The Fall
His toes curl over the edge, his legs bend, he stares down into the water. My lips, clamped shut and heavy, will not part to form words. Anything I say wouldn’t, couldn’t help. My worthless presence doesn’t mean a thing to this man. I can’t stop my legs from shaking, much less stop this man from the crime he is going to commit. A crime against himself. There is no way to stop him, nothing to do. I am a useless dot in the universe that he won’t remember in a matter of seconds. My heart pounds, and my eyes water. Even without turning around, I can feel the stares of the men behind me. They are waiting for me to perform a miracle, anything. But I am well past miracles. Buried deep in a casket of lies. So deep, I have almost convinced myself I was the hero they are counting on. But as I stand here, reality comes flooding back to me. All at once. The tangle of deception sublimated deep within myself. How could I have forgotten the place that started it all? The bright yellow room. Now I can almost smell the fumes of fresh paint.

1 Year Ago
“Right here, the New York Police Academy,” I shouted at the taxi driver. Today was the big day, the interview for my dream job. Ever since I was a young boy, watching crime scenes and CSI, I had aspired to save lives. I was determined to stop crime in New York. I knew I had this interview in the bag. This was my spot, where I belonged.
I walked down the street with the wind at my back. My steps formed a perfect rhythm. Each stride forward adding on another beat. My hand pressed down on the bell. The dulcet ding lifted my spirits even higher.
I sunk into the hard chair, as my eyes moved around the room. My favorite smell hung in the air, the scent of fresh paint. I breathed in the smell, the fresh layer of paint and with it all the possibilities of new beginnings. I stared hopefully into the eyes of the receptionist.
“Blake Mathews,” her voice resounded throughout the room.
11 months ago
The ring of the doorbell disturbed our quiet dinner. Diane’s light footsteps made their way to the door. I reached forward to serve myself more meat. Although, instead of meatloaf, the spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. My eyes moved from the empty bowl to the hungry faces of my two children. Their feet hung above the ground, swaying back and forth and they finished off their small portions in a matter of seconds.
“It’s for you,” Diane’s voice echoed throughout the long hall. As I looked from the blues to the yellows of the logo, I was paralyzed. This was the letter, the one that decided my future. I excused myself from the table. I had to find a place to be alone, to get away. I made my way up to my room. Each step was a mountain, each stride a journey.
My fingers felt their way along the edge of the envelope. Then they made their way to the fold. I slid them along the top, revealing the paper hidden within. Pulling the paper out, I realized I was holding my breath. How could I not? This would determine my future, my family. Whether my wife could be convinced to stay with me-to feel secure. My trembling fingers turned the paper over anxiously. Amazing that little dashes of ink could be so powerful.
Dear Mr. Matthews,
We are deeply sorry to inform you that you are not going to become an NYPD police officer this term.
I couldn’t read on. My vision was blurred and my head spinning. I felt my legs buckle beneath me. I didn’t feel my head hit the wood, nor did I realize my eyes were closing.
“Honey” a sweet voice whirled throughout my brain. “Are you alright?”
As my brain slowly pieced together my surroundings, and what had happened, I looked up to see my wife’s smiling face. Her sparkling blue eyes, her sweet smile, I realized all of this would be gone in a matter of seconds. I imagined her packing her bags and the deadly silence the house would have without her and the kids. I couldn’t do it. How would I break the news? Break her heart.
“So what was the letter about?” My mind reeled with responses, the best way to put it. The words couldn’t form. The sentences didn’t add up.
“I got the job!” My own voice surprised me. These words were not the truth. I had to correct myself.
Then I watched her face. The world seemed to slow as the corners of her lips went up and her eyes got wide. Before I could reverse my statement, I was in a tight hug. There was no way I was getting out of it. Just one little lie I thought, barely less than truth.
10 months ago
“Is that all?” the waitress asked with a smile on her face. “Yes,” I replied simply. As the coffee reached my tongue, its burning heat surprised me. A spasmodic movement sent coffee onto my clothes. A small brown circle formed on the police officer suit I had bought online from a costume website. I had no plan at first really. The day after I lied to Diane about getting into the police academy, I made my way down to the kitchen ready to confess. There she was in her pajamas serving breakfast to the kids. A little more bread than usual, a little more butter. I looked from my wife down to my smiling kids. I decided it wouldn’t hurt anyone to keep this going until I found another job.
But now months had passed, and with it endless chocolate croissants with coffee from the corner bakery. I knew my job hunt was going nowhere fast. For the a thousandth time, I pictured myself stopping a criminal, protecting innocent people, while all I was doing currently was protecting a lie.
Not enough experience.
The words from the letter sounded over and over in my head. If only I had finished high school, studied harder for the entrance exam for the police academy. These “if onlys” were a recurring part of my daily routine. My days were spent recounting my regrets, remembering my mistakes.
The picture of that resume was imprinted in my mind. The unimpressive recounts of the nothing I have accomplished in my life.
I was tired of this. Tired of lying, of pretending. Tired of gaining weight with each croissant I ate. My mind went to the hungry faces of my children, the happy face of my wife. In that moment I realized I would do anything. I would do anything to get this job, to earn a living, to support my family.
I felt empowered as I exited the bakery. As I strode down the block to my house. I rearranged my resume in my head. No longer did I have no experience. I had two years at a little known police institution. No longer was I plain old Blake. I could speak Spanish, French, and Arabic fluently. I had no control of my hands. They were typing these adjustments. They were attaching this resume to an email. They were sending them to the Police Station downtown.
I would get this job. I would support my family. I would do whatever it took.
1 Month Ago
Invincible. This was the only word going through my head as I sprinted down the corridor. The only letters that were in my head, as panting for air, I flung myself down next to an artificial shrub. The only four syllables that could possibly be thought of as I took out my slick black gun and shot the model of my paper criminal in the heart. The pounding in my chest slowed.
The blinding lights went up and our trainer came out clapping.
“Best time I have seen so far.”
I wiped the sweat off the back of my neck. I felt the corners of my mouth rising but I couldn’t stop it. I had done it. I was fulfilling my dream. I had earned my way up here with hard work and determination. I would never come back down.
Today

