Persephone’s Fall – Page 2
… Sometimes I think about letting go.
Up here, the sounds of New York recede into the wind, the wind recedes into the blood rushing in my ears, and it all becomes a throbbing roar behind my temples. I think about letting go, about that one perfect, crystalline moment of true freedom; the one time in the world when my actions would really be my own.
I’d like to believe I wouldn’t make a sound, falling down. I’d be a comet. A meteorite, burning in the atmosphere as I fell to earth, silent and beautiful. I think about that, and I feel my fingers loosen on the railing. The roar in my head becomes a howl, a force that’s physically loud, that pushes at my eyes in their socket and makes me open them and look down. Down. And I smile.
And then I think about what it is I have to do. The jobs I’ve left unfinished. The things I swore to take care of before I let this happen. So my fingers tighten up, and my arms flex, pulling me backward, and I start to breathe again, and the rush in my ears falls into the background. The sun, red and bloated like a tick, continues its descent. Somewhere down below, a car honks and a man responds. I can’t make out the words, but I can tell they’re angry. This city’s always angry.
But up here, where I come to taste freedom, to remind myself of the rewards that come as part of the promises I made, there’s no anger. Up here is only peace. Up here is only freedom. Up here is only me, and the wind, and the sun.
It’s down below where all the problems are.
