Nickelback

nickelback

Two days later, a sixteen-year-old boy jumped out of an eighth floor window and landed on the roof above my head at work. We thought there had been an explosion, considering that a laundry machine had exploded just two days before. Then there was a call from a guest's room saying that someone was trying to jump from a window. My coworker Nancy and I joked about it. We couldn't imagine what would happen next. It took me about three minutes to figure out what exactly had happened.

The explosion, the call, Don from security running through the lobby to get to the elevator…

He wasn't trying to jump, he already had.

There was a misunderstanding. The guest called to say that someone had jumped past their window. The explosion was him hitting the roof. Dust shot out of the ceiling and we all thought that it was smoke. My stomach was in my throat.

He was sixteen. He had terminal cancer. Chemotherapy had so badly damaged him that he had very few motor skills. He had a 140 IQ He came in every day for massage therapy. He had gone up to the eighth floor, sat by the elevators, and casually bashed at the window with an ashtray until it had broken open. Nobody said anything, perhaps nobody noticed. I don't know.

When security had finally opened the second floor window so that they could get out to the boy's body, they threw a bedsheet over the frame to avoid serious injury. Still, most of the emergency workers cut themselves on the broken double-paned glass. The Assistant General Manager of the hotel hoped out loud that they could salvage the new bedsheet. That man should die. I feel no remorse in saying that.

Blood trailed the stretcher as they wheeled his limp body out of the hotel. Oddly, there were three news crews in the hotel at the time covering a Jefferson Hospital reunion. There was never any mention of what had happened on the news. There was an obituary, but no mention of where he had died.

Nancy knew him. He was like her brother. I wanted to go to the hospital with her, but I couldn't get out of work. I helped her out the door and told her to call me if she needed anything. She called me at six-thirty to tell me that he had died.

I went to Doobie's afterwards so that Eric would have the honor of pouring me a nice bourbon. He poured it very nicely. It was beautiful. I wanted to cry.

T.J. tried to console me by telling me about all of the people he had known who killed themselves. I didn't really know how to tell him that he wasn't helping at all. Then he started buying me drinks. That helped. I lost track of the stories he was telling me. Nancy showed up about midnight.

I got another bourbon and took it over to a nice quiet table by the back door. Nancy ordered a beer from Dano and we sat. She told me all about him. What they used to talk about, how she took him to the zoo when he was thirteen, how he'd talk about girls when he turned fifteen, how he had asked her out when he turned sixteen. I knew how he felt. I looked at her face as she talked and suddenly I was a lanky-armed sixteen year old with terminal cancer who was about to jump out of a window.

She told me too much. I didn't want to know anything about him. I wanted the explosion above my head to remain shadowed and vague. Sometimes you don't want to place a face to the name. Nevertheless, I listened. She needed to talk, and I let her. My bourbon interrupted her a couple of times, but not quite enough to really get in the way. She took my hand whenever she was about to cry as though it were a handkerchief that she could wipe her eyes clear with. I didn't mind that. I figured it would be nice to have my hand wipe those eyes dry. Heck, I'd even let her use my tie if she needed. I bought another round.

The night was getting lax. My bourbon seemed somehow stronger than the last few and Nancy merely sniffed at her beer as if that would make it go away. She sat silently for a moment, her thoughts deep in the back of her head. She gripped my hand tightly, but it didn't seem to stop the tears from welling in her eyes the way she hoped it would. I placed my other hand on top of hers and held it tightly. That helped. She swallowed hard and smiled her thanks to me. Suddenly, I was drunk. Then, I turned stupid.

I knew how stupid just as soon as I said it. The words just came out of my mouth, almost unintentionally. They were wrong, all wrong. I've never felt as much like a sap telling someone that I was crazy about them.

She let go of my hand and looked at the door. I knew that was where she was heading. She was at least kind enough to offer me a red, and I was dumb enough to accept it. I paid Dano and we went out the door. Her car stopped outside the door of my house. I turned to say something, but I had no idea what.

"Please go now," she whimpered.

I didn't argue. I patted her hand, which jumped slightly beneath mine, and I went inside. This time, there was a gift waiting for me in the room. I found the worse half of a bottle of rum under my bed. I couldn't remember where the
better half had gone. I finished it off and passed out on the floor.