Breathe

Even now, as he stood perched on the ledge of the balcony ready to throw himself into the city light and urban decay, all he could think of was ruining that damn sweater. His mind cut through the thick sounds of New York, his eyes danced across the skyline; this was his moment of clarity, his moment to reckon with his life and his mistakes, his moment to commemorate his life before he said goodbye.

It was supposed to the period of silence where he came to terms with himself, but instead of recalling sweeter memories and letting go of all the bitter ones all he could think of was the blue and gray striped sweater wrapped loosely around his torso. The colors were faded with wear, and the threads had begun to pull at the seams and around the neck. The wrists still smelled of her perfume, the chest hung awkwardly where the fabric had been stretched.

By no means was this article fashionable, flattering, or even attractive in Kurt Cobain’s “I don’t care” sort of swagger. But it was her proverbial safety blanket, and he couldn’t be the one who ruined that.

Slowly, he backed away from the concrete edge between living and dead, intending to return as soon as the shabby cloth was neatly folded on the welcome mat. His feet made contact with the balcony floor and he felt his heart sink, as if the air pressure had dropped dramatically in the three-foot difference. The weight of his world found its place upon him again, settling comfortably and closing the gap between his shoulders and the ground.

He sighed numbly, pulling the sweater from his chest and carefully pulling the sleeves together, folding it widthwise, and placing it gently on the cheap patio set they had bought together.

“It’s really not that bad!” she had exclaimed, sitting in the plastic woven-backed chair and propping her feet on the faux-glass table. Her blue eyes sparkled under the ugly fluorescent light from above, and the cheap ventilation system blew her brown hair around her shoulders as if someone were whispering secrets around her neck. “Besides, it’s not like I have anyone to impress.”

He grinned, taking his place in the seat beside her and running his hand across the wire edge of the circular surface. “Are you saying you’re done trying to impress me?” He brought his tanned hand back over his heart, clutching his cotton shirt as if he really felt pain. “I thought our friendship meant more to you.”

She laughed her typical giggle and leaned over to his chair, saying “Don’t be like that! I wouldn’t have invited you on this excursion if I didn’t love you and your judgment.”

“Well, I can’t blame you... It’s not like I don’t have impeccable taste.”

A small smile crossed his face as he sat on the now weathered chair, trying to imagine that she still sat next to him. The cold air around him attacked his bare chest, but nothing could have convinced him to move from that image. He could still feel her thin arms around him, smell her hair just under his chin, and hear her soft voice...

“What are you doing out here, goober? And where’s your shirt?”

Almost as if on cue, she slid the glass door fully open and stepped quietly onto the patio. Her pale skin glowed in the cold moonlight, and her curly black hair whipped around her delicate jaw with almost as much energy as the wind propelling it. Her black sweatpants had fallen to just below her hip bone; her shoulders and collarbone remained exposed to the night air. Around her neck was her mother’s pearl necklace, the one she almost never took off.

“Ry...?” she asked, closing in on his shivering frame. “Are you all right?” She took her spot beside him, pulling on her white long-sleeved shirt to cover her hands.

He looked at her eyes now, and noticed how her eyelids still drooped with sleep. “Yeah,” he lied, grabbing her wrists gently and pulling her into his lap. Ryan’s arms wrapped themselves around her waist and she instinctively put hers around his neck. “I just needed some fresh air.”

She smiled at him, gently knocking her head into his. “You could have just opened a window.”

He smiled at her too, burrowing his head into the crook between her arm and chest. “Maybe I would have if someone didn’t complain every time someone got a little cold,” he chuckled, closing his eyes and catching the scent of her perfume.

“Just because I don’t like sitting in the cold at three in the morning...” she trailed off, resting her chin on his head. “How are you not freezing right now?”

Another smile graced his lips, and he looked her in the eyes. “You keep me warm,” he said with softer tone.

She awed, then hugged him tighter. “I love you RyRy!” she she said with a laugh.

“I love you too, Kyle.” More than you’ll ever realize.