was going to have to do it. Before I could chicken out, I reached forward, put my hand on the ledge, the wet concrete, a rough slickness.

My heart was thumping like I’d run a mile, but I was holding onto the ledge. I straightened my legs, got my ass out of the chair. I took a step closer.

I was shivering, clutching that ledge like it was the only thing stopping me from going over. Scared shitless like a little kid. Scared of the American flag, snapping in the air.

Every day since my first one, I’d given myself two options; leave Brightside or else. But I couldn’t do either one stuck on my knees.

I squeezed the ledge tighter, holding my breath without even knowing it. I blew out and took three quick ones, made my heart slow down. I was twenty-eight years old. I could let go of the ledge. I could lean over and look down. Look down eighty feet, the wet sidewalk below, the exact spot Paul landed.

The wind kept on coming, the red, white, and blue firing whack, whack, whack. I was getting up. One way or another, I was getting on that ledge. If I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything.

I kept both hands on the concrete, my eyes on the flag, forced one foot up. I brought my other foot underneath me, had both on the ledge. I put my hand on my chest, felt my heart trying to break through.

There was no one around that could hear me, but I said, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the Republic for which it stands.”

And I was. I was standing so high above it all!

I squinted my eyes as the wind whipped at my face. “One nation. Under God. Indivisible. With liberty and justice for all.”

From somewhere in my head, my father’s voice, Do it!

I’m not sure what happened, but I wasn’t scared. Of Dad. Of falling. Of anything. Dad couldn’t hear me, but I said, “Sorry. Not today.”

Then I heard Mom’s voice, Come on, Superman. Let’s see you fly.

I flipped them off with both hands, middle fingers to them and the world.

Fuck them. Fuck Brightside. I was tired of getting picked on, told what to do. I’d