The Falling Man

You’d think this story would’ve turned out to be like all the rest.

That it would begin with me waking up in bed, the sunshine creating a yellow glow in my room, and I’d roll over to see Gerard peacefully sleeping next to me.

But it doesn’t.

I stared at my ceiling instead, wondering if I ever even fell asleep last night as the alarm went off at six-fifteen in the morning.

I hadn’t seen Gerard in five years. He had called like he said he would, we had hung out, but there just became a stand still in the relationship somewhere along the lines, and we had stopped talking all together.

The rain was slowly tapping on the window, and I tossed the sheets of the bed off of me and stood, stretching a bit.

I switched off the alarm on my desk and strode over to my closet, picking out a nice shirt and pants to wear to work that day.

I had begun working at a bank after I got back from Maine, and had ended up keeping the job after all these years. I had needed the money, they needed a secretary. It worked out smoothly, but just bored me to death. Answering phone calls and taking messages were wearing down my mind.

I robotically turned on the shower and stripped, stepping into the ice waters and feeling the heat gradually increase. I washed my face and hair, waking up slowly.

There wasn’t a day that went by without a thought of Gerard. Even though he had moved back to New Jersey, living with his parents, his presence seemed to linger in the apartment. It didn’t want me to forget.

I stepped out of the shower, drying myself with the towel and taking another for my hair, which had become longer in the passing years.

The reflection in the mirror held the same, old Ana, though. The same nose and freckles, the same dark hair and muddy green eyes.

I hung up my towels, now dressed in a pair of boy-shorts and tank top, and headed into the kitchen to start the coffee. It clinked to life, making it’s usual hissing sound at me and pouring out the hot brown fluid.

I poured myself a cup, and set a bowl of cereal on the table, then headed over to Peter’s old room.

I pushed the door open gingerly, holding on to the cup of coffee, and smiled.

The room was now painted in a bright green, with pink curtains. A small body lay on the bed, only slightly stirring.

I set the cup down on the nightstand and sat on the bed, her feet by my thighs.

“Kat,” I rubbed her back gently, not getting a rise out of her.

She was the epitome of her father, from her dark hair to her soft smile. Even the bright hazel eyes that made my heart melt.

She rolled over, facing me and opened her eyes slowly, rubbing them.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hey, baby,” I rubbed her back once more before resting it in the crook of her body, “Did you sleep well?”

She yawned, and nodded, smiling, “I had a dream.”

“Really? What was it about?”

She grinned at me, exposing her tiny teeth, “I dreamt that I was in an attic, and there were all these boxes. And I was looking for something.”

“What were you looking for?” I brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

She furrowed her eye brows, taking every ounce of early morning strength to remember. I just smiled, waiting patiently.

“I think it was dish towels.”

I raised my eye brows, “Dish towels?”

“Yeah,” she grinned at me, “Be-cause, Daddy was coming over. And you were cooking him spaghetti, and you wanted me to go into the attic to get dish towels, and so I was up there and looking for them.”

I shook my head, “I wouldn’t make you go into the attic ever. There are spiders up there.”

Her eyes widened, “Spiders? Mommy-”

“I know you don’t like spiders, baby. That’s why I wouldn’t make you go up there.”

She smiled, stretching a bit, “Thank you, Mommy.”

“So,” I picked up my cup of coffee, “Are you ready to get up now? I’ve got a bowl of honey-cheerios out on the table for you.”

She sat up, her hair messy and sticking about. “Can I eat them now?”

“Well,” I sipped my coffee, “Did you pick your clothes out already?”

She pointed her little finger to a chair in the corner of the room, a heap which was her outfit for today thrown on it.

“I picked them out last night.”

I rested the mug bad on the nightstand, knocking over a photo.

“Mommy!” She squealed, leaning her entire body over me in attempt to reach the photograph, “You knocked over Daddy!”

I picked up the frame, looking at the picture of Gerard and I outside Central Park. It was not too long after we had visited the coffee shop. But not too long before we had become too occupied with our jobs. He was looking down at me, his arms wrapped around my chest, my hand on his arms, and looking up at him and smiling.

“I’m in there too, you know,” I pointed out, placing the picture back down on the stand.

“I know,” she said matter-of-factly, climbing over me and hopping down off the bed.

“When am I gonna see Daddy?”

I sighed, shaking my head, “I don’t know, baby. It’s hard. He’s been really busy lately, you know that.”

She simply nodded, looking down at her bare feet.

I did hate disappointing her like that. I honestly did. She deserved to have a father figure in her life. But Gerard was young. He deserved to have his own life as well. Having a child took up the majority of mine.

“Are you ready for breakfast now?” I stood, picking up my coffee and taking her hand, leading her into the kitchen.

She didn’t respond, climbed up into the chair and rested her chin on the table.

“Milk?”

I opened the refrigerator, pulling out the container, and held it with one hand, looking at her.

“What do you say, Katrina?”

“Can I puh-lease have the milk?” She picked up her spoon and began playing with the cheerios, digging through them until the spoon stood by itself, “Mommy, I made a tower. It’s like Repretzle!”

I grinned, pouring the milk into the bowl for her, “It’s Rapunzel, remember? She had the long hair.”

“I know,” she took a bite, crunching, “Miss Caitlin read us the story.”

“I remember. You told me all about it,” I sat down at the table across from her, watching her eat, the milk dribbling down her chin a bit. She was concentrating so hard on each individual cereal piece.

It was times like these when I wished Gerard was here. I imagined him sitting next to me, taking my hand into his and just watching her with me, maybe shuffling though a few business papers in preparation for work.

I wish that he could’ve been there when she was born, for her first smile, her first birthday. She had become such a joy in my life. And I knew he would be able to teach her so much. She was always asking about him, questioning when she’d be able to see him. And the answer was always the same.

‘Not now, Katrina. He’s so busy.’

What I didn’t realize is that that answer would soon change.