Free falling seems peaceful
if only I could fly.
Seems like yesterday,
gas fumes singe our nostrils
from the rusty old yellow bus.
Age has brought me truth,
very far from rhyme or reason.
Simple truth.

Wedged in the vortex of my brain,
a cacophony of squealing
children, squeaking bus brakes
and gut wrenching screams.
One by one,
we got off the bus,
Single file so noone got lost.

One by one
sheets darkened the windows
can't see the actors on stage
if the light shines in your eyes.
It felt special,
done specifically for us,
innocent, unaware,
unable to sit still,
excitement surging inside our bodies
like electricity on power lines.
Just like the ones next to the top floor
of the college we were at.

The show began,
songs where sung with perfection.
Holding our breath as they
exited stage left,
anticipating their return
we wanted more.
Then a curtsie and bow finalized
the epic performance.
we replayed it all
on our bus ride back to the school.

It was many years later,
how many to be exact
I can't recall,
when planes smashed into towers
and pentagons,
threats of war and death
displaying all over my television screen.
I watched them jump,
away from the fiery sting,
free falling into a pain free splatter.
It haunts me still.

Reaching back into history
I learned of stock markets crashing
and more people jumping,
not away from fire,
but from failure.
I tried to take myself back to
the show,
when I was wide eyed and safe,
a make believe land where no one was
free falling from something.

Yesterday I met the man who
darkened the windows that day
I learned why,
why he quietly covered each one,
quiet as a mouse as not to disturb us.
He had a grim look,
it was etched into his skin
from years of remembering.

"We just didn't want you kids to see,"
he said under his breath.

"She jumped off the corner of that building,
the one by the power lines next
to the auditorium."

So many years had passed
full circle connected as I
watched each one
splatter on the ground below.


Jennifer D. English