It happenspublished: 2009-10-31
A woman falls out of her window. She lives around the corner, on the top floor. When the sun shines, she sits in her open window. She props a pillow up against the iron bar and reads. She must read a lot, I catch myself considering, as it is a good summer. One day, the bar gives way and she falls. The newspaper says she was 64. I contemplate this: 64 years old. To then live up there, on the top floor, in a small apartment with only one window. That window was where she would drift on sun rays and stories to places, far, far away. And then she falls.
A woman is hit by a motorcycle-cop. She is on a pedestrian crossing. He does not stop for the red light, witnesses say. Nor does he have his emergency lights on. The newspaper says she was 41. I think of how her world view must have crumbled in that one split second upon glancing sideways. To realize the police officer is not going to stop. When he should. I discover she is a friend’s wife. Someone I hold dear. I was going to meet her this evening.