I went onto the balcony with my coffee, even though I had an ulcer. I’m afraid of heights.
The sunrise was beautiful. I wish I could’ve seen it.
In the corner of my eye I saw a bird but it was Mr. Aldermaston, from 2142. He was standing on the ledge between our balconies.
“Don’t jump!” I said. I’d seen that on television.
Mr. Aldermaston’s palms were spread out as wide as palms could spread against the wall. I could see him breathing. He was wearing his bowler hat. And a beige suit.
“Are you alright?”
He kept breathing, at least.
“Do you want me to call Emergency?”
Mr. Aldermaston shook his head.
I was worried that it would get windier.
It did.
A gush of wind blew Mr. Aldermaston’s hat off. We both watched it fall. It fell for about 21 seconds.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:30.
“I have to go to work,” I said.
* * *
When I got home, I went straight back out there. Mr. Aldermaston was still on the ledge. He had on the same bowler hat. I guess it was a different one.
The sunset was beautiful. Probably.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Would anything make your life better?”
He didn’t answer.
“Would you like some coffee?”
He nodded.
When I sat the coffee on the ledge, I accidentally looked down. I backed away from the railing.
Mr. Aldermaston edged towards the coffee. Exactly half-way between the balconies is a gargoyle. He had to manoeuvre over that.
“I forgot to ask if you take cream.”
He seemed to be drinking it anyway.
* * *
The next morning, Mr. Aldermaston was sitting on the gargoyle. He was wearing a different beige suit. I was pretty sure.
It was easier getting the coffee to him, now. I put cream in it, just in case.
I didn’t say anything to Mr. Aldermaston because I didn’t really see the point.
“It’s a nice sunrise,” I said, imagining that it was.
* * *
I went for a walk.
I was walking back. I saw a bird outside the apartment, only it was Mr. Aldermaston’s bowler hat. I picked it up.
Mr. Aldermaston landed in front of me.
I wasn’t so much shocked that he jumped, though I was. He bounced at least five feet in the air.
I dropped the hat.
* * *
Mr. Aldermaston survived. He disappeared for a long time. When he came back to his apartment, he was in an electric wheelchair.
I see him on his balcony some mornings, in his chair, with his coffee.
We smile. We nod our heads, sometimes. Watching the buildings that block the skyline.
Rolli is a writer and cartoonist from Regina. His most recent story collection, I Am Currently Working on a Novel, was long-listed for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award and shortlisted for the High Plains Book Award. As a regular contributor to The Walrus, Rolli produces an original short story and cartoon every week for thewalrus.ca. @rolliwrites