Sunday, November 18, 2012

Wham. Bam. Damn You Ma'am!

Sure she was two stories up, but the fact is I wasn’t planning on doing anything but break her fall a bit. I mean please, the building was on fire and she wouldn’t jump! What was I supposed to do? If all that stood between her death and her living with a broken ankle or twisted knee was her getting up the guts to let go of the deck rail, you bet I was going to lie, or do anything else I thought would force her hand.

“Jump! I’ll catch you!” Naturally she denied me on the first call. No one will believe a stranger is telling the truth at first. “Please” I shouted, “I’m not kidding! I’m a team gymnast and we do stuff like this every day!”

I’d peaked her interest, but she still didn’t buy it.

“I’m too heavy” she called out, “if you try to catch me you’ll break your back!”

“No really” I called back, “I’ve done this before, you’ve gotta trust me!”

Of course I’d never done it before, and what she said made a lot of sense; catching her would likely kill me, but as I said, I was just going to be a cushion and slow her down a bit. Yet, she wouldn’t let go, and there we stood, arguing, as if we had all the time in the world and the flames weren’t creeping through the double glass doorway and onto her platform. But no matter, that’s when the explosion took the decision from us.

How would I have known she was storing a spare propane tank under her gas grill? Hell, how would I know she had a gas grill, I was just a passerby and standing 23 feet below her. Had I, I certainly would have hurried the discussion along.

What were the odds I would be blown back only a few feet, so as to put me in the exact path of her trajectory. She flew like a rainbow and I was her pot-o-gold. The moment she landed on my head I heard the snap, but I wasn’t sure what the noise had meant until much later, after the dimensional shift and relighting of the tunnel.

Now here I am in the “death by Samaritanism” line, waiting my turn to see whether I am transported back as a rodent, get my gaggle of virgins or meet Peter at the Pearly gates. I can’t tell where I’ve landed for sure, the place is devoid of icons, and it’s kinda foggy, like in the movies.

Oh and her? She lived. Broke a rib. Spent 3 months bitching that if the stupid stranger hadn’t gotten in her way she would have landed without injury. I hope I go back as a rat; I have some plague transference to do.

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