A Scene to be Envied

A very short narrative of a meeting only possible in fiction.

I leaned against the highest spire, shifting the weight on my back so I would be more comfortable.  The entire city lay before me, spreading for miles in every direction.  The yellow glow of streetlights wavered slightly through the slight haze of smoke and fog.  No buildings stood higher than the one on which I sat, and no point on my tower save the spire was more out of reach and out of the way.

The night felt warm and dry.  Summer was drawing to a close, but the last weeks of August held on to the heat as if the city itself knew it would not feel it for another year.  Silence rang through through the air as it had for hours.  The lone, unfortunate car running errands in the early hours of the morning was to be seen infrequently at best, hardly breaking the still, thick air with its quiet movement.

I breathed in and out slowly, marveling at the sight I beheld.  I did not mind being alone; on the contrary, I rather enjoyed it.  Company never realized how to appreciate life in the moment, to be silent, to take in what can be from the senses.  My surroundings shower me in experience and I drink what I can as if I had thirst from several weeks without water.  I don’t concentrate on what I think, reminding myself only that I don’t have to do so if I so choose.  I am at liberty to do nothing, to be without action, to be immovable and content without the questioning of my peers.  But only now.  I savored the moment.

A latch clicked behind me and my satisfaction shattered into as many pieces as the silence.  I tensed, considering what my punishment would be if I was caught on the roof by a guard.  The heavy door I had come through earlier opened reluctantly and a young girl about my age walked over the threshold.  Her light, golden brown hair poured over her shoulders, glimmering.  She pushed a lock behind her ear as she looked to the right and left of the doorway.  Tentatively stepping forward, she let go of the door and flinched as it slammed shut behind her.  Although there was little light, my eyes had adjusted to the dark when I was watching the city, and I could see that the girl was wearing a simple white skirt and fitted blue shirt.  She made almost no noise when she walked, which led me to notice her bare feet.

I deducted that the mysterious girl was not there to apprehend me, so I relaxed my shoulders and leaned around the spire further to watch her.  She immediately gasped, looking straight into my eyes for a brief moment before dashing back to the door and yanking it open.

“Stop!  Wait!” I blurted suddenly, not knowing what I intended.  The girl paused and looked at me again.  I looked around awkwardly, trying to think.  I assumed she meant no harm, and I was curious as to how and why she found herself up on the roof of the tallest skyscraper in the city.  That in addition to the fact that she wore no shoes.

The girl stepped away from the door.  Her fingers slid out of the handle and it slammed shut again with a bang.  She yelped and flinched, spinning towards the door too late.  The girl turned around slowly, her cheeks coloring.  She clasped her hands and arms together in front of her and looked up at me expressing the most innocent and embarrassed expression I could imagine.  I couldn’t help but smile slightly at the sight.

“It’s all right,” I said.  I motioned for her to climb up to the ledge underneath the spire.  She hesitated, then slowly walked over to the ledge on which I sat.  It rose well above her head, up to the point where I could only reach it by jumping.  Realizing this, I flattened myself on the concrete and lowered my hand.  The girl grabbed my hand with hers and then to the top of the ledge with her other hand, barely finding purchase on the smooth cement.  She felt surprisingly light, weighing much less than I expected.  I helped her up the rest of the way and she sat down a few feet away, smoothing out her skirt and pulling her hair back behind her head.  I sat down myself, half smiling the way I do when I’m not sure what to say or do in present company.  I stared at my shoes, which was a preposterous thing to do seeing as they were exceptionally uninteresting, then looked back out on the city.  I held my argument that nothing compares to being alone, as very little time could pass before my gaze would eventually wander over to my unexpected guest, who had her hands clasped together again between her knees and bare feet hanging over the edge of her seat.

The fifth time this happened, she looked at me at that exact instant.  My eyes widened, and I suddenly noticed the rich brown coloring of the eyes staring back at me.  Returning to earth, I shook my head and stared at my uninteresting shoes again.  Despite my embarrassment, I turned and looked at her again.  She was still looking at me, and as we made eye contact again I noticed a faint trace of a smile on her lips.  I jerked my head away, and looked at the sky.  Tilting my head too far back, I whacked it on the very solid metal spire ascending right behind me.  The air filled with the ringing of the collision.  I didn’t feel the pain until a few moments later, after which I bent forward, rubbing the back of my head with my hand.  I muttered under my breath for a while before I remembered the girl was sitting next to me and stopped, attempting to conserve any remaining pride.  I looked away, regretting my decision to let her stay, wishing I could be alone again.  Alone, with no one to worry about insignificant pains that would pass within moments, alone, with no one to remember the embarrassing moments and recall them at inopportune times.

Wallowing in my misfortune, I grumpily resumed my watch of the city, pretending that the girl no longer existed.  All too quickly my eyes wandered again, and I saw that she had pulled up her legs from the ledge and wrapped her arms around them in a hug, resting her chin on her knees.  She looked as though she was helpless, the whole world opposing her.  As she gazed into the horizon, her brow furrowed and her eyes welled up, watering.  It seemed to me as if all the troubles of the inhabitants of the vast city below us and of the people beyond had fallen on her shoulders, and she alone had to bear it without giving up or showing weakness.

Uncertain of myself, I slid over so I sat next to her and lowered my arm around her shoulders.  She relaxed slightly, turned, and leaned her head on my chest.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Charity,” she replied quietly.

Author's Note

Please read these notes after reading the work itself.

I titled the work before I wrote it, during the time when the only parts of the narrative I knew where that it was going to consist of a boy meeting a girl for the first time on top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. I myself would be happy to be in that scenario, as I enjoy both seeing views by myself without disturbance and imagining the opportunity to meet a girl in a way only possible through literature, as in real life neither of the characters would be able to get on to the roof (or even in the building for that matter) at that time of night, the girl would be wearing shoes, and it would be too creepy for a boy to invite a younger girl to stay with him the way the narrator did in the story. The title ended up being ironic, as envy is quite the opposite of charity. To envy meeting charity is something I would do, interestingly enough. However, this is largely a pleasant coincidence as I originally meant I would envy being in the scenario when I wrote the title, as I explained before.

This work ended at two pages, or about four times the estimated length. I have no regrets as to this surprise, and feel that the description and emotion poured into the text is well worth the space on my hard drive.

I hope that no student or teacher looks into this story too closely, as it is only a description of how I feel in the moment and the only interesting “devices” or whatnot nonsense English teachers put students up to today are two comparisons I rather enjoyed creating, which are the simultaneous shattering of satisfaction and silence, and the naming of such a humble, innocent, self-conscious young girl Charity. That was a long sentence.

I can think of a dozen scenarios in which the narrator and Charity run off together, but I believe this story should end where it did, the happy moment enjoyed by the comforter and the comforted.

Tell me what you think the genre should be. If you haven't already done so, look at the picture. That is what the narrator sees.

Reviews

[Wandering Violet]

That kept me guessing where it was going, good use of tension. Interesting, and it didn't end as I expected either. I agree that it was better to leave it to the reader's imagination as to what happened next instead of providing a conclusion.

[Tate Morgan]

God this is so long and boring