He had always loved heights. They had spoken to him throughout his life, begging him to climb up higher and higher.

He remembered his first experience with height was when he was five. He had climbed on top of a chair and stood up tall and looked down at the ground below. Although the chair was small and only a couple feet off the ground, he had felt like he could fly. He felt like he could see the whole world. He felt powerful. His mother had come and chased him off the chair before he could hurt himself.

He was eight when he climbed a tree and sat at the top for hours, watching the sun go down and wondering what was beyond. He had heard a crash from the house but didn’t flinch. He was used to it.

At eleven, his sister found him on the roof of the house. She had pulled him away from the edge, chastising him and warning him to be careful. He had simply traced the bruise on her cheek and looked at the blood on her lips. He told her he wouldn’t worry her again. He lied.

He was seventeen when he met them. The six of them took him under their wings. They encouraged his love of height and together they ran. He forgot about his home, he forgot his sister and his promise.

She showed up at nineteen with news that shook his life. He could not think, could only hear her words and see her marked face. He had run, alone this time. He had wandered, finding an empty, abandoned swimming pool. He had lain there, staring at the photograph of a mother with her son. He stayed until the afternoon sun came and with it, the six of them. They pulled him up and made him forget again. The height called, louder than ever. He stood on the edge, staring out over the world. He returned home just for one night. The empty bottles littered the floor and he held his sister while she slept. He whispered over and over again that he was sorry. Morning light streamed through the window and he was gone.

Twenty-one and he returned. He came with a purpose and left with none. His sister’s scream was loud in his ears and he breath became short. Tears trailed down his cheeks and framed his face. Leaving the bottle behind, he came to an alley with a bottle of water. Desperately, he tried to wash away his crime. He called the six of them and they came. The sand was comforting under his bare feet and the ocean breeze tossed his hair around. The six of them didn’t ask and he masked his sin carefully. They sat on the wall over the ocean. He couldn’t help but look at the crashing waves below them the same way he had looked at the ground under the chair when he was five. A whisper brought his attention skyward, at he iron-rod loading tower that had been left to rust. He stood and climbed. He did not look at the six of them.

He had always loved heights.