The Perch: Chapter 1

My father used to tell me that we could stand the world if it were hard all over. He would quote Donald Davie and recount, “A queer thing about those waters...” as if they were the wisest words he could have told me. It was his favorite poem, though I doubted my father indulged in much poetry. He would march onto the Overhang—the place where I spent most of my days—and ask me, “Hey, Rafe, what's the queer thing about those waters?”

He would lean his head in close next to mine, putting his arm around me comically and staring out at the treetops like I liked to do. “There are no birds there,” I would recite, more wearily as time went on.

He would clap me on the shoulder, shaking me to my core, and whisper, “Right you are, my boy. Right you are.” He would get lost in the boundlessness of the forest beneath us, as if he was trying to see exactly what I saw. I hardly knew what I saw, besides miles and miles of treetops, stretching into the horizon.

“Yo, Rafe!” Quygon shouted over the storm, the rain slapping at his face as the wind changed direction by the second, keeping the weathervane atop the roof poised mid-swing. “Help me with this, will ya?” Quygon’s hair draped curtain-like over his ears, separated into strings that sent spurts of water flying to the opposite side of that to which he swung his head. I jumped down from the Overhang, and ran to the side of the platform. The railing had been removed, revealing a twenty-foot-wide gap. I got down on my knees next to him, the concrete rubbing against my skin, and took the rope he handed to me.

It was frayed and darkened, and felt slippery in my hands. Quygon maneuvered himself into a squatting position, and duck-walked towards the corner of the platform, yanking the tarp taut. I looped the rope around the metal hook at the corner, as Quygon hollered, “Pull!” Thunder sounded above my head, rumbling and crackling. I pulled as hard as I could, and heard a loud shnick as I lost my grip slightly on the rope. I felt a sharp cutting pain through my skin, and I gasped.

The pain caused me to let go of the rope, and I examined my hand for a split second; the blood was beginning to bead from my raw skin, black in the gloom. Then I looked at Quygon, knowing we'd have to tie the tarp all over again, expecting to see the deep crease of frustration spread across his forehead. I even took a step toward the building; we couldn't get anything done when the weather was like so. Quygon always wanted to finish the job, but it wasn't safe out here. I always told him that ten times tearing down the floor and building it back up again was worth it as long as lives were intact.

The rain pounded down on my nose, and filled my eyes as I saw the rope snapping like a whip through the metal ring, and flying over the edge of the platform.

Quygon made a half-hearted attempt to grab the rope as it went over, effort coming from the part of him that couldn't let a day’s construction go to waste. As he lunged, I saw the water spray up from behind his heel as his toe slid towards the edge.

I felt the breath catch in my throat, and my legs froze. Quygon’s eyes widened as he tried to catch his balance. Then, lightning struck adjacent to the platform, catching a tree below us. The bright flash blinded me, and I stumbled backwards, catching myself on the railing where they hadn't yet had the chance to tear it down. Quygon wasn't so lucky. The ground went out from under him, and sent his body tumbling over the edge.

My heart stiffened, but my body lurched from where I was standing, sprinting to the rough concrete edge. My feet were sliding all over the place as if I was on an ice rink, but I skidded to where Quygon’s bottom half had went over. He had caught himself under his armpits, barely, his arms bent at the elbows, his neck straining to keep his head above the platform. I could see blood being carried away by streams of water, and more blood where the underneath of him had scraped against the concrete.

“Rafe!” He cried, and I fell to my knees, holding his arms down with mine. His face was an inch from my own. Whenever I would move, my knees slipped. I couldn't grip anything.

The wind blew Quygon’s legs as if he was a rag doll, dangling over the edge. His arms slipped with the wind and rain, sliding an inch backwards. The jagged concrete pierced his triceps like broken glass would. Quygon screamed, his voice cracking above the wind. “Help!” I shouted over my shoulder, but to no avail. My heart raced, as my eyes shifted rapidly, as if I’d see something, anything, that was used for saving. My knees slipped towards the edge, and I grabbed Quygon’s forearms tighter.

“Rafe!” Quygon yelled to me over the wind. “Rafe!” He yelled again. “Look at me!” My eyes settled on his. I was terrified. I saw his own fear reflect back at me; his cerulean eyes opened wide and his dark brown hair plastered to his forehead. His skin paled in comparison to the storm, and rain poured down his face with sweat, washing away the black dirt on his cheeks. I felt the same rain, falling in a waterfall from the brim of my ball cap and down the back of my shirt.

My eyes were hot, and a tear ran down my face, getting stuck behind my nose. “Rafe,” Quygon said, “you have to let me go!” I shook my head, and put my hand in his, gripping his palm tightly, closing my fingers around his.

“No Q,” I whispered. It got drowned out by the wind. “I won't let you go.” It got drowned out by the rain. Helplessness tugged at my heart, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. The clouds were black, and the trees had become a dark hue of blue-green. The sky moved towards us and behind us, towards us and behind us; rumbling like a steamroller, electrifying. The rain was stuck in Quygon’s eyes. I looked past him and down at the canopy of treetops, swaying in the wind, obscuring the ground with black shrubbery. The darkness awaited us, masking all that we were hiding from.

I had no strength left in me; my arms were gelatin, and I wasn't heavy enough to balance Quygon’s weight. All that was left were my hands, that gripped my brother’s so tightly; holding on as if I would never let go.

Then it hit me; I couldn't do it. I couldn't save him.

“Rafe, please,” Quygon begged me, his hand shaking in mine. “Let me go.”

“Q, I can't,” I yelled, desperate for an alternative. But he looked into my eyes, telling me silently to obey him, like a younger brother should, and I felt my grip loosen.

I felt his arms slide like tentacles away from me. I felt him fall away, taken by the wind, inaudibly; just float away like a paper bag, the same sounds of the storm paralyzing me as they had. The thunder rolled on, the rain washed down upon the ground as it had, and the wind paused only for a moment before resuming it’s game. The platform was empty, the tarp was unfinished, and the only thing different from before were the empty spaces where he should have been.

My screams were drowned out by the storm, as if it didn't want anyone noticing as it took my brother’s life.