Letters From The Ledge

by Meyers, Lynda

  “For what?”

  “For you to ask again.”

  His smiled melted into hers as he took her face in his hands and softly explored the depths of her mouth. The kiss seemed to last for hours. She felt all the muscles in her body turn to liquid, and for a few amazing moments she completely forgot she was in the middle of New York City, completely forgot about being afraid, and completely lost herself in the safety of these arms she didn’t yet understand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory…is forever.”

  - The Replacements

  “Brendan!”

  The banging from the doorjamb shook the room until Brendan looked up from the computer screen. His father was standing in the doorway, shit-faced.

  He slowly removed the ear buds from his iPod and looked up. “Quit yelling! I’m five feet away from you! What do you want?”

  “I want to know what this bullshit is!” Frank was waving a stack of papers in one hand.

  “What bullshit would that be?”

  “I thought we had a deal.”

  “Please tell me what we’re talking about?”

  Frank threw a stack of photography program brochures at Brendan’s desk. “The deal was, Europe for the summer, Wharton in the fall.”

  “Where’d you get these?”

  “I’m asking the questions here, not you.”

  Brendan just stared at him. He could feel the venom rising from the pit of his stomach. For the moment the poison was a slow leak and he stayed surprisingly, almost eerily calm. “Why do you want me to go into business anyway?”

  “Because it’s what’s best for you.”

  “How do you know what’s best for me? You don’t know what I like or what I don’t like, what I want or don’t want. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Frank didn’t know what to make of him and Brendan watched him struggle for a proper response. Instead he hit the default button and raised the volume. “I can give you what most people would kill for!”

  Brendan started itching for a fight. He stood up and faced Frank eye to eye. “What if I don’t want what you have to give?”

  “You ungrateful little bastard!”

  “Well, for once you got it right.”

  Frank was slurring badly. He lunged at Brendan, hitting him across the face with the back of his hand. His ring caught Brendan’s cheek, ripping into the flesh on the way by. The cheek exploded with searing pain, but he didn’t flinch. He just sat there and stared at the beast of a man who’d given him his name, along with most of the pain he’d ever known. Blood trickled down Brendan’s face and he reveled in the feeling. It fueled him.

  Frank pulled him up out of his chair by the shirt and jacked him up against the wall. “I have given you everything you’ve ever wanted or needed or even asked for, and this is what you do for me in return?”

  Like a rag doll Brendan’s arms hung limp at his sides. He gathered his breath and began working his tongue inside his mouth, rolling around every bit of congealed venom that was in him.

  “Everything, huh? What about my name? Did you give me that?”

  “What?”

  “Something wrong with the name Foster?”

  Frank’s eyes flashed with understanding, and he let go of his shirt, but Brendan didn’t move. He just stayed plastered to the wall. “What did you say?”

  Brendan just met his eyes. “You know. The other bullshit.”

  Frank wasn’t often at a loss for words. He stepped back and rubbed his whiskered face, looking up into Brendan’s ice-cold stare.

  “Son, what do you want me to say?” He used the word ‘son’ like a southern man would–as if it were another meaningless modifier that made a person appear more hospitable than they really were.

  “That’s a loaded question, Frank. For now how about we just stick to the discussion at hand?”

  He pointed his long, fat finger at Brendan’s face. “Don’t you call me Frank.”

  “Fine. Then don’t you call me son.”

  “Who told you?” He looked toward the direction of the hallway and screamed into the darkness. “Ginny!”

  “She’s not home.”

  “Well why the hell not? Ginny!”

  “I told you she’s not home!” Brendan yelled. “What’s the matter, can’t deal with this on your own? Gonna hand me off to her just like you always do when you don’t know what to do with me? And don’t go beating down her door either. I’m the one who found the papers.”

  Brendan could sense the upper hand and calmed considerably at the power of it. “You’re the one who agreed to it. Europe. I just needed my birth certificate for the passport application, but mom was too drunk to find it for me, so I had to find it for myself.” Frank stumbled backward and fell into a sitting position on the bed. “You know, so many more things make perfect sense now.”

  Frank looked up at him. “You don’t know the whole story.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do. Mom and I had a great little heart to heart. She told me all about it.”

  Frank straightened, already recovered from the initial shock and ready to re-engage. “Well you’re still my son, and we still have a deal. No son of mine is going to some sissy photography school.”

  “I’m nothing like you” the words came hissing out of Brendan’s mouth. “And I’m glad. At least now there’s some measure of hope.”

  Frank came off the bed and hit him across the other cheek, then threw him against the opposite wall. “You little bastard!”

  Brendan lay on the ground holding his chin. The storm in his father’s eyes made him look otherworldly, like an apparition from a sci-fi film. His shoe found Brendan’s ribs and the hot, searing pain worked its way up his side this time. He got up and took a swing at his father but Frank grabbed his wrist with his left hand and punched him square in the face with his right. The last thing Brendan remembered before blacking out was being thankful he was heading toward the soft cushion of the mattress.

