Chapter One

After Bily Jones, Jr. loses his father on September 11, 2001 he is willing to end it all.

People spend their entire lives wondering how it will all end. I for one am tired of playing out my own scenario as I envision my demise at least once a day. I picture my body engulfed in flames, or lying on 33rd Street just waiting to die after being struck by a stray bullet. On September 11, 2001, many civilians decided their own fate on how their world would end as they jumped out of the Twin Towers, concluding the final chapter of their stories. I too am ready to make the final step, by jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. It is then that I’ll be reunited with my father, Firefighter William Jones, ladder 147, who was murdered when the South Tower collapsed on top of itself with him inside, leaving me without a purpose.

     It was the fourth day of my junior year at Thomas Jefferson High School in Brooklyn. The school was in uproar and complete chaos. We were evacuated and told to go straight home. My stomach knotted knowing my dad was deployed to the towers as a first responder. I tried to run across the Brooklyn Bridge, but to no avail as the flood of people in the other direction evacuating Manhattan constantly pushed me back. I saw crowds of civilians, firefighters, police officers, and rescuers, but no sign of my father. The flaming wreckage, the debris, and what I learned to be the sound of bodies impacting the pavement from the upper floors of the World Trade Center deafened my cries for him. Suddenly, my heart sank when the South Tower weakened, the upper floors flattening the ones underneath them until the building was nevermore. I had a glimmer of hope that either he made it out alive, or was in the other building. However, there was an overwhelming feeling of grief knowing that Dad would not abandon any civilian or fellow firefighter. That was just the man he was.

     For the past several months, I have been carrying this overwhelming burden on my shoulders. It pains me knowing I was not as close to my dad as I could have been, and now I never will have that opportunity. There are so many questions I wish I had been able to ask, and now it is too late. Why didn’t I appreciate him while I had the chance? No, I had to be the one locked in my room at night. I constantly think to myself: Billy, why didn’t you take more of an interest in him? He was your father for God’s sake. Everyone expects me to honor his life, to achieve such greatness, and to make his sacrifice worthwhile. I cannot live up to such a promise. I cannot find it in myself to follow in Dad’s footsteps. People continue to knock on our door in the evenings to pay their respects and to thank our family for his services that day.

     “Why did you have to go to work that morning? Why couldn’t you have stayed home? Why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to leave us? I miss you. Mom misses you, so does Ryan and Katherine. God, she is only eight years old!” I yell out. He will not be around for anything in my life. Dad will not be around for my graduation, my wedding, or my first-born child.

     I will leave behind my mother, Jacqueline. She is better off. It is not like I am leaving her completely alone. She still has the other two, my younger brother, Ryan, and my younger sister, Katherine. They are so lucky: they do not have to conform to the pressure of living up to Dad. My father was a man better than I could ever be, which is why I have to kill myself, so I can be at his side for an eternal rest. Mom says he will be around in spirit looking down on us from heaven. He won’t be. It’s all a crock.

     Ten seconds. Ten seconds is all it took for the victims to fall or leap to their deaths out of the towers prior to hitting the asphalt. I imagine it to be quick and painless, a free-falling sensation until sleep takes over permanently. I look over, seeing the moonlight shine atop the calm water through a gaping hole of the New York City skyline where the World Trade Center complex once stood. Every time I close my eyes I see the buildings burning and the collapse over and over again. Last night, I saw the hole in the South Tower, then its collapse, followed by Mom singing “Silent Night” at a candle vigil to honor the victims of September 11. Maybe the wind will take my body and force it further out into the East River, and then all my problems will be over. My hand trembles as it grabs the railing; I pull my body over. It is now or never. I extend my arms out preparing for my free-fall.

     Stop, my father’s voice calls out, you are worth something. You are my son. You are everything to me. It is up to you to look after Katherine and Ryan. Your dear mother won’t be around forever.

     “Dad, what’s wrong, is Mom sick?” I yell across the East River.

