Abridged Version of Prologue

This is an abridged version of the prologue to the book I've been working on. The book itself is mainly about my parents divorce. Please note, this is something I wrote at one time and I find it rather funny. I in no way plan to or have any intentions of jumping from my window, taking too many pills or blah blah blah. So if you are going to read, read it with a grain of salt and enjoy the sting. :-)

Thomas

"I am 24 years old, 5'11.5, yes, under 6 feet. My entire life past the age of 17 I have been told how attractive I am. This means nothing to me. Now I weight 180 and have 6.6% body fat. I spend 1-2 hours everyday at the gym, work out with a trainer 3 times a week, an hour of cardio burning 1200 calories at least three times a week. My diet has been called completely obsessive and unnecessary at times.

I live on the 27th floor of a luxury highrise in midtown Manhattan. I have floor to ceiling windows that face out towards time square, I'm on 9th avenue. This means I can go wherever I want, basically be anywhere in the city in 20 minutes or less, but far enough away from all the tourists that I only think about shooting them all from my window half the time. There are of course many problems with this, one being the building directly across the street from me. There is a terrace on every floor and there is no possible way that I could point a riffle out the window and not have someone see. Another problem is that I've never shot a gun, I have no desire to learn and therefore I would most likely miss and every one of those annoying tourists would get away. And even if I did happen to hit one, it would probably be some raging gay that comes into the bar I work at and then I'd just feel bad about it. I think it's a little rude to have someone paying your rent little by little through tips and then turn around and shoot them. I've been in New York for over five years, but I'm still a Michigan boy, and we just don't shoot people that help us. We, as Michiganderans, are more into welfare and meth labs. Tomato - tomato. Of course I'm trying to say the second tomatoe with a French accent, but I don't speak and/or write French. Although I've had sex with a few French boys, it's nearly impossible to learn an entire language that way. I say nearly impossibly because I may one day have to answer to why I've slept with so many people and I'd like to have a reason that can't be proven wrong. I can always refute with "You weren't there and you don't know what was said between us! And how dare you ask about my sex life!"

The window that faces to the outside world opens way to far if you ask me. On a nice breezy day I can't help but love to have them gaping open and allowing the city in. But they also seem very enticing, my whole body could easily fit out the window with no problem what so ever. Even if I were the perfect height, 6'2, I could still climb out the window. I partially know this from coming home drunk, smoking pot and leaning my entire body out the window except for my feet. I don't have the guts to jump. A psychiatrist might say that I don't really want to die, and he or she would probably be right. Also, I'm a very dramatic person and I've known this since I was child. Once I was playing Genises with my friend, we were in probably 7th grade. Well, that fat fuck drop his glass of orange juice over my video game system and I screamed bloody murder. Didn't he know that this system was the only thing I had in my life that I loved? The system didn't end up being broken, and the world continued to spin. This is just one of many instances in which my family must have thought, "what a queen. ".

At these moments, leaning over the edge of the window I thought about how fucking easy it would be to just fall. The wind hitting your face, my arms open, fingers spread and eventually, nothing.

Nothing.

Half way down I'd probably think of my mothers face and how she still needs me. I would wish I hadn't jump and suddenly be filled with fear of burning in Hell. I can't jump because my mother needs me, she lives 600 miles from me and she still needs me. Can't I do anything without her interfering? It's just a little jump for Christ sakes. Also, if I were going to jump I would want to at least fuck up a few people’s lives in the process. I've never seen someone fall from a building, besides the 9/11 videos, which at this point seem like glamorized Hollywood bullshit. What kind of country wants to see videos of people jumping from buildings? It's sick. So for the record, I would NOT want my jump filmed and that includes some little prick with his cell phone out filming New York. He would probably be Chinese and standing in the middle of the street at the time with traffic honking at him. I would however want to jump maybe during the intermission of a show. I live above Playwrights Horizons and Theater Row. There is always an annoying crowd outside covering the street every night around 7, right before show time. I'd love to see those hootie tootie bitches and their husbands sit through a show after the production I gave them.

There is of course a problem with this too. At the fourth floor my building jets out, my building is set back from the sidewalk, therefore I would never ever hit near them but only be some distance boom sound above their heads. I highly doubt even a splatter of blood would reach the sidewalk or taint one simple over priced dress.

My best chance then would be that someone might be looking out his or her window and see it all. Either in my building and just see me float past, or across the street. Hell, if I assume one of them would see a little riffle pointing out a window then I could for sure count on them seeing an entire body fall.

Another problem, the building across the street is an artist building and one of those little fuckers always has a camera out. And as previously said, I don't want video of me to pop up on the Internet. Especially that faces of death bullshit. Those people are for lack of a better term, retarded.

I'm usually home during the day, so to jump it would have to be then, but most people in my building work 9-5, so by the time they got home I'd just be a stain if they happened to look out their window. And in New York, most people don't look down, they look out. Out at all the pretty lights and blah blah blah. That's the problem with New York, we are too busy looking out then looking down at the shit we are standing in. I pay 1700 a month to split a one bedroom with someone else that makes a decent amount of money and neither of us can afford our own place in a decent location. We pay way too much for food, and we never reheat the leftovers.

So during the day is out of the question, unless of course there is a matinee at the theaters and I can find some way to avoid the ledge below. And no matter how many dreams I have where I can fly, there is still something in the back of my head saying I can't, so diving out past the ledge may be impossible.

Jumping at dusk would be ideal. At night no one could see, but at dusk I'm usually face down in cheap white wine and don't have the energy to get up. Planning to jump out a window I've found is much more complex then one would think.

A trained therapist would agree with the psychologist and say I really just don't want to die. A therapist would smile and tell me to just breathe. A psychiatrist would write me a prescription, say take one pill a day, and I'll see you in two weeks.

Neither answer is wrong, nor does each answer really matter. Because rather I'm on pills, it's night, day, dusk, or drunk; I just can't seem to get out of bed anyways."