An eternity passes. People gather on the roof behind me, but I ignore them.
All I can see are those lights....the lights of the city, the lights of the park, the lights of the emergency vehicles. The fact that I haven't eaten in 24 hours starts to take toll, and I feel lightheaded and sick. Every time someone attempts to come near me, I snarl "I said stay away from me!!" They speak to me, but I can't focus on their words. A loud voice warns people to stay back and leave me be. The sky darkens. My life darkens. I can't imagine going on.
Through the din, through the noise, the confusion, the constant pounding of blood going through my veins, drowning out all my hearing, a voice breaks through.
"JD."
Tears continue to fall. A cruel joke. Someone impersonating my dad. He can't come here. But, yet, it's there again.
"JD. Listen to me." it says, softly, soothingly. As if trying to calm a spooked horse.
I will my voice to work. "Dad?" I cry meekly, daring to hope. And yet...it can't be.
"Son. I'm here." The voice is closer. He turns and orders everyone to stay back. I grip the wall on which I'm seated, the back part. White-knuckled. "Please," he says gently. "Come back over the wall, son. Will you do that for me?" His voice strained, trying not to lose control of his emotions. He's terrified.
"Dad, I ... I can't..I..." My head spins, suddenly dizzy. I grip the wall tighter, fingers digging into the cement. The haze lifts a bit, and my fear of heights, forgotten until now, kicks back in with full force. "Oh my god!" I cry. "Dad, I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" I scream out.
"Jesse," dad says softy, the relief in his voice obvious, despite himself. "I know you don't. I'm going to help you. You need to trust me, ok, buddy?"
I nod, terrified, unable to take my eyes off of the emergency vehicles below.
"Dad, help me" I plead.
"I am, son. I'm here." his voice says, closer. "I'm going to put my arm around you and help you back over, ok? Don't move, ok?" he says.
I feel an arm come over my right shoulder and cross my bare chest, a strong hand landing gently on my left side.
"Lean back into me, son." he instructs, never raising his voice. But I can't move. I'm paralyzed with fear.
"I can't, Dad...I can't move." I cry out. I realize that despite my grip on the wall, I'm actually leaning forward...the exact WRONG direction. I'm truly afraid of heights if I can fall, and it looks like this is exactly what I'm going to do. And yet, despite my adrenaline-charged muscles locking me in place, Dad's strength pulls me into him, and I feel his clothed front on my bare back. My hands give way and Dad hauls me back over the wall. I crumple to the roof, his embrace around me tight as he kneels behind me, giving me support from behind. The crowd, quite sizable on the roof, applauds, and I barely hear them on the ground doing the same. Two policemen walk over.
"STAY BACK!" my dad orders. "Leave him be!" Surprised, the two officers back away, then begin shooing the people down off the roof. I'm shaking uncontrollably as I slowly realize what almost happened. The two officers stand at the doorway of the roof access, talking softly with two other uniformed men, paramedics.
"My son" my dad sobs. I turn into his embrace, burying my face in his chest, howling with despair and grief. He holds me tightly, stroking my head. I hear mom's heels clicking on the rooftop as she runs over, surrounding us in her arms.
"Oh Jesse! What were you doing, son?!" she cries.
Someone clears their throat, and apologetically says "Sir, I'm with the Medic team. I would suggest we transport this man to the ER. It's for his own safety."
None of us answer. I'm safe here. I don't want to go.
"Sir?" he tries again.
My mom gets her resolve up and walks over to the young guy. Pulling him by his arm, she drags him over to where the other officers are standing.
"Look, gentlemen, I'm not sure what happened here tonight, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would let us, HIS PARENTS, have a moment with him before you start doing your duty. Would that be OK with YOU?" Mom says in her best "I'm not taking your crap" voice. They apparently decide it's not a fight they're willing to take, as they step back into the doorway and let it close.
Dad still holds me close, unwilling to let go. Mom leans down, and puts her hand on my back.
"Jesse, baby, what happened? What's broken your heart so badly that you're up here on a hotel roof? Talk to me." Mom pleads.
Despite my calm, I can't talk. I just don't have the energy. Unknown to me, Mom and Dad exchange concerned looks. I want to sleep. I just want to sleep. Mom nods to Dad, who gives her a nod of resignation back. They know what needs to happen now. They know I need help.
Mom goes over to the door and opens it, and she tells them that they are to be gentle with me, and that they are coming with me, no ifs, ands, or buts. And they can tell that argument will not be tolerated. Two of them come over, and one takes my legs just below the waist, while the other tries to pry me loose from my father.