  Some time in the middle of the night he woke to a pounding headache. His face was swollen on one side and it hurt to take a deep breath in. Even the skin on his ribs was tender to the touch. He pulled out a fresh baggie and rolled a joint, then sat out on the ledge, watching the stars and laughing to himself as he lit it and took the first drag.

  “No, really officer–it’s for medicinal purposes.” He held the first breath longer than usual. The pain was turning to nausea and he needed to make this quick.

  Three or four drags later he forgot about the pain in his side and his face until all that was left was the dull ache of hatred and the sometimes distant, simmering anger that comforted his pride. He gingerly lowered his body down.

  The stars surfaced one by one onto a landscape of black tar that warped in and out of his field of vision. His eyes were playing tricks on him–either that or the stuff had been laced. It was a new supplier, but he’d come well recommended.

  His back pressed against the cold bricks, he looked up at the night sky and allowed the images to leave their impression on his semi-consciousness at random. His thoughts drifted back to the kiss, the smell of apples, and Sarah’s mouth melding into his own, soft and warm. The rocking, comforting waves of his dreams enveloped him like a warm blanket. There was something about her that he just couldn’t shake.

  Nomadic memories of Tess showed up at will, wandering in and out, merging her face with Sarah’s. Tess crying on his shoulder. Tess stoned, angry and withdrawn. Tess’s face next to his as they talked late into the night. She was the closest he’d ever come to having a girlfriend. He hadn’t ever kissed her, but there were plenty of times he’d wanted to. Now he’d done what she told him to. He’d found someone who made his mouth go dry and he’d kissed her and it was amazing, but the nagging sense of betrayal was muddying his feelings. He couldn’t tell where his love for Tess ended and his growing feelings for Sarah began.

  He’d finished reading most of the letters, working th
rough the poems and drawings little by little, but now all he could remember was her pain, and it haunted him. The words to a Coldplay song rang through his head. He’d listened to the song so many times the words were etched in his memory.

  “I’m sorry, Tess. I’m so sorry…” He cried as the drugs wore off and the numbness subsided and the feeling snuck back into his heart. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fix you.” He rolled over onto his side and looked out into the blackness. “I don’t even know if I can fix myself.” The big, sucking breaths he was taking shot thousands of needles into his lungs. Maybe it was worse than he thought. Pushing up onto his side the pain overtook him and he passed out.

  __________

  In the morning Brendan opened his eyes to a bird perched on the railing above him.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” He was freezing cold and he could barely move.

  The left side of his face felt three times the size it should be and the right side stung. Slowly the events materialized and he remembered the first blow that cut his face. As far as he could tell the blood had dried up and it would just need to be cleaned, but the sting of it wouldn’t leave. It was the ribs on the right that had him worried, so he dragged himself back inside and stood under a hot shower until he felt better.

  Eventually he could take shallow breaths without too much pain, and if he held onto his side it hurt less, so after the shower he carefully wrapped a large ace bandage around his chest and secured it with a safety pin, then buttoned a shirt over the top and donned a ball cap and some sunglasses. Rifling through his mother’s medicine cabinet he finally found what he was looking for. A few more drags off the butt of last night’s joint and he was ready to go. School was off for some reason so at least he’d have no explaining to do there. He picked up his camera and his portfolio and left the apartment.

  A text came in while he was on his way down in the elevator. It was from Sarah, wanting to get together. He ignored it and kept walking. She’d have to be put off for a few days.

  He grabbed a coffee and slid Nate’s card out of his wallet, dialing the number on his cell while he sat at Starbucks waiting for the Vicodin to kick in.

  “This is Nate.”

  “Hi. It’s Brendan.”

  “Brendan! Good to hear from you. How are you?”

  “I–” A sharp pain went shooting through his temple and he winced in spite of himself. “–was wondering if you wanted to get a cup of coffee.”

  The other end of the line was silent for a little while. “Are you ok?”

  “Not really.”

  “Where are you?”

  Brendan gave him the location of the Starbucks.

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  Brendan closed his phone. He sat cataloguing the things he wanted to say. He needed a job, he needed training, and he couldn’t afford to screw this up.

  At this point even U Penn was in question, and Europe had been reduced to a pipe dream. Without Frank’s financial backing, his options were surprisingly limited for a guy in a penthouse apartment. He could threaten to go public with the abuse, but that would backfire for sure. Humiliating Frank Evans was dangerous business, but blackmail might work. If he could get a big, fat, shut-your-mouth check he might be able to make enough to get an apartment somewhere and then he could get a job. Or, he could always take the money and go to Europe.

  The idea of severing all ties forever with his parents was looking pretty darned attractive. He sat browsing the brochures that had been so vehemently thrown in his face. There were several with options for correspondence-type training.

  He went to the bathroom and removed the hat and glasses and took a good look at the damage he’d been hesitant to glimpse after the shower. Examining the full depth of the black and purple bruises was grotesque, at best, especially those surrounding his ribs. He decided to take a few pictures for the sake of proof. One never knew when those might come in handy. Finally he re-wrapped his middle and replaced the hat and glasses. The Vicodin/Marijuana combo made movement much easier.

