Short Story: It goes on

Written: 9th January 2013

She leant over the edge of the railing. She stood there for a long while, transfixed with the world eighteen storeys below her. People were milling about below, caught up as usual in their own lives, oblivious to a lone young woman staring down at them eighteen storeys above.

Groups of office ladies (stylishly dressed, trendily attired and boringly drab) were sauntering along the sidewalk, animatedly having a post-lunch gossip or rant about their 1) bosses, 2) work, 3) fellow colleagues, 4) family or 5) partners/love interests (not necessarily in that order). Young and slick executives in suits and ties and leather brogues were on their mobile phones speaking in urgent important voices, taking long purposeful strides, weaving in between other walkers, on a crucial mission. Clusters of teenagers, who had ended school for the day, carrying an assortment of colourful backpacks walked about window-shopping or looking for less crowded spots to lunch, lunch money jiggling in their pockets and big bright smiles on their faces.  The day is still long and they look forward to it with no small measure of excitement. While walking around, they innocently blocked the paths of the hurrying self-important young execs and were rewarded (unjustifiably) with an annoyed “Tsk!” coupled with a frown that said “Get out of my way youngsters-who-have-too-much-time-on-their-hands-and-nothing-important-to-do-with-it”. Most times, most teens will answer with a middle-finger pointed to the disappearing backs of the self-important execs and then sharing a loud laugh together, their camaraderie boosted temporarily by a common enemy.

While laughing away at their witty (in their personal opinions) retort to the execs, the naïve teenagers stepped on the toes of Louboutin-wearing wives with well-to-do husbands. They are rewarded with yet another “Tsk!” and a stare loaded with so much contempt that only the wives of rich men can pull off, all the while stamping their Louboutins  in an effort to remove the offending imprints of the young and banal. If the stamping fails, another effort will be put into finding another pair of Louboutins or Manolos or Jimmy Choos because “Oh I have so many Louboutins at home and the new collection is just not me”. Then there are the mothers using their babies and the accompanying baby strollers as their mighty rod to part the sea of walkers. There are also the obligatory tourists on vacation wandering around aimlessly to complete the tableau of a typical workday afternoon.

Cars sailed through traffic over the speed limits, only stopping at the last minute to accommodate a few jaywalkers (the said urgent execs/teenagers/office ladies) and a homeless bag lady crossing the street to go treasure-hunting in another dustbin. A beggar sat opposite the bag lady, amidst the throngs, holding out his hands in hopes of a coin or note, or better still, a satisfying meal and a way out of begging.  Daydreaming, that is what it is called. The masses ignored him. He was losing hope and was formulating a change of place or tact when suddenly a hand shot out and dropped a bunch of coins into the beggar’s opened palms. It was one of the busy young execs, who had loose change in his pockets. Our society thrives on imitation and competition and the beggar’s cup soon overflowed with coins and a few pieces of notes. Nobody bought him a meal or offered him work, but for the moment he is satisfied.

The groups of office ladies eventually disappeared, having returned to lead their cubicled lives where another bout of gossiping or ranting will take place over tea break. The busy young execs in their leather brogues cleared out, jumping into taxis, on their way to THE next important meeting. The clusters of teenagers found their lunch spots, or went home to finish up their assignments, or gone to the arcades to while their afternoon away. The rich wives went about their shopping or rushed off to keep their facial/manicure/slimming appointments or to meet with fellow rich wives for a spot of tea. The mothers with the baby strollers went grocery shopping at the various supermarkets. Only the tourists and the cars were left on the street, as observed impassively by the young woman standing eighteen storeys above.

