12 comments/ 32575 views/ 21 favorites Falling Hard By: EdgarPleaseCain You never think of it, how the city is a lonely place. Surrounded by strangers at every turn, yet you can go for weeks without a conversation, let alone a genuine one. Hundreds of thousands of people dying for human contact. Often it reminds me of my honors biology teacher at Gompers High in Council Bluffs, telling about the many survivors of submarine attacks in World War Two, who went on to die in their lifeboats. What killed them? "You can go many days without food," he said, "but only three days without water." But the castaways were surrounded by hundreds of miles of water, right? True, but it was saltwater, and saltwater quickly dehydrates the human body: the more you drink, the thirstier you become. So unless salvation fell out of the sky in the form of rain, they died of thirst in the middle of the ocean. I thought of Mr. Klaus' words as I walked the streets of my neighborhood. A bustling, young neighborhood, full of traffic and nightlife, especially down Clark Street. People teeming along the sidewalks, spilling out of pubs and nightclubs, laughing, shouting, cars honking and pulling up to and away from the restaurants. I stalked past it all. Hands stuffed in my leather coat, I passed without notice like a ghost, and disappeared into the night like the white wisps of my breath. Klaus himself is gone now, from a sudden heart attack. But at least he had a pretty wife and kids, probably grandkids. I'd come home to nothing but a silent, empty apartment that I didn't want to go back to in the first place. Instead, I continue walking. To get out of the lights and noise, I turned down one of the side streets. Roscoe Street was darker, more private. I walked along the tree-lined sidewalk until I came to the alley. If I used this as a shortcut, my street was only two blocks away. I didn't have anything going, so why not? Cutting between the parked cars, I waited for a taxicab with a drag queen in back to pass by, then crossed the street and ducked into the alley. It was pretty clean, as alleys go. Most of the garbage was put up, and there was a working streetlight down the middle of the alley. But these were nice buildings, filled with professional couples and students with well-off parents. Further down the alley were more boisterous sounds echoing off the steep canyon of buildings. There was a party on one of the large balconies that you see attached to the back of many apartments in the neighborhood. Most nights, you can't get away from the sounds of revelling and merriment--or the feeling that once again you are missing out on something. I've felt that tug in my stomach throughout my life. Then again, once or twice a year, an overcrowded balcony or cheap do-it-yourself job would come crashing down, taking a few partygoers along for their last ride. Natural selection is a bitch. The streetlight illuminated a blue cone of fat snowflakes that had been falling since the afternoon. It was the first big snowfall of the year, and an early one, in November. These were thick, wet snowflakes that crunched under your shoes and felt good melting on your cheeks and tongue. Whomp! I jumped when a heavy weight crashed down into the open dumpster on my left. The people on the balcony must have dropped a couple of very dangerous sacks three or four flights down, so I was momentarily pissed off--but overall I did not know what to think, or to do. Because...dangerous sacks, with flailing arms and legs? Before I could think about it, I climbed up on the edge of the dumpster. I dug through snow, plastic sacks and newspaper, and there I found a girl. A stunned face, her mouth in an O, a pair of great wide eyes looking up at me. "Hi." "Hi." I brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. Her breathing came fast and shallow like a bunny's. She seemed to be going into shock. I took off my coat and covered her up to her chin. "Stay still." I dialed 911. I thought I'd heard a clanging sound when she landed, maybe her head. "Can you move your fingers and toes?" "I think so." "That's good." "My mother always called me a klutz." "But a very good diver." I winked at her as the operator answered. I had a hard time hearing over the screaming and commotion on the balcony and the exterior stairs. "This is an emergency. Send an ambulance right away..." When I finished the call, we were surrounded by people, my age and younger. Belligerent guys yelling, pushing me away as if some molester. Before they