I’m not standing on this ledge about to kill myself. I am merely letting my thoughts pour from the crevices of my mind into this chasm between buildings. But the police aren’t seeing it that way.

This isn’t a cry for help. Or one for attention that I desperately need right now. Just the overwhelming urge to be alive. I’m just being slightly unorthodox by being alive this close to death.

And all I’m really worried about right now is my shoes. A pair of dizzyingly high heels in a shade of silver stiletto. Imagine, having the police screaming at you not to jump and you are preoccupied with edging your way along this tiny ledge without breaking your ankles. Now I know why my mother hated seeing me wear these damn things.

Now there’s a familiar voice screaming up to me. My boyfriend has joined the police. Great. He’s shouting about how much he loves me and if everything else is shit in my life, I will still have him. I laugh at that statement. It won’t occur to him that maybe he’s the thing annoying me. This is what I get for dating his car instead of him.

The funny thing about this situation is the fact that I do this on a daily basis. Not the police emergency thing, just the being out here, this close to death. I’m on this ledge, moving toward a platform that is on the corner of this building. I sit there once a day, contemplating everything from lip-gloss to the Vatican. And today my neighbor’s husband saw me en route. Usually, if she sees me doing this, she will open her window and ask if I still like the Yankees. So long as I say yes she knows I’m fine. There have been a couple of times that she doesn’t notice. That’s usually when she has the guy that inhabits the apartment below mine over to play. But today her husband was home (he’s been in Europe for the past four months) and, well, he’s not used to me I guess.

I almost want to fall. If only to give the police a reason to be here. But I have reached that platform. It’s only big enough for my backside and my shoes. I think that I should try and tell the police that they aren’t needed. Too bad I only know how to say two things in hand gestures. Neither of them being polite.

10/09/2003

Author's Note: I really have no idea what this little bit of literary work has to do with anything, but yeah. I just wrote it one day when I had nothing better to do. I had the first sentence floating around my brain, so I ran with it. It turned out a little bit more refined than I thought it would. So anyway, read, comment, whatever ya wanna do with it.

Posted on 10/10/2003
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