She was standing on the rooftop of her apartment building, gazing down at the endless stream of cars, wondering about how it would feel to fall down below. She was tired of the same crap that was her life. When she graduated from college, she envied her friends and classmates who clearly knew what they wanted to do. As for her she had no idea of what was in store for her. She had no parents to guide her, they've left her a long time ago when they perished from a car crash, before she could even learn to call them "Mama" and "Papa". Raised by her aunt who was indifferent to her for as long as she could remember, she grew distant and cold from society. When she reached the age of sixteen, she knew she was suffering from depression, the never ending thought of the void which laid beyond death called to her endlessly. She loathed society, thought that everything and everyone were the same. She never told anyone about this part of her life, about the shadow that haunts her in the night, she was afraid that the people around her would not understand.
She worked for an accounting firm that offered good wages for someone who was just starting out, and told herself that finally she had a purpose. After a couple of months in the firm, she lost interest and resigned. Everyday was exactly the same. She realized that money couldn't buy her what she wanted, a lifeline from the darkness. By then, her sickness grew worst, she found herself constantly thinking about an escape from all of it. The last straw was the call she got from her aunt after she found out that she had resigned from the accounting firm. "You're the biggest disappointment in the family, I gave you everything and you do this. You've shamed your parents." Her voice was blank of any emotion which made it worse. Her aunt ended the call abruptly, probably thought that she had said what needed to be said. And so here she was on the rooftop of her apartment building, about to take a leap which would finally end her misery.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The voice was calm, she could almost hear the smile in his voice.
She turned around and found herself staring at its owner. His hair was dark as midnight black, cropped short. He was wearing a band shirt with a black hoodie over it, gray pants and a pair of battered sneakers. He had a bottle of alcohol in his hand and a book on the other and he was wearing a smile that conveyed both sadness and humor.
Her surprise to the appearance of the man didn't change her resolve to jump off. No matter what he says, she was going to do it. The man in the hoodie seemed to read her thoughts. "Death is simply the end whereas life is full of possibilities, wouldn't you say?" Again she could hear the humor in his voice, as if he found all of this funny. That finally got through her, some of the anger she'd held for so long managed to seep through. "Just leave me alone, what the hell do you know?" Her voice sounded weak. Come to think of it, every part of her body felt dead.
"I know cause I've been there. You've stared at the endless abyss for too long that you've forgotten what it's like to live." He was looking at her now and his eyes spoke of a deep sadness that she found herself turning towards him. "I may not know what you're going through but trust me, there's nothing down there but the end. That may seem like the best solution for you, but believe me, you'll miss out on a lot of things that this world has to offer."
He made no sense to her, how could he say such things? Yet she found herself arguing. "This world has nothing to offer me. Nothing." Her anger was now in full display, she found the whole situation absurd.
"Have you ever fallen for someone?" The question caught her off-guard. She'd never been in love, and it clearly showed for the man laughed. His laugh was the sound of a gentle breeze in the middle of a desert. "You've never experienced love and yet you plan to end your life?"
This time she was raging. "I don't give a single fuck about love, and it's none of your business." This time he was smiling and at the back of her mind she thought he was beautiful. "I'm making it my business. I can't allow you to jump off this building. My conscience can't allow it."
Her resolve to jump off was starting to fade away, all because this man asked her about her experience with love. And then without warning, she broke down and started crying because a part of her wanted to keep on living, wanted to see it through, wanted someone to tell her that life was worth it.
She kept crying until she saw him sit down beside her near the edge of the rooftop. He took a sip from the bottle he was holding. "You're probably angry at me for interfering but I'm not sorry."
"Fuck you." Her voice came out raspy. "Where'd you even come from?" The whole thing was surreal.
"I was sitting over there." He pointed to a corner of the rooftop."I read here during my spare time and when there's enough light to go by." At this he showed her the book he was reading, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. She'd heard of Kafka but only faint whispers from literary books during her days as a college student. Curious, she asked him about it.
"It's about this guy named Gregor who wakes up and finds himself turned into a disgusting creature, a vermin." At this he stops and takes another drink from the bottle he was holding. "Essentially, it talks about isolation, the effects of bureaucracy, sacrifice and a lot more. A good book doesn't give up all its secrets all at once and this is one hell of a book. I've only started to scratch the surface." He was smiling and looked as giddy as a little kid, and she was amused. "Never knew drinking and reading went together." She pointed at the bottle in his hand.