succeeded, I looked to the girl under my coat. Her eyes were trained on me. I leaned in to hear her say, "I'm a dumpster diver." Her eyes twinkled. They pushed me onto the pavement. I shouted over and over, "Don't move her! Don't move her!" Thankfully the idea took, and others began repeating the same. I hovered nearby, the intruder, keeping watch until help arrived. Thankfully it was only a few minutes until the approaching siren and eventually the ambulance headlights turned into the alley. For such an awkward setup, the paramedics were quick about transferring her to a stretcher and lowering her down and into the truck. They stabilized her head with a strap and brace, but pronounced her all right. As the relief spread through the crowd of onlookers, I nudged through to get my coat. "Where are you taking her?" "Northwestern." They secured the stretcher in an instant. Before they could close up, I leaned in. "What name? What name if I want to visit?" They were going to shut the door on me, but stopped. She was saying something, from the stretcher. "Camden," the medic said. Then he added a word. "Kiki." "Kiki?" "Kiki? Kiki." "Kiki." "Kiki. All right?" I'm pretty sure 'all right' wasn't directed at me, because he didn't wait for an answer before slamming the door in my face. The ambulance turned out of the alley, under red lights and sirens. # # # It was pretty late when I knocked on the open hospital door. The TV was on low, and in the corner was a girl in a coat slumped in a chair, sleeping, which suited the atmosphere of the entire drowsy ward, preparing for the night. When I peered inside, a thin arm waved from the lighted bed. My heart sprang as I entered the room. There she was, the blonde girl, laid out perfectly flat and straight under the sheets, with golden hair spilling over the white pillow. But it was her bright smile that reeled me in, and a flick of her wrist that urged me to hurry, like she had been waiting hours especially for me. Her eyes were large, conspiratorial. "Hi." It was the same hi as when I first saw her, and I grinned at her ability to joke about it--so I returned the favor. "Hi. How are you feeling?" She beckoned me closer, until I bent over her. "Good." Her voice barely above a whisper. "Did you break anything?" "Maybe. So far so good. More tests tomorrow." "You're not paralyzed or anything, are you?" "No." It was difficult hearing her, so I pulled up a chair. "Your name is Kiki? I'm Martin." "Martin. Martin, I want you to stay with me. You saved my life." "Visiting hours are over. I'm lucky I made it up here. What about...?" I turned to indicate her company in the chair, snoring. She screwed up her face and rolled her eyes. "She didn't find me." "What happened, anyway?" "I'm kind of a klutz. It was just, suddenly, like, whooo." "Suddenly, like, whooo?" "I didn't realize it was icy. Until whooo." "Whooo, you're lucky." "Yeah." Staring into her eyes, I marveled that they were both blue and green, like intricate jewels. Her eyebrows and lashes were a uniform coffee brown that offset her bright eyes and complexion. To me, she looked exotic, beguiling, and she was inches away. Eventually it dawned on me, deep in my trance, that her breathing was choppy and shallow, like it was when I found her. A jolt of alarm rang my brain: Wake up, idiot! "What's wrong? Do you want me to call for help?" "No. You're rubbing my boob." I sprang back, horrified. She laughed and loudly, with plenty of lung power that I never heard before. Suddenly I knew it was all a game to her. But a romantic one. "Look how embarrassed you get. That's so cute." A nurse stopped in the doorway, drawn by the outburst. "Visiting hours are long over." "Ohh!" The nurse shook her head over Kiki's protest. "No." "But he just got here." "He can come back tomorrow." This nurse wasn't budging without me following. "There, you can come back tomorrow." After I waved and neared the doorway, Kiki said, "Martin, at least we know it still works." # # # I visited Kiki the next day, and the day after. They found a hairline fracture in her C5 vertebra, or as Kiki liked to put it, "I broke my freaking neck." It was hard not to stare at her sometimes like she wasn't a freaking ghost, after falling, what, 30 feet? 60 feet? That, and she had really cute little ankles underneath her hospital gown. And even stranger: How was it that this beautiful girl glommed onto me like she did? Because she absolutely did: She wanted and expected me around every day. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, she wanted me there. I understand gratefulness and feeling indebted, but each time I looked at her I was reminded that fine-featured, shapely women like this one have nothing to do with guys like me, except to get test answers. Of course, when said fine-featured, shapely woman asked if I'd take her home the next day, I said, "Of course. What do you think?" as nonchalantly as possible. Kiki was discharged wearing a halo brace to immobilize her head and neck. Thankfully she fit well in my tiny Honda. I think I drove that stretch to her apartment more slowly and carefully than I ever have. "Only turds drive with two hands, Kyle. Gees." Kiki was doing Shelly Marsh from South Park, who wears braces, not a halo--but it worked anyway. "Thanks for the safety tip, sis. You suck." I was doing lifelong geek desperately trying not to frighten away epic babe--but it worked anyway. "That's what I said, dorkus." She slurped from the sides of her mouth for the win. She lived in a one-bedroom near Diversey. Nicer apartments around there, the buildings not as stacked up as in my neighborhood. It was a light, airy home, with bright walls, outdoor views (not brick walls) and plenty of houseplants and framed prints. Nice, definitely a girly space. Much nicer than, say, a starting engineer's flat in Roscoe Village whose sagging walls are decorated with newspaper clippings and a tattered Led Zeppelin poster. Having laid down for much of the past a few days, Kiki felt winded by the time we got her home. She swallowed one of her pain meds. I laid her down, adjusting the pillows under her head and neck until she was comfortable. She was out like a light. I used the time to clean the place up a little, do some dishes that were left, there wasn't much. When I finished, I couldn't help but look around the place. Only what was out, no prying around, to get an idea about this girl who simply fell out of the sky. She had a beautiful mother, whose air was upright, severe. An older sister too, with similar blonde features but not quite the looker as her sister and mother. An achiever though, posing with the family, including Pops and a younger Kiki, maybe 14. Sister wore cap and gown for some sort of postgraduate degree, with old ivy buildings in the background. Before my inner Sherlock Holmes got out her hand, I forced myself to sit in the living room where it was bright and welcoming even on a gray winter day, and read an ebook on my iPhone. Soon I was drowsing. "Hello? Martin? Martin?" It was Kiki calling. I didn't know for how long. Too quickly I stumbled up, wobbly but concerned that something was wrong. "Martin?" Steadying myself on her bedroom doorjamb, I peered into the shadows, where I had drawn the curtains shut. "I'm so glad you're here." Kiki lay on the bed exactly where I left her. When my eyes adjusted, I saw she held up her arms for me. "Martin." I went to her, leaned over, still on my feet. Her arms wrapped around me tight and she breathed into my shoulder. Standing at an awkward angle, bounded by her medical equipment, I stayed still and hugged her as best I could, smelling her, feeling her warmth. My back was twisted, my head was racing--and other things were too. But I didn't move an inch, I didn't dare to, letting the moment spool on and on and on. After a while, she ran her hand through the back of my hair and let me go. "Thanks. I needed that." We decided she also needed groceries and some take-out. We drew up a list, and after she was situated safely on the living room sofa with the TV on and everything within reach, I dashed out to the store. I bought almost a week's worth of groceries, and also some dinner from a stir-fry counter they had inside the store. Outside it was already dark and snow was falling again, whipped around by icy gusts from off the lake. The apartment felt warm and cheery. It was good to come home to someone, at least for an evening. We laughed at an old Woody Allen movie where they ate from cardboard cartons like we were doing, and beneath an Afghan giggled at a dumb Farrelly Brothers movie. Under the cover we held hands the whole time. We could have been watching Gone With the Wind for all I cared. At the end of the night, I was prepared to go, and surprised that she almost expected me to stay "if you don't mind." "Nah. Me mind? No." Actually, in the fragile state she was in, I really didn't expect anything, and neither did she. She had her hands full just getting acclimated to her new circumstances. As I was crouched