WHEN I FLY

About ten seconds, that’s roughly how long it takes to hit the ground from one thousand feet. Anyway, that’s what I told the man, the one hanging out from the wrong side of the rail on The Royal Gorge Bridge with a look of death in his eyes. Flashing and flicking like they were. Staring at the sparkling water below. Ten seconds, one thousand feet. What I didn’t say was I’d rounded it up. The bridge was actually fifty feet short of the thousand. If he counted he would get to nine point nine-five then he’d unexpectedly stop. I thought that would save him some worry. 

I came across him while I was out strolling, making the most of the bright sunny day. I got to a few feet from him and as I didn’t want to spook him, casually said, “Hey matey, what’s the story?” 

It turned out to be the same old story. Well, as it happens, two stories, “I’m broke and she’s gone,” he mumbled then snatched a glance my way then back to the water. No tears, they never have tears, just the look, the eyes and the shaking. For some reason they all shake. Kind of vibrate, I suppose. 

I watched him closely as I said, “Don’t do that,” adding some authority. I wanted to make him look at me. 

And it worked, “What?” he said. 

“Don’t look down the way you are, it makes you shake and gets me all on edge. Talking of edges, why don’t you take a step back.” Surprisingly he did just that so I continued, “You know, I’ve always thought what it would be like to fly but I’ve not had the chance. Not like you. You’ve got ten seconds to find out.” 

That’s when he looked at me with a sudden realisation, “Ten seconds, that long, are you sure? I thought it would be much shorter.” 

“Nope, ten'll do it. Plenty of time to reflect,” and I counted it down. Extra slowly. Ended with, ten and… splat.” 

Now he was really shaking. I could hear his mind repeating out of his mouth, “A long time, ten seconds.” 

“It sure is, unless you find you can fly, of course. Tell me, what’ll you think about? When I fly I think I’ll feel first the wind then hear the whir.” 

“The whir?” 

“Yeah, the whir of the videotape. You’ll hear it. One second after you let go. Your life whizzes by and depending on a few things you might make the end but only the real boring bastards manage that.” 

“Would you get to the end?” 

“No way, do I look that sad? My life’s that full. Sure I’ve had all the crap. Like you my wife skedaddled. Cleared out everything. Left me just two maxed out cards and a broken fridge. But, what the hell, life’s too short. In your case just ten seconds the moment…” 

“I let go. So, what did you do?” 

“Easy, I stuck my boots on the dirt, dusted down the suit and started afresh. That sure beats trying to fly. What about you, would you finish the tape?” 

“Halfway I reckon I’d get.” 

“And there’s much more to add… How about a beer and we can talk it over, what you’re going to do.” 

It didn’t take much talking about. One beer’s worth to be exact. It turned out the guy wanted to finish the tape especially after I suggested all he needed to do was a quick edit then start over just like starting a new scene.