He laughed again and this time she was laughing too. "Well, in my defense, it helps stimulate my mind. At least that's how it is for me." He held out his hand to her. "I'm Max."
"Helena." She took his hand on mere impulse and realized that perhaps all she really needed, all she really wanted was for someone to come into the darkness and sit down with her even just for a little while.
**
He was drinking again, with a book in his hand. This time it wasn't Kafka but Golding. It wasn't until he realized that he's been reading the same page over and over again that he finally gave up and put the book down. He knew why he wasn't able to focus, it was Helena. He couldn't stop thinking about her. That meeting on the rooftop, it never left his mind.
**
A few weeks after they met, they talked and walked a lot. It wasn't romantic in any way. They just enjoyed each other's company. She knew Max was battling his own demons. She could see it in the way he would laugh and talk about things but never about himself. Most of the time, he would talk about stuff that were so random, philosophy, movies, books, music, anything that would peak his interest.
They were walking in the sidewalk, she had an ice cream and he had a bottle he kept inside a paper bag. He wasn't drinking at the moment, it was only four in the afternoon, but pretty soon after the sun sets, he'll be drinking himself to death.
"Do you know why people are so afraid of death?" He was looking at the people who were busy texting away on their phones, oblivious to the world.
"No, but I have a feeling you have something witty to say about that." She's gotten used to his pessimistic worldview, the way he would laugh at the things that he thought were stupid.
"Because they are taught that to die is a terrible thing. They never stop to think that it is nature's mercy, an eternal rest from all of the nuances of the world. Morte Et Dabo. Memento Mori." At this he began to unwrap the bottle in his hand, saw her worried expression and decided against it.
He knew that Helena was worried about him, knew that she was waiting for the right moment to ask him about his drinking. He wanted to put off the conversation but it was inevitable. Sooner or later, she'll ask him about it and if he couldn't tell her about why he drinks whisky like it's water, they'll go on as they are right now as friends but the unanswered question would foreshadow everything.
"I'm sorry about this." He waved the bottle in front of her.
She looked at him and gave him a weary smile. "You'll tell me when you're ready."
"It'll be hard for me to talk about it, it'll be much better if I showed you sometime."
**
A week later, Max took her to the local cemetery and she dreaded what he was about to show her. He took her to a mausoleum. The first thing she saw were the names on the epitaph.
'Maximillian Connor, father, husband and mentor.'
'Cynthia Connor, mother, wife and a devoted patron of the arts.'
'David Connor, beloved son and an endearing brother.'
She didn't need to ask who they were, the look of sadness and total misery on his face told her all she needed to know. She didn't say anything. Any form of consolation won't do, what do you tell someone who has lost everything? That you're sorry? They both basked in the silence and waited. After a few minutes he began to speak.
"They were returning from a family trip. I wasn't with them because I had things to do in school. They said the bus was going way beyond the speed limit." Now the bottle of whisky he kept was out of the paper bag. He drank. "It swerved off the road and took a dive on the side of the mountain. No one survived."
She could only listen to him. And in some way, she finally understood why he drank so much.
"Some nights I'll wake up and go to my brother's room. He loved reading, comics mostly, told me he wanted to read the books I had, told me he wanted to be like his brother. I found it funny because I have nothing going for me other than writing stories I can't even finish." He sounded tired and weary, as if he was tired of sadness and has to find new ways to feel something. "Anyway, he had this drawing plastered inside his room, there's me, him and our parents. They were nothing more than stick figures colored with crayons but it's all that I have left of him." Another swig, he kept going. "My father was a responsible drinker, if there's such a thing. Kept his family secured, didn't raise a hand to us but he was a disciplinarian all the same. Never saw him cry, considered it as a sign of weakness I guess." Another swig. "He was a reader just like me and David, think we got it from him. He loved quoting lines from books. There was one particular line I remembered that he framed and kept on his desk. It was from The Road by Cormac Mc Carthy. I read it at the funeral." This time he drank until there was only half of the bottle left.
"'He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God, God never spoke.' "
**
Max took her to a ramshackle building at the back of the local church. It was her first meeting with the people who had saved Max, who kept him going.
When they entered, they came to a corridor. She could see a couple of old men who were holding bowls of soup. One of them came forward. When he saw Max, his ancient face broke into a smile. "Maxwell, how are you son?" He placed the bowl into the nearest table and embraced him.
"I'm good Scott." Max had an ear splitting grin on his face. She found herself smiling at the two of them. The old man seemed not to notice her until Max introduced her. "This is my friend Helena."