on the kitchen floor stocking the refrigerator, I heard a loud "ow!" "What? What's wrong?" I shot out of the kitchen. "I stubbed my toe on this damn chair." She bellowed a clumsy laugh. "I told you I'm a klutz." I returned to the kitchen, where I dropped a jar of salsa. The good news was that it didn't break. The bad news was it didn't break because it fell on my foot. At bedtime, Kiki insisted there was no way I was sleeping on the couch. I stood outside the closed door, letting her get changed, and thinking. When she called me in, there was a dim mellow nightlamp lighting the room. Kiki lay under the covers, dressed in flannel pajamas covered with penguins in the blue snow. I went to the far side of the bed and took off everything but my jeans. Then I slid under the cover on her queen-sized bed. Her hand lay above the covers and I took it. "Martin, thanks...thank you for everything." She was crying. She drew me up to her. Her voice broke in a hoarse crack of emotion. "I'm falling hard." She kissed my fingers and wiped her tears with them. I didn't know what to say so I said nothing, smiling under her gaze, and brought my tear-soaked fingers to my lips and cheek in wonder. Her weeping on my hand was the most sensuous thing a woman had ever done for me. I returned to my place on my side of the bed, and we laid parallel to one another like Rob and Laura Petrie. I took her hand and we fell asleep. # # # Another day, another family leave day from work. I had never taken even a sick day before, so my bosses were cool with it. We had to at least get Kiki set up, even if it took a week. I felt a little guilty hoping it was a whole week. I planned to do breakfast in bed, but we decided she needed to be up and around, to get her legs under her again. That didn't go so well. "Dizzy, dizzy." She wobbled next to the bed, until I guided her down again. "That's all right. Let's just sit you up." I propped a pillow behind her so she was comfortable. In the kitchen I washed and cut up an apple to share. She could use the blood sugar, and I could use the breath cleansing, especially because I had no toothbrush. "Thanks." She was still pretty weak. I fed her half the slices myself. "Let that sink in. Sit tight." Underneath the sink I found a plastic tub, which I scrubbed out in the bath. Added warm soapy water, a clean washcloth, and as an afterthought, a splash of some sweet-smelling body wash, I think tangerine. I brought it in with a hand towel and lotion. "Would you like to freshen up? I can leave this here, or get you started. Whatever you want." What the hell am I doing? I set the tub beside her. I was going to leave it there, leave the room. She said nothing, completely silent. Gave me not a clue. Squeezing out of the warm washcloth. I wanted to give it to her, but her hands remained at her side. Tentatively, carefully, I reached for Kiki's face. When I was young I watched my mother care for my grandmother in her final weeks, so I was familiar with the motions of what was needed. But I was totally unprepared for the responsibility of actually doing so, as I touched her face the first time. My hand felt jumpy like the arm on my parents' old record player, ready to skip away and, god forbid, wreck the halo. To stop my head from spinning, I concentrated through the cloth, to simply tracing her cheekbones, her chin, her neck, all those beautiful features I had been admiring for what seemed so long now. I splashed a lot wringing out the washcloth so that I could catch my breath. "Am I pressing too hard?" "How did I find a person so good?" "You didn't." I took her wrist to start on her hand. "I found you." She hiked the sleeves of her PJs, so I washed her arms to her elbows. Then her feet and legs, to her knees. That was the end of the line, as much as I could do. Before I could leave or say anything, she stopped me with a statement. "Help me, please." She unbuttoned her top, and leaned forward for me to pull off her sleeves. Silently, she hugged her knees so I could wash her bare back. Peeking out from under the shoulder vest that supported the halo, a purple-and-yellow bruise stretched to her lower back. "Does that hurt?" "Tender." I dried her back and smoothed in some lotion, avoiding the spot. No doubt she could feel my breath on her shoulder. Kiki lay back, without her top, and did not cover herself, clutching the bedsheet on both sides of her. Her eyes remained lowered. In only the support vest, she was definitely exposed. Sticking to my task, I sponged her