FALLING FOR IT

by Ed Teja

At thirty-three, my wife, Paula, had built a reasonably successful criminal law practice. Not over-the-top successful, but it did okay. Even so, she often complained that her life didn’t meet her expectations.

“Whose life does?” I asked her that. I’d point out how much she had. But, because of her dreams, aspirations, she called them, she got frustrated by the real world.

“It sets you back on your ass every chance it got,” she said, showing her disappointment with life. That’s why I’m glad her death was pretty fucking remarkable.

I’m not talking about the fall she took. In these days of sensational events, who’d call taking a plunge from the thirty-fifth floor of the old Signal building and going splat on the sidewalk remarkable?

Remember the real estate crash a few years back?  I looked up the numbers, and we had six jumpers in two weeks.

And her fall? Nothing special. From the videos I’ve seen, the ones people took from the fancy restaurant that sits on the top of the bank building across the street, it probably won’t even go viral. That would disappoint her. All they show you see is a figure falling to the street.

In the course of plummeting that far, she managed a couple of twists and turns, but there was a strong breeze. Those tall office buildings create a vortex (I read that) that whips through them like a banshee’s scream. And it isn’t like she did a swan dive or full gainer or waved at anyone. You see her tossed around by that wind as if she was an oak leaf in fall.

As a result, none of those videos has the appeal of that cool video I saw yesterday of a housecat going after a raccoon that she caught stealing her food. I hope you saw that. It was fucking awesome.

I heard a comic say that it isn’t the fall that kills you but the sudden stop at the end. I’ve also heard that jumpers die of heart failure before they hit. How the fuck would anyone know?

Regardless, it was her landing that proved remarkable, if you can call being splattered a landing. Does it count? Just wondering.

Anyway, it’s midday and Paula falls thirty-five floors onto a busy city sidewalk in the middle of downtown without landing on anyone. That’s something!

I’m sure some passersby will have to spend extra on therapy for a time, and a larger number of them will have big dry-cleaning bills, but they should be thankful. Paula missed them all.

That’s why the newscaster who showed the footage on the news said: “What a remarkable way to die.”

I’m not a sensitive guy, or politically correct, and when the newscaster pointed the microphone at me and asked for a comment, I said what I thought about my wife’s death. I spit out my thoughts.

“All her life, Paula wanted nothing more than to make a splash. I guess she finally did. I’m glad I could help.”

Sitting in this cell, waiting to be interrogated, I have to think my lawyer is right. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.

I’ve probably said too much already.

Ed Teja is a full-time writer and part-time martial arts instructor. He was editor-in-chief for magazines based in Hong Kong, an associate editor in the US, and freelanced while traveling the world. He now lives in New Mexico, USA.

His recent publications include short stories in magazines such as Mystery Magazine, Thrill Ride, Wyldeblood 13, Anotherealm, Mystery Tribune, and the Crimeucopia anthology, CRANK IT UP!.