     I love you my son, Dad’s voice echoes and fades to silence. I take a step pack collapsing into the guardrail. A haze sweeps over me. The image of an envelope addressed to Maimonides Medical Center surfaces. I see my mother. Ever since Dad died she has been racing out of the house to run an errand, or increasing the overnight stays at a friend’s house.

     “Love you guys; I just have a thing to take care of,” Mom would say as she ran out. It was like she was never there for us anymore. One night, she ended up in the emergency room at Brooklyn Hospital Center. She insisted she was okay. However, her withered body, resting on the bed said otherwise; her long luxurious ginger hair was now wilted. I never saw her that weak before. I would see pieces of her hair clogging the bathroom sink, or how she constantly felt fatigue walking around the house, but none of that compares to when I saw her lying there in the hospital bed. Mom has breast cancer; only God knows how much time she has left for I am uncertain as to what stage is it in.

     I guess killing myself will have to wait for now; it is no longer about me. It’s about them: Kat, Ryan, and Mom. Who else will be there to watch over Kat? Ryan can’t even take care of himself.

     Our lives have never been the same since Dad died, was murdered. We still have yet to receive any remains. Dad was never identified in the wreckage; if only we had something to hold on to we may have some closure instead of living on false hopes.

A flash of lightning strikes over the depleted New York City skyline; it is hollow as my heart. The clouds darken; raindrops trickle down my freckled cheek, blending with my tears, as I walk the remaining stretch of the Brooklyn Bridge towards home. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle, my blonde hair disheveled, anguish evident on my face.

I am all alone. I have no friends, no life. I am so sick and tired of feeling like a loser. However, I cannot jump tonight, not now, not ever. If I were to jump, Mom would be heart-broken and surely she would die, and then what? Ryan and Katherine are alone and would feel isolated as I do right now. Their lives would be destroyed, not to mention they probably would be in and out of foster homes and new schools not wanting to bother to make new friends. I cannot do that to them.

     I bow my head. I should have never left home. Mom does not have the energy to take care of a rambunctious 12-year-old boy along with Kat. She barely is able to look after herself.

     I walk the long stretch of the Brooklyn Bridge towards Brooklyn Heights, heading home. I have to make sure she is all right. If something were to happen to Mom, I would never forgive myself, and the other two would not know what to do. They don’t even fully comprehend why Dad is no longer with us. So much has been happening.

     The bagpipes played. Mom wiped a tear away from her eye as the American Flag was draped over my father’s coffin. Ryan and Kat sat in silence, a blank stare on their faces. I never saw them as quiet as they were that day, when all was lost. My heart sank into my stomach, so much anger locked from within. I tried my hardest to hold on so a tear would not escape and reveal my weakness. I could not stop remembering Dad. I recall him shaking hands and having a good time with his “brothers” down at the station, sighing at never experiencing such admiration, which I longed for every day. I ached to be able to play basketball, or to go on long fishing trips with him once more. I remembered one of our last father-son moments.

     “You know, Billy, I am not going to be around forever, but I need to make sure you will be able to take care of yourself,” Dad said on the boat.

     “I’ll be fine, Dad.” I cast out into the East River.

     “I love you,” Dad embraced me.

     “I love you too,” I told him.

     I will just have to make your sacrifice worthwhile, Dad. A tear emerges sliding down my face as I walk the last quarter-mile of the Brooklyn Bridge through the pouring rain. I reach our apartment complex, stumbling at the sight of the darkened windows. My jaw drops to find the hallway tattered and unkempt.

     “Kat? Ryan? Is anybody home? I shout bolting up the stairs. I turn on all the lights and check bedrooms. The rooms rest undisturbed, the picture frames in place on the dresser, and the covers snug atop the beds. All of a sudden, wails advance up the stairwell. I scurry back down the littered hallway and bursts open the kitchen door. The figure of my mother stands above the sink in gloom, grasping the countertop.