The old man turned to her and gave her a sunny grin. "How do you do? I'm Scott Rice. At your service, maam." She smiled at him and shook his hand."I'm Helena Milton."
When the introductions were done, Scott turned to Max. "Are you here to see Jonathan?"
"Yeah, is he around?" Max scanned the corridor. "You know he always is." Scott returned to his soup. "He's at the living room." After saying goodbye to Scott and to the other men who were eating in the corridor, Max took her to see the man who had saved his life.
**
He was sitting in one of the sofas with a couple of men around him, both young and old. He was playing a guitar that looked as battered and old as the men around him yet the sound that came off it was both beautiful and melancholic. It was Johnny Cash's version of Nine Inch Nails' Hurt. Everyone including her and Max were entranced to the sound and when she heard him sing, it was as if the world was listening, the silence as he sang the words made her feel like crying because he wasn't just singing a song, it was practically the story of his life.
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
The man in the sofa was old, probably in his late 50's, he had a hard face, the look of a man who had been through so much. When he was done singing, a profound silence came over them, it was only when he gave them all a charming smile that they all returned to the state of reality that they were in.
"Well, that's all for now boys." He beckoned one of the men around him and gave him the guitar. He did this with utmost care.
One of the men took notice of her and Max and pointed. Jonathan turned towards them.
"Why if it isn't Maxwell, and you must be Helena." He held out his hand to her and she took it. "If you must know Max talks about you a lot."
"Does he?" She looked at Max who seemed to have found something interesting on the ceiling.
"Among other things. Would you like some coffee?" He gestured towards the dining room.
**
Over a cup of coffee, Jonathan talked to her about the people inside the building. It was a shelter for the outcasts of the community, he said. The homeless, the drunks, the junkies, these were the people that Jonathan took in. When she asked her why, he looked at her with equal parts amusement and disbelief.
"Why, because I know what it's like to have no home and to be unwanted. Most of the men here have no more families and even if they have one, who'd take in a good for nothing drunk?" At this he gestured at Max who took the joke in stride and laughed. "Unless you have stared at the endless void and hit rock bottom, you'll never learn to appreciate the little things." He looked at her and she felt self-conscious about it as if he was looking through her. "I can see it in your eyes too. It takes one to know one. You've been down there too."
The emptiness and the frustration. Yes, she knows it all too well. She simply nodded at him. "So are you a priest or something? You look like one." She wondered about it since the building is found in the back of the local church.
At this, he and Max laughed. "Nothing can be far more from the truth my lady."
**
She didn't believe in religion herself but there were times she wondered if there truly is someone watching from above. It was a question that would creep up on her every now and then when the sadness that threatens to overcome her dissipates. It was a question that she now asked the man in front of him.
Jonathan poured them another cup of coffee and went on. This time his tone was that of a teacher. "There is a famous story told in Chassidic literature that addresses this very question. The Master tells his students that everything in the world is to be appreciated for each one teaches us a lesson. One of the master's student, a wiseass, asks him, 'What lesson can we learn from atheists? Why did God create them?
The master responds and says, 'God created atheists to teach us the most important lesson of them all -- the lesson of true compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone who is sick, helps someone in need and cares for the world, he is not doing so because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that god commanded him to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in God at all, so his acts are based upon an inner sense of morality and looks at the kindness he bestows upon others simply because he feels it to be right.
'This means', the Master goes on 'that when someone reaches out to you for help, you should never say, "I pray that God will help you." Instead for the moment, you should become an atheist, imagine that there is no God who can help, and say, "I will help you."
"And so there you have it, I do what I do simply because there is no one else who wants to do it. No one wants to open his door to a broken man."
After that she went on more frequent trips to the shelter. Volunteering, helping and listening to Jonathan's lectures. Bit by bit, she picked up the pieces of her life, thanks to Max and the people within the shelter. Each one of them had a lesson to teach her. She realized that these people, some who've never even finished school had so much things to teach her. Lessons that no education could teach. Within the shelter, she found a sanctuary where she no longer had to fight and struggle with the world.
She knew now that there are no quick fixes to problems because that's not real life but that's okay as Max told her in one of their frequent date nights.
"You know, you can't really appreciate happiness without sadness. Without the lows, we'll never learn to value the highs."
That stuck with her and she tried to live by it, living those moments of happiness where everything seems so vivid and too real and accepting the sadness that seemed to pay her a visit every now and then but the struggle is worth the fight, for a seed needs to be covered in darkness before it can struggle to reach the light.
Story