Earlier on the young woman had only one thought, to end it all. Life is meaningless, life is turgid and life is overrated. She had no reason to live on. They had no children. Their marriage is no more once he put pen to divorce papers. He would probably howl in utter sorrow at the news of her passing. Then spend endless nights in drunken misery, wondering why she had done it only to wake up the next day to a cheerless despondency and a deep throbbing headache. It will be a cycle of denial he would never escape from. But deep down inside he knew. He knew why she climbed to the eighteenth storey of the building where he worked at. Stood right at the fire exit stairs and looked down upon the world beneath her feet, only to later greet the ground below with a bone-shattering crack leaving an unrecognizable mess of blood, bones and an irreparable broken heart. He knew but will live the rest of his worthless life in delusion. He will not be able to explain to himself why he allowed her to lean closer than decency will allow. Why he did not stop her when she started nibbling his ear. Why it had felt so right when it happened that he completely forgotten the vow he proclaimed with exceptional fervour to the young woman during his wedding two years ago.

Alas, she found out. The one at the receiving end of that exceptionally fervent vow. And so it is that she stood eighteen storeys high just outside the office where he worked at, indifferently observing the world below, when she realized that it may not be the end she had hoped for just fifteen minutes earlier. That broke her reverie and she looked at brown manila folder at her feet. Perhaps, just perhaps, the other option might just be better. But no matter how she thought about it, she found that she could not continue living with the knowledge that he had hurt her, completely tore her apart and left her to deal with it alone. She wants him to feel the same way and what better revenge than committing suicide just outside his office, a blatant announcement to his crimes of infidelity. They would identify her, find out that she is his wife and discover the divorce papers languishing inside the manila folder. She gripped the railing harder and tip-toed.

Suddenly she heard laughter floating from the street below. A group of teenagers had just finished their lunch at a fast food joint and were leaving. Someone had told a joke and the group broke out in joyful laughter. What a lovely sound. Should I not laugh just because I was hurt once? Should I not eat for the rest of my life simple because I suffered from food poisoning before? She continued staring at the teenage group until they disappeared from sight. There were people dotting the street. The beggar had bought himself bread and a cup of coffee and had settled down to his plain but priceless meal at the steps of the shopping mall. Everything is the same. No one knows of her misery. The sun is disappearing behind the skyscrapers but the afternoon remained as warm and as humid as the tropical weather typically is. A sparrow flew to her feet and settled into its nest at the corner of the railing, feeding its chirping young.

She breathed. There is still air to breathe. Her heart, though damaged, still beats. She tried cracking a smile and found that she can still smile if she wants to.

Ah, there is that keyword, if she still wants to. It is all about choices. It is about choosing to be happy again. She could love again if she wants to.

Suddenly she does. She wants to experience it all over again. There is still a life ahead of her; endless possibilities to explore, more people to meet, a lifetime of journeying. Does she really want to end it all now? A feather of hope touched her core. At rock bottom, she can only rise again. She smiled. A simple natural reflex which penetrated her hardened heart with a small whisper of hope. She released her grip of the railing, her knuckles white and trembling. Stepping away from the railing, she picked up the manila folder. It is the key to her newfound freedom, the new life that she is going to build for herself.

With renewed vigour, she walked into the office lobby, ignored the receptionists and headed straight to the glass-enclosed room at the far end of the spacious office. Nobody noticed her, but she is not bothered. She is focused on her task at hand, her grip on the folder tight.

About a meter away he saw his wife approaching his office. Linda, his secretary, was perched against his table and was leaning down in a way that seductively revealed her cleavage. He coughed and nodded towards the door. Catching the hint, Linda straightened up and adjusted her low-cut blouse which only offered slightly more decency. He was perturbed to find his wife visiting him. She never once visited him at work. Not in their two years of marriage. He felt a strange uneasy feeling settling into the crevices of his mind, like how a cold grey fog settled among the tombstones in a graveyard and stayed.

When she stormed into the office without acknowledging Linda and slammed the brown manila folder onto his desk, he knew that she found out. How, he did not know, but that was the least of his worries. Then she turned on her heels and left. He never saw her again after.

Unlocking the cage that kept her from freedom and happiness felt terrific yet absolutely terrifying. After she left the building, hot angry tears took over and she walked blinded along the street. Her energy was sapped and she felt like a huge cavernous hole opened inside her. But she also knew that the hole was waiting to be filled. She would be filled again; it is just a matter of time.

Life was waiting for her. It goes on.