  __________

  Nate walked in and found Brendan sitting upright in a high-backed wooden chair at a small round table with a folder in front of him. The hat and the dark glasses were a dead giveaway, but he had to give the kid props for at least trying to look professional. He stuck out his right hand and in place of a firm handshake he watched the boy grimace.

  “How are you?”

  “I’ve had better days. You?”

  “Can’t complain. Do you mind if I grab a coffee before we talk?”

  “Be my guest.” Brendan swept his left arm around the room, his right pinned unnaturally to his side.

  Nate nodded hesitantly. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time.”

  As he made his way to the counter, he watched Brendan shift uncomfortably in his seat. From the back Nate could tell the left eye was swollen, which he hadn’t been able to tell from the front or even the side. The kid was good.

  When he got back to his seat, Brendan had laid out his portfolio and was sitting up straight, waiting, so Nate followed his lead.

  “Ok.” He sat down across the way. “You called this meeting. What are we here to discuss?”

  “I uh, wanted to show you some hard copies of the stuff I’ve been working on, and…I thought I would let you know that I’ve been looking into a couple of different correspondence courses designed to teach Photoshop and some of the related vector graphics programs. I was wondering if you had any other suggestions. In other words, which programs would I need to really know inside-out in order to make myself more marketable?”

  Nate was looking through the pages as he listened. “Marketable for…what? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “A job.”

  “Are we talking about after college or–instead of?”

  “Instead of.”

  “I can’t take you seriously if I can’t see your face. Take off your hat and your glasses please.”

  Brendan did as he was told. The black and blue of the bruise was in full flaming color, with a little red for extra visual interest. The cut on the other side of his face looked miniscule in comparison to the eye that was basically swollen shut.

  “You go to a bar last night and get in a fight?”

  He hooked his arms across his chest and winced again when he touched his own side. “No sir. I stayed home last night.”

  Nate didn’t even try to hide his skepticism. “Well, that’s a really nice building you live in Brendan. I find it hard to believe there are too many rough and tumble types living there.”

  Brendan didn’t even flinch. “You might be surprised.”

  “Brendan, can you be straight with me? I’d like to help you, but it would really help me if I knew what was going on.” When Brendan didn’t offer any further explanation, Nate sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “How far are you away from graduation?”

  “A little less than a month.”

  “It’s really important that you finish.”

  “I know that. I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t say you were. I’m just trying to determine what your plans are.”

  “I used to have a great plan, but I ran into a snag.”

  “Face first?”

  “Something like that.”

  Nate sighed. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that. Are you in trouble with the law?”

  “Nope. Apparently it’s all nice and legal now. I ran into a little trouble with my birth certificate when I applied for my passport.”

  Brendan just stared straight ahead, delivering his lines in a flat, monotone voice that Nate recognized all too well and he started to get nervous. “What kind of trouble?”

  Brendan met his eyes, but his face was still expressionless. “Things weren’t exactly what they seemed.”

  “With your birth certificate?”

  Brendan sat shaking his head. “Do you really even want to hear this?” />
  “Yeah. I really do.”

  Brendan sucked in a slow, shallow breath. “Apparently I was adopted–which explains a whole lot, let me tell you!”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to back up a bit.”

  “When my mother wouldn’t give me my birth certificate, I went looking for it. What I found instead was a bunch of adoption papers and my original birth certificate, listing the name of my birth mother and the bastard rapist that did it to her as ‘John Doe’. She found me reading the papers and eventually told me the story.” Brendan took a sip of coffee and shifted his position gingerly. “It was all very touching. My birth mother was fourteen years old. She never even held me. Gave me up sight unseen.”

  Nate sat motionless.

  “I should have never confronted him, drunk as he was. I know better. But it was the first time I’d seen him since I found out and I just couldn’t stand it.”

  Nate’s eyes got wide. “Are we talking about Frank here?”

  Brendan nodded. “Surprised?”

  “Not entirely. So, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

  “I knew enough to wear the hat and the glasses, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” Nate rubbed at his temples. “And what’s wrong with your side?”

  “Gucci loafer to the ribs.”

  Nate’s right hand immediately clenched into a tight fist. He was starting to have a fair amount of difficulty keeping his anger in check. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

  “Like a mother. But I wrapped them and that feels a little better. Just don’t make me laugh.”

  “Self medication doesn’t hurt either, does it?”

  “A little of mom’s, a little of my own. Whatever it takes.”

  Nate blinked a few times, trying to digest the information as it came tumbling out. His hatred for Frank wrapped around his heart and squeezed it into unrecognizable shapes. If this was what he was capable of–

  Brendan looked down at Nate’s fist, still balled up at his side. “So, you’re a fighter?”

  “What?”

  Brendan nodded again at Nate’s hand. “You react the same way every time you get upset. Like you’re ready to swing.”