The Face Through The Railings

THE FACE THROUGH THE RAILINGS

by Nicki Benson

Please read the notes that precede the story before making comments.

STORY NOTES:

This piece was written the evening after a friend and I were returning from the pub and saw what you're about to read below. The dialogue is my invention - it has to be since we both reacted to the situation with stunned silence. And I have no reason for thinking that the 'jumper' was trans. I only hope that he was eventually persuaded to reconsider.

It made me ask questions of myself, seeing that face through the railings. If the police hadn't been there, what would I have done? What could I have said? If I'm honest I suspect that I'd have been a bit of a cunt and walked on by. Yeah, that would have been just like me.

THE FACE THROUGH THE RAILINGS

Not far now. Over the bridge, across the road and into Berto’s. Nothing better than a chicken kebab when you’ve had a night on the beer.

“So did you finish watching those Charlie Brooker shows?” asks Mick.

“I did, yeah,” I laugh. “The best one was where she woke up and couldn’t remember her name. I liked it ‘cause it kind of fucked with you all the way through.”

“I know what you mean. Did she really kill that kid or…shit, what’s going on up there?”

At the far end of the bridge, three men in high-vis jackets. On the other side of the road, two police cars and a van.

It can only mean one thing. A jumper.

One of the officers begins sauntering towards us. Mick and I exchange glances. We both know we’re in for a three-mile walk if he turns us back. It’s happened before.

“All right lads,” he says. “If you can just cross over and move past the vehicles…”

Does he actually think we might want to stay and watch this? Then again, given the crowds that turned up a year or two back when someone wanted to throw himself off a roof a couple of hundred yards further along…

So we do as we’re told. Too hungry to be anything other than polite, co-operative citizens.

But before we reach the first police car a voice tears through the balmy night air.

“You haven’t got a fucking clue! None of you bastards do! Let’s see how you cope if you have to take all this shit just for being in the wrong fucking body!”

I look back and see two fists gripping the railings. Behind the green iron bars is a face. It mouths more words, but they’re incoherent and rambling.

“Shit!” I say to Mick. “He’s hanging on. Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re right. If he jumps now we’ll be witnesses and we’ll have to make statements.”

“Yeah, then we’ll never get anything to eat.”

We reach Berto’s and order our food. While we’re waiting, Mick suggests we go outside for a cigarette.

“What was all that about being in the wrong body?” he wonders.

“I dunno. Probably out of his head on heroin or something.”

“You reckon it was a bloke? Now I think about it I'm sure it was a lass. Didn’t sound like one, mind.”

“Takes all sorts to make a world,” I grin. “Hang on, can I borrow your lighter? Mine’s fucked.”



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