Ninety-nine by Saline

Ninety-nine

I checked my watch for the third time. 5:50 A.M. If I wanted to do it, I’d better do it quickly. The first signs of an awakening neighborhood began to appear, signaling the end of the tranquil morning hours. Slowly at first, the community collectively stretched its joints and rolled out of bed. If I could only have another thirty minutes… A bleary eyed Mrs. Chang appeared on her porch, complete with her usual flowered night gown and the first of many cups of very black coffee. I knew what was coming next. Like clockwork, at exactly 5:53 A.M., Olivia C. Dahlings exploded around the corner, bustling down the sidewalk with her faithful poodle, Tibah, at her side. I froze in the position I held on my second story windowsill, only relaxing when I realized that Olivia, who was just now completing her third circle around a lamp post, was much too entranced in her daily power-walking routine to notice a half naked boy attempting to climb his roof. Feeling a little less conspicuous, I turned my thoughts to the task at hand. The windowsill that I stood on was roughly five feet from my roof, a stretch that at that height seemed near thrice that. Every time I approached the precipice, my heart jumped and beat furiously against my chest. My hands sweated and shook. The twenty foot drop doubled. After approaching the edge several times without a single attempt, I conceded defeat to those five menacing feet of empty space. I squeezed back through the window, back into my own room, back into the dull safety of my home, and slumped against the wall. For the third time since I’d discovered I could possibly access my roof from my bedroom window, I had not been able to bring myself to try. Gazing emptily across my room I noticed a book lying on the ground, and picking it up I found it was one of my childhood favorites, Animals of the Sea. I flipped through the pages, pausing every so often to read the “Interesting Facts!” that accompanied the vivid, intricate illustrations I remembered as a child. For some reason I stopped on the page regarding Sea Turtles.

Interesting Fact!
As little as 1/100 of Sea Turtle hatchlings will survive the dangerous trek from their beach-laid eggs to the sea.
I read that line over, and over. Stealing one last glance at the drawing provided, a baby turtle swimming freely in an olive green sea, I tore back out of my home, out of my room, and out the window onto the precarious windowsill once again. Eyes locked on the roof across from me, I took a deep breath. Then another. Fuck it. On my third breath, with only hope as my guide, I threw myself into the flawless azure ocean of the warm summer sky.