"Jesse," Dad says in that soothing voice again. "Let go, baby. It'll be ok." After a moment, he says "Son, let go. Now." firmly, but still gently.
Like a child, I release him, and the paramedic takes me under my arms. They carry me down the small stairs into the hotel and put me on the waiting stretcher, covering me with a warm blanket. I fight to keep my eyes open, but I can't. I'm just weak from the effort of trying to stay alive and not falling. Every muscle in my body was tensed at some point, and they're demanding time off for the extra work.
Mom asks the manager, who has joined the little hallway party for the key to my room, and instructs Dad to go with me. Mom may be the protective lion, but Dad's the one people listen to, and she knows he won't let them do anything without his approval first. Dad agrees and I feel the stretcher rolling down the hallway. On the freight elevator, I work up the strength to ask Dad a question.
"How did you ... know?" I croak.
He takes my hand. "Leslie called us. Apparently there's been a lot of calls going around. Scott called her when he couldn't get a hold of you, and they said you weren't answering your cell phone. Leslie was checking to see if you were with us, and that's when she told us that you were here."
I nod, indicating that I understand, then drift off to sleep. Escape. No pain here.
Next thing I know, there are bright lights, and people bustling about me. My jeans are cut off from my body, and I'm fully examined for puncture wounds, blood is drawn and as a precaution, my stomach is pumped. I'll spare you the details of that. I hear them talk about things like my blood chemistry is negative, and no alcohol in my system. I want to get up and say I'm fine, but still dont' have the strength. They perceive my struggling to get up as resistance, and hold me down. A needle is inserted into my hip and the room gets a little fuzzy. A doctor comes forward, stern.
"Mr. Corey, do you know where you are?"
"Hospital" is my reply.
"Good. Do you know why you're here?"
"No. Not really. Water?" My mouth and throat are raw from the pumping.
"In a minute." Why do they always deny your needs in these places? "Do you remember being on the roof of your hotel?"
Panic sets in for a minute. No, I'm on the ground now. "Yes."
"Did you intend to jump?" he asks sternly.
"No."
"Did you intend to hurt yourself at all?"
"No."
"Why were you there, then?" he asks, as if it's the dumbest thing he's ever heard of.
I'm quiet. I don't know why I was there. But he won't like that answer.
"I said, 'Why were you there?!'" he asks more forcefully.
I shake my head weakly. "I don't know."
"You don't know." he parrots back, as if I'm an idiot.
"Well, Mr. Corey, where I come from, people don't sit on the edge of a roof on a tall building for no reason. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what would possess you to do that?"
"Go fuck yourself." is my reply. Then I instantly regret it, because that just sealed my fate.
The doctor straightens up, obviously offended. He walks over to the door, and deliberately leaving it open, talks to my father.
"Mr. Corey. It is my professional opinion that your son is a danger to himself, and should be admitted for observation." he informs my father.
Dad protests. "No, that's not right. Jesse is a good man. He's never done anything like this in his life. I want to talk to him first."
"I'm sorry. He's in no condition to talk cognitively right now. We've had to sedate him when he became violent." A nurse starts to protest. "Tend to your duties, Nurse!" he orders. Dad's eyebrow raises as he notices that, but knows he'll need to wait until the right time to pursue that. Dad misses very little. He's quiet as he considers. He knows the law, and if the docs say I'm a danger to myself or someone else, they have to admit me for at least 24 hours. Inside, I'm crying out 'No, Dad...I can tell you everything, just please don't do this to me.'
Dad sighs. "OK, doctor. Let's do what needs to be done."
"Good. I knew you'd agree. Let's go to Admitting to get him registered."
I hear them walk away, but I can't move or speak. In my head, I'm screaming "Dad, NO!" My arms and legs feel like lead. The nurses help me into a gown and put socks on my feet. An orderly comes in and they tell him to take me up to the 4th floor. In a dream like state, I watch the doors of the hallway as they slide by, the lights on the ceiling making weird patterns as they coalesce then radiate. They wheel me to my room, then transfer me to the bed. A single tear falls from my eye as I lie helplessly in the bed. They cover me up, put up the side rails on the bed, then walk out. The door clicks shut, the sound of a magnetic lock clicking into place. I stare at the ceiling, wondering how I got myself here. I notice a black box in the corner near the ceiling, a red light comes on. I focus, and see that it's a camera. The humiliation continues. I close my eyes and think of home, hoping that I'll get to see it soon.
To be continued....