The Pier’s End

The signs say that Navy Pier closes at eleven, but there I was at three in the morning.  I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t care that it was supposed to be closed; it’s public property and I’m a tax-paying citizen. 

I walked to the end of it, careful to stay in the shadows, and sat down on a bench to open my beer.  Ice shards, like bits of broken glass, bounced on the waves below.  The wind charged off the water in gusts, so I ducked my chin into the collar of my jacket.  I had started to doze off when I heard the first splash.  I craned my neck and peered over the railing, but there was nothing there but black water.  As soon as I closed my eyes again, I heard another one.  That time I stood up for a better look.  On the other side of the railing, on a concrete ledge, was an old man.  I must have startled him, because he looked up at me just like a raccoon who had been caught in the trash.  His eyes even glowed when the moonlight caught them. 

He stared at me for a good minute before turning back toward the water and reaching into his pocket.  I watched him pull out a set of keys, then throw them as far as he could.  After that he took his billfold out and tossed it into the drink, too.  I had seen enough insanity in my life to recognize it, so I climbed over the railing to calm him down, careful not to spill my beer. 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” I yelled over the racket of the wind and waves.  He didn’t answer; instead he moved forward enough that I could see there was a rope tied around his leg.  Then he bent over and picked up a cinder block.  I started to holler again, but before I could, he turned and gave me a grin that froze me in place.  Without a word, he faced the lake and fell forward. 

I looked around for a life ring, but I was dizzy.  I thought about going in after him, but I couldn’t.  I’m no coward, you see, but self-preservation is a hell of a thing.  Besides, that fellow didn’t want to be helped.  Better one body than two.

I stared at the spot where he had gone in and saw his wallet floating in the middle of the ripples.  All of a sudden, a beam of light hit the waves.  I glanced behind me, and wouldn’t you know it – two cops stood there on the other side of the rail. 

“Didn’t you hear me? I said, what are you doing?” one of them yelled.

I dropped my beer, hoping that it was empty enough to not splash.  It’s a one-hundred-fifty-dollar fine if you’re caught with an open container in the City of Chicago.  Individual liberty my ass.             

“Nothing, officer.  I dropped my wallet.”