He dialed 9-1-1 on his cell phone. You could hear the air in the background.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"If I died, would you miss me?"
He hung up. He called the police. Before the receptionist could speak.
"I'm about to jump."
He cut her off. Closed his cell phone. Stared it down. Thought of her. He dialed the house number.
"Hang on a minute, I'll go get her."
He heard her cover the phone and call "Emily! Phone!"
But he didn't wait for her.
"I loved you."
He hung up.
He watched a cloud float by. Last one. He called his "home".
Ringing. Ringing. Answering machine.
"Leave a message after the beep."
He knew it. That man wouldn't answer, probably suffering another hangover.
But he left his message.
"Your son is dead."
That was it. There was no one left to call. No one left. He threw his phone over the edge, and watched it shatter into tiny pieces on the pavement. The people looked up at him, high enough to rival the sky. Just a spot in the sun. But they watched him, ignorant.
He falls. Arms open for broken wings. He won't fly. But he'll land.
He didn't know what it all meant. No one ever explained it to him. But it could all mean nothing. He could be nothing. He would be nothing. No, just another one, to them. He'd see his mother soon enough. Maybe she could tell him.