     “Mom, I know what is going on,” I snap, “How could you keep this from me?” She turns around, her mascara running down her cheek, but she cannot make eye contact with me. Her gaze is on a piece of paper, my suicide note. It reads: “By the time you read this I will be in my watery grave, so there is no point coming after me. I’ll be already gone. I’m sorry for the pain I will put you through. It’s not your fault, but I have given up. I feel lost and in complete isolation. Nothing is working. I just wanted you to know how much I love you. I love you always.”

     “Billy, how could you even think of killing yourself? After all we’ve done for you. All the sacrifices we have made. I know this is a hard time for all of us, but it will get better. We will get through this,” Mom says, fighting back tears, looking in my direction, but her eyes still steer clear from mine.

“Mom, I know,” I holler, “I know you have cancer. Why didn’t you say anything? How long have you known? Was it before Dad died?”

     “Did you ever stop to think how I would feel when I saw this?” she barks.

     “Mom, are you even listening to me?” I scream, “How long have you known? Since you ended up in the hospital?”

     “Damn it, Billy. I love you too much for you to just throw your life away,” Mom says, her knees buckle, her hands tremble clutching the counter trying to stand her ground.

     “Mom?” I cry out. She collapses, hitting the linoleum.

 

Author's Note

All reviews welcome.

Reviews

[Matt Pellegrini]

"People spend their entire lives wondering how it will all end. I for one am tired of playing out my own scenario as I envision my ending at least once a day." In this second sentence, while I don't think there's anything wrong with having "my" twice, when I read it as "I for one am tired of playing out that scenario as I envision my own ending (maybe demise here instead)..." I think it sounds either more natural or more powerful.

"On September 11, 2001, many civilians decided their own fate on how their world would end as they jumped out of the Twin Towers..."

"and what I would learn to be the sound of bodies impacting the pavement from the upper floors of the World Trade Center deafened my cries for him." Powerful line here. The thought of the sound of bodies impacting the ground really brings the horror and brutality to life here, in a good way, of course.

Right after this sentence, the narrator recalls the South tower collapsing. However, the description of this is kept to just one brief sentence. While I think the narrator may have not thought much at the time other than being simply dumbstruck by what he was seeing, I also think there's some good potential for a couple sentences here for the narrator to describe the imagery of the tower collapsing (I know there's probably some really solid similes or metaphors to use), along with his emotions or thoughts in retrospect. I mean, this part could really be drawn out dramatically, with each floor that pancaked down on top of the one below, a little bit of hope that his father was okay left, or something like that.

"That was just the man he was." Depending on the length you want this story to run, the narrator recounting a really good specific example to illustrate the great character of his father would be something to consider.

"Why didn't I take an interest in him while I had the chance?"
"Billy, why didn't you take more of an interest in him?" Since these sentences are very close to one another and are pretty identical in wording, the second one, Billy's thought, seems slightly repetitive since through the narration, he has pretty much just voiced that thought to the reader and doesn't need to do it a second time in the same words. I like the purpose of the second sentence and, so I think just changing the phrasing of one of these sentences so they're not the same would fix that.

"Dad will not be around for my graduation, my wedding, or my first-born child." I like this sentence. I like the paragraph it's in and what feeling and emotions it evokes and its purpose. It's possibly this paragraph or bits of it should precede the one before it, where Billy decides he has to kill himself. One, the reader will probably at least better understand Billy's decision because it makes it seem like what's the point of living if these are the things I wanted. Two, it avoids this slightly odd placement of the sentence I quoted. If Billy is going to kill himself and has come to that conclusion before this sentence is narrated, there would presumably be no marriage of child for his father to miss. I suppose a reader will understand what Billy is really saying here, and probably not come to the issue, two describes, but it's something to consider at least.

"Ten seconds is all it took for the victims to fall or leap to their deaths out of the towers." I think there needs to be something about falling to the ground below, or from jumping to hitting the ground. Because I assume that's what the ten seconds is referring to. The time spent in free fall, from the jump to the landing.

A bit of a random note here. I might be making this up, but for some reason I think I remember hearing something about how people jumping from that height or a certain height might pass out before hitting the ground. It would be an interesting thing to look up and if that's the case, maybe Billy would mention something about that and how peaceful and easy it seems.

