Write a story that includes: a family argument, a 17th-floor balcony, and an
Can you believe it? Only two more days.
This one got a little melancholy though for some reason.
It is windy tonight, but that is why they call Chicago the windy city, right? I can hear the distant hum and swish of traffic 17 stories below while I look out at the city lights. How weird it seems. I haven’t been here in so many years and it seems foreign, almost alien.
Life in Rural Illinois is not bad, but I remember the days of parties and bars, wandering the streets until the sun came up. I especially remember Elijah.
“Adam, promise it will always be like this.” Elijah is radiant, his dark hair is tangled by the wind and his cheeks are pink from the cool spring air. I am wrapped in his arms and we are spinning around and around on the side walk, laugh an whooping like children.
The memory is so strong I actually feel myself jerk when a familiar smell comes to me on the wind. It is the scent Elijah always wore. God, to smell it now, here at the very moment I thought of him. My eyes fill with tears.
“Oh, Elijah, I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know I said that out loud until I hear the door slam behind me. Mira, my wife is standing there, anger so clear it is almost a visible as a halo around her. She is shaking, with her slim hand over his mouth.
“Mira-“ I open the door to the hotel room. “Mira, listen, let me explain.”
“So that is why you wanted to come here so badly.” Her words bite at me. She had known all about Elijah when we first met, but it didn’t become a problem until after the wedding. Suddenly she could not stand to even hear his name spoken. She made me cut off all contact, but I heard of his death last fall through another friend. Suicide.
“That’s not it at all, Mira,” I try to reach for her but she slaps my hand away.
“I don’t want to hear it, Adam.” The hotel room door slams shut behind her. I am left alone with the memories of both past and present mistakes now.