I'm gonna die, he thinks first, and second, it's gonna hurt when I land. He must say it out loud. Behind him, somewhere as far as hell and as close as heaven, JC laughs, quirky and loud. Chris thinks, my fate is in the hands of the skinny guy. It seems surreal. It is surreal.

"Open your eyes," JC says, and Chris shakes his head. "Chris. Open your eyes."

"No," Chris says. He won't. He wants death to be a surprise, like his birthday. Every year he wakes up on a lonely day in October and is sure everyone has forgotten it, that he'll get nothing, that no one will make him a cake. He opens his eyes and thinks, I'm one year older and nobody has remembered. They've never forgotten. It's always shocking.

Shocking, he thinks, like waking up alone for a year, two years, three, then one day. not. Opening his eyes and seeing JC look back, an unspoken query in his eyes. The question of do you run or do you stay? And why oh why do you do such stupid things when you're drunk? Why?

"This doesn't work," JC says, "unless you open your eyes."

This doesn't work, Chris thinks, and laughs a bit hysterically, somewhere deep inside. The crotch of his overalls cut into his balls, and he thinks, it works at something. Pain, fear. Chris doesn't want to be half a man, and knows that he is. His therapist doesn't say it in quite those words but close, so close. Like his imminent death.

"Lean forward, then open your eyes. I've got you, promise," JC says and steps back, bracing. I am so fat, Chris thinks, and you're gonna drop me, but his voice ties knots in his throat, and he can't even breathe. Asphyxiation, he thinks, probably doesn't hurt as much as landing.

Open your eyes, Chris thinks, and looks back. There is the edge of the building, grey rock, old. And JC's feet, bare, pressed against the stone. And a square of gauze. He did that for you, Chris thinks. If he closes his eyes, he can see the flame. He doesn't close them. Won't, but wants to, so bad.

Instead, he looks out, over, to where the city crawls, and there are people walking, and cars driving, and Chris thinks, how did they get so small? In his ear, the wind sings, and he thinks, it's nice. When he looks up to the sky, so close he can almost kiss it, he thinks, it's nice, it's nice, and almost believes it. Almost, until he says, "enough, C. I'm gonna piss myself," and ruins the whole thing. He falls back, landing hard. His heart is pinned in his throat, on display.

JC laughs and holds him and whispers, "you did it. You did it, baby. You're all right. You're fine." And Chris thinks, it's like my birthday, and is pleasantly surprised that it's true.

~ fin

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