She fell from the sixty-third floor of the Sears Tower on a Tuesday morning and lay like a misplaced doll on the roof of a limousine in the courtyard below. I’d like to believe her sleepy eyed smile in the midst of a blonde tumbleweed meant she’d made peace with whatever fates had led her to shatter a column of air during that sprawling flight to oblivion. A dark dress draped over folds of bent metal that had the shine of velvet made her seem as solemn as a dignitary or a prophetess. Despite a missing shoe, her landing appeared as sudden and soft as a splash of water. Painless. Mist and nothingness awaits, an onlooker said. I’d prefer to think she’s found a better somethingness beyond this anonymous crowd. Somewhere, some loss has been eased and she’s found whatever comfort God’s become. Yeah...well.
I’d like to think she has.