"Maybe the wind will take my body and sway it further out into the East River," not sure if "sway" is the right word here. Cast, push, force are some of the words I'm thinking.

"I force my body over." To me, this sentence was a bit misleading. I was under the impression for a brief second that Billy and forced his body over a railing and was now plunging from the bridge down to the water below.

The father's voice part...I get what's happening, but I feel Billy has to kind of address it in some way. Maybe that's not it. I read it again and Billy hears the voice and it sort of affects him, that's really all that needs to be said. But in regards to this line, "Dad, what’s wrong, is Mom sick?" Slightly later Billy tells the reader his Mom has breast cancer, so he knows his Mom is sick. The question then seems kind of strange. Saying Dad, is it because Mom is sick is maybe the simplest way to change it, but I don't know if that gets at what you are going for. But I'm sure there are a lot of options for what Billy would say here and what how you can show his father has convinced him to step back and not jump.

"Killing myself will have to wait; it is no longer about me." Billy states this a little too confidently for me to really believe. My own feeling of Billy is that he's changed his mind, but he's still a little reluctant and would rather kill himself. Only his father telling him he is important and thinking about his family has changed his mind a little bit. So the feeling I got was that, at best, Billy would feel like, "I guess/Maybe killing myself will have to wait for now." Something a little more tentative.

The paragraph following the one with that sentence I talked about above is great image-wise. Dark clouds, raindrops, walking down Brooklyn Bridge was really visible for me. I don't think adding a little bit more description, imagery, or Billy's reflections would be a bad thing either.

Alright, the next paragraph pretty much deals with the concerns I had about the details as to why Billy changed his mind and kind of make some of those concerns unnecessary. I still think structure and order wise, moving some of these paragraphs around might clear up any possible inconsistencies or, but the story really is fine and understandable as it is now and wouldn't suffer when just reading it for the story and not going over it with a fine tooth comb.

"sighing at never experiencing such admiration, which I longed for every day. I ached to be able to play basketball, or to go on long fishing trips with him once more. I remembered one of our last father-son moments." This is all good stuff here. If there's one thing I really feel explains Billy and his internal conflict and struggle, it's these kinds of things. He believes he will always be measured against his father and then will never be able to meet those expectations. He wonders what it is he can be appreciated for and will be proud of. I'm a big fan of this theme and all that you can do with it.

“I’ll be fine, Dad.” I cast out into the East River." Nothing above establishes the last father-son moment as a fishing trip, though I came to that conclusion because of this line. I'd try to hint that in more than just saying "go on long fishing trips once more." Saying..."Dad said on the boat" or something to make it the least intrusive. I also want this last father-son moment to be longer in description, and for Billy to have more thoughts about it looking back now.

“Mom, I know what is going on,” I snap, “How could you keep this from me?” I guess I'm not sure specifically what Billy knew at what point. Obviously from this, his mother never actually confirmed or told him she had breast cancer, but then I don't know if he knew she did when he saw her in the hospital and all that, or didn't put it together until that moment on the bridge, when Billy has sort of an epiphany sparked by hearing his father.

"Her gaze is on a piece of paper, my suicide note." This is a great twist, I guess, or a great piece that creates conflict and tension might be more accurate.

I also really like how both Billy and his Mother have kept things from each other. Her cancer and his thought of suicide. It sets up a nice tension for the future of this story if you choose to continue it.

One thing I notice about many of your stories are that the first chapters, in essence, or beginnings parts of a bigger story really leave the story open to going in many directions, which I think is a good thing for you as the writer. I'm not entirely sure where this story goes next. The most obvious thing is Billy attempting to overcome his fear of failing to live up to expectations and do something he can be proud of by caring for his family. But this set up even has the ability to jump off to some surprising points as well.

Before I checked, I thought this might have been a re-write and new direction for your A Father's Wings story. I'm glad it's not; I really liked that one. Who knows, maybe the paths of the two characters who lost family members will cross.

[nostal]

Will give full review later. Seems interesting and lengthy and nice. Send me a notification later.