Arlene and Hansford had jumped at the chance to take in an adolescent basketball prodigy from the inner city when Avillage had come calling.
When the counselor opened the door to introduce J’Quarius to the Washingtons, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Arlene and Hansford didn’t care in the moment that they weren’t legally full parents. J’Quarius didn’t think about how and where his life might be uprooted. They all simply felt an immediate sense of wholeness, satiety for a primal human need for which they’d been starving.
~~~
Just prior to sunrise, with shades of gray evolving to dull colors, Melvin emerged from a public restroom at the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. An impressive suit that had drained the majority of his bank account covered the gym shorts and tank top he’d been wearing the night before. Wingtips replaced the high tops that he now carried in his bag.
Apart from his size, he didn’t stand out from any other upwardly mobile young executive getting to work early on an important trading day.
With a purpose in his gait, he walked the two blocks to Avillage headquarters, slid past security with the first wave of employees that came through the lobby and took the unsecured elevator to the 24th floor. From there, he hoofed it up the remaining 22 flights to the roof.
Knees throbbing and out of breath, he threw open the emergency exit and climbed down the small metal ladder to the rooftop, where he quickly shed the suit he’d been wearing. After putting his high tops back on, he removed the rope and marker from the duffel bag and tossed it next to the $600 heap of clothes.
He then laid the thick braided rope down in a straight line on the blacktop before turning back and mouthing the number of paces, as he concentrated on maintaining a constant stride length. When he reached 33, he marked the rope, tossed the marker aside and got busy tying knots.
Once he had securely fastened the end of the rope to the vent cap closest to the corner of the 45-story building, he backed up, slowly, methodically, toward the center of the building.
With his eyes closed, he took in a few deep breaths to clear his mind.
Then he opened his eyes.
The sun was just peeking up over 11 Wall Street to the east. To the southwest he could see Lady Liberty in the shadow of lower Manhattan surrounded by the calm water of New York Harbor, only her torch and crown illuminated.
He then reached down to one of his socks to retrieve a scrap of newspaper that he’d clipped from the back of the sports section six weeks earlier and gently pressed the picture of J’Quarius to his lips. Then he released it to the wind and watched it flitter and float away, climbing the updrafts between the buildings.
When the clipping had disappeared from sight, his expression hardened, along with his resolve. He bounded toward the edge of the building next to the roof vent. Reaching full speed just before he took flight, he let out a cathartic scream. For the athletic career cut short. For the college dream unrealized. For the son he could never know.
Dozens of faceless suits on the street far below craned their necks toward the leonine roar and then scattered, as Melvin soared 20 feet clear of the building. His rickety knees had conceded one final athletic statement.
With a striking suddenness, his scream went silent as the rope cinched around his neck, choking off his airway.
His lifeless body, adorned in a blue tank top and gym shorts, came careening back toward the top floor of the building. A full one-story spiderweb took shape in the plate glass on the top floor of Avillage headquarters as his massive corpse slammed into the window of James Prescott’s corner office. Clearly visible from inside, through the kaleidoscopic glass, was the number 11 on the back of Melvin’s Lincoln Junior High jersey. Above it were the letters JQJ.
~~~
Ticker symbol J opened with
When the counselor opened the door to introduce J’Quarius to the Washingtons, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Arlene and Hansford didn’t care in the moment that they weren’t legally full parents. J’Quarius didn’t think about how and where his life might be uprooted. They all simply felt an immediate sense of wholeness, satiety for a primal human need for which they’d been starving.
~~~
Just prior to sunrise, with shades of gray evolving to dull colors, Melvin emerged from a public restroom at the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. An impressive suit that had drained the majority of his bank account covered the gym shorts and tank top he’d been wearing the night before. Wingtips replaced the high tops that he now carried in his bag.
Apart from his size, he didn’t stand out from any other upwardly mobile young executive getting to work early on an important trading day.
With a purpose in his gait, he walked the two blocks to Avillage headquarters, slid past security with the first wave of employees that came through the lobby and took the unsecured elevator to the 24th floor. From there, he hoofed it up the remaining 22 flights to the roof.
Knees throbbing and out of breath, he threw open the emergency exit and climbed down the small metal ladder to the rooftop, where he quickly shed the suit he’d been wearing. After putting his high tops back on, he removed the rope and marker from the duffel bag and tossed it next to the $600 heap of clothes.
He then laid the thick braided rope down in a straight line on the blacktop before turning back and mouthing the number of paces, as he concentrated on maintaining a constant stride length. When he reached 33, he marked the rope, tossed the marker aside and got busy tying knots.
Once he had securely fastened the end of the rope to the vent cap closest to the corner of the 45-story building, he backed up, slowly, methodically, toward the center of the building.
With his eyes closed, he took in a few deep breaths to clear his mind.
Then he opened his eyes.
The sun was just peeking up over 11 Wall Street to the east. To the southwest he could see Lady Liberty in the shadow of lower Manhattan surrounded by the calm water of New York Harbor, only her torch and crown illuminated.
He then reached down to one of his socks to retrieve a scrap of newspaper that he’d clipped from the back of the sports section six weeks earlier and gently pressed the picture of J’Quarius to his lips. Then he released it to the wind and watched it flitter and float away, climbing the updrafts between the buildings.
When the clipping had disappeared from sight, his expression hardened, along with his resolve. He bounded toward the edge of the building next to the roof vent. Reaching full speed just before he took flight, he let out a cathartic scream. For the athletic career cut short. For the college dream unrealized. For the son he could never know.
Dozens of faceless suits on the street far below craned their necks toward the leonine roar and then scattered, as Melvin soared 20 feet clear of the building. His rickety knees had conceded one final athletic statement.
With a striking suddenness, his scream went silent as the rope cinched around his neck, choking off his airway.
His lifeless body, adorned in a blue tank top and gym shorts, came careening back toward the top floor of the building. A full one-story spiderweb took shape in the plate glass on the top floor of Avillage headquarters as his massive corpse slammed into the window of James Prescott’s corner office. Clearly visible from inside, through the kaleidoscopic glass, was the number 11 on the back of Melvin’s Lincoln Junior High jersey. Above it were the letters JQJ.
~~~
Ticker symbol J opened with
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