These memories hit me, over and over. Each time a knew sense of regret, a knew part of me grows sick with myself. Did I think it was going to last? Did I think I could lie my way through life? The pounding in my head grows, the panic increases. Every small deception, each one seemingly insignificant but together destructive, have now led to this. The phone call. A call asking Blake, the police officer who can speak Arabic fluently to convince this man who doesn’t know a word of English not to jump off this bridge.
I can feel their stares burning into me, waiting for me to tell this man something inspiring, anything. While in reality, I can hardly open my mouth to speak English.
I look into the man’s eyes. They are wide open, with fear maybe, or sadness. I wonder what led him to this, but I know I will never know. Maybe he has a story like mine- one filled with desperation and he realized this was the only way out. Maybe we aren’t as different as we seemed. If only one of our similarities was the language we spoke. No matter what I think, I know I will never speak to this man, never know what his life was like. All I know is that in a matter of seconds he will take it from himself.
I am useless, meaningless. I stand helplessly as I watch the man unlace his shoes, place them beside him, and face the water. All I can do is turn the other way. Here I meet the recriminating faces of the other men. I look into each of them searching for the right way to explain the wrongs I have committed. But how do you explain a lie this deep? There is no way to justify it. No way to explain how one simple lie fueled a train of lies. Or how that train of lies expanded into a web. A web I will never be able to escape. A web I was now trapped in. Wound and bound suffocating and waiting for the spider to pounce.
I turn around once more. There, where there was once a man, with a beating heart and compassion in his big brown eyes. There lay two shoes neatly side by side.
I know what I must do. I begin to unlace my shoes.

Emma Gray, Age 13, Grade 8, Trinity School, Silver Key