I didn’t dare move my body…did I even have a body? I wasn’t sure.
I called for help, yelling feebly into the darkness.
The frustrated shout of a neighbor echoed down the street. “Shut the fuck up!!”
I remembered my second grade teacher instructing us to use the word “Fire” instead of “Help” if we were ever in danger, because people would more likely come running if they might also be in danger.
And so I did.
Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire.
Eventually, I heard a man’s voice. It sounded very close. I felt his hand on my shoulder. Relieved to be found, I passed out again.
Darkness. Broken bits of conversation. Soft, staticky walkie-talkie beeps.
Then someone’s voice trying to get my attention.
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you hear me?”
When I respond, my own voice sounds a million miles away. Calm. Tranquil. Almost meditative.
“What happened here?”
“I jumped off of my balcony.”
A long pause.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I hate myself.”
A longer pause.
“Have you been drinking alcohol tonight, ma’am?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Two bottles of wine.” Then I remembered. “And a beer.” Better to be completely honest, I thought. After all, it had been a tall boy.
And not that it bothered me in the least, but all this time I was wondering…why was everything so completely dark?