Falling

I’m lying in bed, listening to a podcast and the podcaster mentions her favourite book. I don’t remember the title, but it is the story of someone tightrope walking between the twin towers. Instantly, the vertigo is back. I watch Dateline, 48 Hours, 20/20, and I listen to endless true-crime podcasts. I might be a ghoul. I can keep most of the horrors that man commits upon man (more often, that man commits upon woman) at arm’s length. But the idea of someone falling from a great height, or being pushed, affects me viscerally, it makes my head spin. Once I start thinking about it, I can’t stop. Can’t. I see people jump from the WTC. I imagine Eric Clapton’s little boy. I imagine myself standing on the balcony of a 40th floor apartment. There is nothing more horrifying than that long and terrible fall.