Page 1 of Norah

Alone

NORAH

I’m always alone.

As I sit on a beam above the Queensboro Bridge after midnight, I’m finally able to breathe. The lapping of waves from the East River muffles the din of the city surrounding me, bringing a sense of calm. This is the only place I can find peace.

I’m always alone now, forced into a life I didn’t choose. But from this perspective, my loneliness fades a little, making the solitude more tolerable. Alone here bychoiceinstead of by circumstance, I can feel a measure of power instead of the weakness that haunts me down below.

Seeing the city from this position, I can almost forget who I am. The air up here feels crisper and cleaner, almost purifying. If I look up, I can imagine I’m flying, escaping from the chains of my invention.

A few months ago, on a late night walk, I found this spot. I’ve made the trip many times since. Ineededto come tonight, more than ever, to escape the drowning loneliness and regret. It’s been getting worse, the suffocating thoughts and emotions making me feel almost helpless in their clutches.

I wasn’t always like this. How many times have I wished Icould turnback time? To make a different decision, to change the direction that my life has taken. If only I could be normal again; to laugh, to love, toliveinstead of simply existing.

On the rare times I allow myself to venture through the city, I’m envious of the easy chatter and laughter surrounding me. I desperately wish I could be one of them, but I know I can’t.Ever. Frustration builds, and I slam my fists down on the metal in reaction. The impact grounds me, reminds me thatwhat ifsare useless.

From this vantage point, I can see a few stars peeking through the haze of the city. Before I moved here, I used to look up at a skyfullof stars. The infinite sparks of light never failed to comfort me, reminding me I wasn’t alone in the world. What I see now isn’t a canvas of white, but a few scattered points of brightness. It’s not the same as I remember, but it still helps me feel less alone.

What if I could see all those stars again? There are places where light pollution doesn’t intrude, where I could see the full blanket of stars wrapped around me.What if I went there? Would I feel less alone?It doesn’t matter. I know I won’t leave here, not when I’ve created such rigid boundaries to confine what I became five years ago.

I limit my daily life to a solitary tedium of remote work from home, deliveries of necessities, and midnight walks in places no one else would choose to go. My phone remains silent except for the monthly texts from my sister, as we attempt to pretend that we still have a relationship, though we both know the truth. She has her own life now and is better off because of it.

Friends are long gone, along with the rest of my family; that’s the reason I can’t let my younger sister go too, despite the risk. I’m always alone. My only communication with the outside world is with faceless names I email for work. I’m just a name for them, too, another cog in an automated online machine.

I used to be different. Before, I thought that my opportunities for the future were wide open. I had friends, a job I enjoyed, and an apartment I loved. My dreams were on the cusp of coming true. It hurts too much to think about those days, knowing what I’ve become. No one that those friends would recognize. If they knew what I was, they would fear me. The danger within me simmers with the ability to boil over, burning anyone in its way. I’m not safe to be around anymore.

The magic of the bridge isn’t working like it usually does, and I swing my legs as I stare into the water. The lights of the bridge create intriguing patterns in the dark waves, and I stare into them as I think.How would it feel to let go?To turn off all thoughts and fall free? The water beckons me, and I wonder how it would feel to move like the water. No thought, just movement. To be part of something bigger than myself. No longer alone, but a part of the powerful current.

“Well,” I say out loud to no one, “it can’t hurt to try it.”

I walk to the edge of the beam and look at the water below. I stand like a gymnast, balancing without a wobble. Should I attempt a dive, or the standard feet-first jump? Recalling my failed dives as a child into our pool, I decide on the regular jump. Without hesitation, I step off the beam and into the darkness.

ETHAN

I hate work parties.

Making small talk, avoiding uncomfortable advances from drunken coworkers, and the inevitable question, did you bring a date?I don’t miss the raised eyebrows, the stirring of interest among some women in attendance, as they prod for more information.Why am I single? Am I looking for a relationship?I don’t give any answers; I don’t even know myself.Maybe I haven’t found “the one” yet?Or maybe she doesn’t exist.

I’m heading home from yet another work event, this time an engagement party for two employees at my company. While I don’t begrudge their happiness, I would have much preferred to just send them a check. But when you’re the vice president, you’re obligated to make an appearance.

By this point, the only thing I want to do is get home and crash, but I have to make it to my car first. As much as I love living in the city, parking is bad at the best of times and painful at its worst. Normally, I don’t use my car, instead choosing to leave it parked near my apartment. But the party was being held out on Roosevelt Island, and it seemed easier to drive than deal with public transit this late.

Although I planned to head right to my car, something brings me past the parking lot and over to the river. Maybe it’s the crispness of the late summer air, or the diminished noise, but for whatever reason, I’m drawn to the water. It’s peaceful right now, the waves soothing in their consistency.

I never appreciate New York anymore, too caught up in my responsibilities to consider doing something as unproductive as a walk at night.Maybe I should make more time for this?A bridge looms up ahead and I stop to admire the architecture.

Something catches my eye along the beams; a form that’s large-ish and doesn’t fit with the angular shapes surrounding it. Did someone toss trash over the side and it got caught? Another thought jumps out-tell me that’s not a dead body!But dead bodies don’t move, at least not like this.I don’t think.

I still can’t quite tell what the shape is, but my inner alarm bells start clanging. Walking faster, getting closer, the shape becomes more distinct. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize what I’m seeing. It’s a person, standing on the cross beams underneath the bridge.Shit!

There’s no reason any sane person would be on the bridge unless they were thinking about one thing. And I know I can’t just watch it happen. Running towards the bridge, I call out, “Hey, stop! Please!” As I draw closer, the person up above comes into focus. They’re small, either a woman or a child, and my gut clenches at the thought. My heart pounds in rhythm with my feet and I call out again.

Without a single sound, the person steps off the beam and drops straight into the water. There’s no scream, no movement, just a smooth slide into the waves. “No!”

Not this time. I’m not letting this person die.I fling off my coat and head for the bank upstream, watching the water. The person’s body pops to the surface, then sinks back down. As I jump into the water, I’m steeling myself for the cold, and it doesn’t disappoint.

Fortunately, I’ve had a lot of experience in water rescue; it’s been years but I still have the muscle memory and training. Thank God I still exercise regularly, because the water isn’t as calm as it appears. Seconds drag before I find the tiny figure floating limply. I pull them into a lifeguard’s hold and head back to shore.

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