High Stakes
Written By Casey Douglass
Morris felt his boot
slip on the dull red of the metal beam. His hand shot out to grip the
upright; his eyes took in the drop.
‘Fuck me!’
‘What’s up?’
Cliff yelled from a few beams over.
‘Me, thankfully! I
almost did a twenty story dive!’
Cliff looked across and
saw Morris holding onto the upright for grim life. ‘Nah, you’re
all strapped up into your safety harness, you’re buckled up tighter
than a gimp at a bondage party!’
Morris tugged at the
chords that fastened to his harness. ‘Shit, I know, I know. It’s
just not natural, being so high. I forget myself.’
‘I think it’s
lunchtime!’ Cliff yelled.
‘Yeah!’ Morris
looked across and grinned. ‘Low blood sugar, that’s what does
it!’
The two men navigated
and negotiated their way to the largest beam and, with moans and
sighs, lowered themselves to sit next to each other. Their packs
hung nearby. Each rummaged for their lunchbox and drinks. Morris had
barely unwrapped his sandwich when his radio squawked.
Oi, you two clowns
sitting up there eating your elevenses, health and safety will have
my arse if I let you do that!
Morris
winked at Cliff. ‘I’ve got this.’ Into the radio he said ‘Don’t
worry, I’m reliably informed that we are safe, what with these
safety lines and everything. We can’t fall off.’
Okay, let me put
this another way. You won’t fall but you might lose your
sandwiches.
Morris
looked at his Wensleydale and carrot chutney sandwich, the one he had
specially bought from M&S earlier that morning, his favourite. He
spoke into the radio. ‘Gotcha’. He turned to Cliff. ‘Lets scoot
back a bit eh?’
The
period where food has been eaten but lunch is still fifteen minutes
from being over stretched out over the rooftops, much like the two
men. Cliff was leaning against an upright reading his paper while
Morris watched the midday sun chase the shadows through the ironwork.
‘How
would you do it if you wanted to end it all?’ Cliff said, the words
pushing through the latest failings of Arsenal on the back page of
his paper.
‘That’s
a bit heavy isn’t it?’ Morris replied, his eyebrows shifted in a
stray sunbeam.
Cliff
lowered his paper. ‘ I was just curious, seeing as you had your
near miss awhile ago.’
‘Oh
piss off!’
Cliff
chuckled and then fell silent. ‘Seriously though, how would you do
it? I’d put some music on, make a nice chilled out atmosphere and
take an overdose of something.’
Morris
gazed over the rooftops, not really sure if he wanted to be having
this conversation. ‘Erm, I don’t know, maybe throw myself in
front of a train?’
Cliff
lowered his paper. ‘I hope not. I know people who aren’t in their
right mind with depression aren’t really thinking that straight,
but I’d hope I’d have the restraint to not ruin other people’s
lives by having to suffer seeing me go splat on the train they’re
driving!’
‘You’ll
be dead though so who gives a shit?’
Cliff
slowly folded his paper. ‘I know that, it just doesn’t seem fair
to me.’
Morris
went on. ‘I mean, if you lived alone and no-one would even know
you’d died, why wouldn’t you want someone to know by doing it in
public?’
Cliff
sighed. ‘I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one
then. I take your point. I guess it’s just something I couldn’t
do. That and being scared of the pain too. I’d just want to go to
sleep and not wake up again.’
Morris
looked at Cliff. ‘You don’t look your usual self. I told you to
buy the sport; get some spice in your life!’ he chortled.
‘Now
there’s a stereotype, a builder reading the sport. If I wanted tits
I’d buy a porn mag.’
‘Bet
it would cheer you up?’
‘No,
I don’t think it would.’
‘Why
not?’
‘Showing
someone page after page of unattainable women when the history of his
love life is one long period of being single and unwanted doesn’t
really help the mood.’
‘You’re
strange today Cliff.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No,
don’t be sorry, happens to us all.’
‘What?’
‘Getting
down in the dumps.’
‘Have
you ever tried to kill yourself?’
Morris
blew air through his pursed lips in a silent whistle. ‘No, can’t
say I have mate.’
‘I
did, when I was younger.’
‘Did
it work?’
Cliff
gave a snorted laugh. ‘Good one.’
‘I
was due,’ he smiled back.
Cliff
looked across the city, the gleaming glass of the skyscraper opposite
dazzling him as the sun shifted position.
Morris
studied Cliff’s face. ‘You get like that often?’
‘Fairly
often.’
Morris
nodded. ‘My aunt used to as well, can’t remember what mum used to
call her episodes, something like “Aunt Jane is in her sad place”
or something. I was only about eight.’
‘What
happened to your aunt?’
‘She’s
okay, still kicking around somewhere. Last I heard she moved to Spain
for the climate.’
‘That’s
good to hear.’
‘Yeah.’
Cliff
looked down at his fingernails, running his thumb over the smooth
nail of his other hand. ‘If I get through the day and get to bed
without praying I won’t wake up in the morning, that’s a good
day.’
‘It’s
that bad?’
‘Sometimes.’
Morris
nodded and looked down at his own hands. ‘I don’t know what to
say that might help mate.’
‘It’s
okay. I don’t expect you to be able to help. Just felt like sharing
for some reason.’
Morris
nodded again. ‘I’d miss you.’
Cliff
looked at Morris and nodded. ‘Thanks, that means a lot.’
Okay gentlemen
enjoying your high tea at noon. It’s past noon now, back to work in
a minute or I’m docking you both an hour!
They
both stood, Morris slapping Cliff on the shoulder. ‘Something else
to ponder mate, we build fucking skyscrapers! Fuck-ing skyscrapers!
That’s pretty cool don’t ya think?’
‘It
certainly is.’
‘Woooooooooo!’
shouted Morris, pumping his arms. ‘Wooooooooooooooooo!’
Cliff
chuckled and yanked on Morris’ safety line. Morris yelped and
clasped the upright, his knuckles turning white.
‘I
just saved you.’
Morris
looked confused. ‘I wasn’t going to fall.’
‘No,
but you were starting to look like a right arse.’
Morris
sniggered. ‘What would the right arse be for you then? Do you like
junk in the trunk or the more athletic derrière?’
Cliff
smiled.