arms, sides and stomach. The vest of soft fleece underneath and hard plastic on top had an unusual shape: it curved in on both sides to expose (and not irritate) her areolas. Straining the cloth to avoid soaking the fleece, I washed her nipples and bunched the towel to dab them dry. Without a word, Kiki pulled open the bow at the top of her pants, bridging her bottom over the bed and waiting for me. Gently I pulled them off of her legs, and since she remained in the air, I peeled down her lilac panties. This time when she sat back she stared directly at me. This time there was fire in her eyes. Wow, her body was more luscious than anything I'd seen in real life. It was all there for me, with nothing in between the except for that space pyramid around Kiki's head. Business first, I reminded myself. I dipped the washcloth to get back to work. My hands were soaking wet, but my mouth felt like the Sahara. I started on one of her hips, reaching around as best I could. Then across her lower stomach (her pussy was the same lush color as her eyebrows--I almost swallowed my tongue) to her other hip. As if I pressed a magic button, she raised both of her knees and pushed her hips forward. I washed one thigh, and then the other. Her breathing was ragged, insistent. I could feel her looking at me. The washcloth dripped into her belly button, trickling down in her strip of fur. I washed her aimlessly, but she brought her hand over mine and pushed it down, down between her legs. Her bottom scooted forward, on top of her discarded pajama pants. I washed her, caressed her everywhere. Then I rinsed the cloth and brought it back again soaking. I massaged her with some pressure. She responded with some of her own. Falling Hard "Good night, sweetie." My nose burrowed through her silken hair and I kissed her head. I slept like a rock. # # # I awoke in the middle of the night. 2:20. Hours to go. Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep but could not. There in the dark, as the minutes stretched into hours, my mind began projecting all of the scenarios that could go wrong. Dozens of them. It would not stop. My memory replayed one of the videos I'd seen, of a grandmother who almost fell out of her harness at several thousand feet and nearly plummeted to her death. Replayed it time and again, and again, and again... 5:13. For crying out loud. Maybe I should cancel this, but I can't. I planned it specially for her. Then, music to my ears. Deep thunder, that seemed to shake the very floor. Followed by rain, glorious rain, making its hushing sound outside the window, whispering that everything was all right. Grinning, I passed into a sound sleep. "Wake up, you sleepyhead! It's the big day." Kiki was shaking my shoulders. She had pulled up the shades, and the window behind her blinded me with cursed sunshine. I was Dracula, shading my eyes with the back of my hand. "But it was raining this morning. Pouring! Didn't you hear?" "All gone." Kiki bounced on the bed a couple times like a kid on Christmas, and spun on her way. "Let's get it!" At the window, I craned my head up. There were clouds up there, but that was indeed the sun. Bastard. I could not pee. I dropped things. I burned the eggs. Then, "Ow!" I smashed into Kiki's nemesis, the armchair. She stopped what she was doing and poked her head out of the bathroom. "I hate that thing." She pointed her toothbrush at the guilty armchair, like picking a perp out of a lineup. Her mouth was full of toothpaste. "Wherever I move it, it gets me." She returned to the bathroom to finish brushing. I hopped around like a peevish flamingo, fuming to myself: Of course it doesn't "get" you, you daft cluck. You crash into everything. And now, apparently, so do I. She walked up and planted a kiss on me, minty fresh. "I feel wonderful." "Uh, thanks." "You were so reassuring to me last night." She stood on tiptoes and ground herself against me, purring hot on my throat. "That's what a real man does." "I have to go to the bathroom." I was not only nervous but more than a little ashamed of my inner temper tantrum. But I still couldn't pee. A few minutes later in the car, I checked in my pocket for my wallet and everything I'd need, and we headed out. Kiki screwed up her face when I put on news radio, but soon she was off telling me about last night's dream where she was in the Himalayas chased by abominable snowmen and monks with throwing stars. Every day, her dreams made me laugh, but that morning I lost myself in statistics after I heard the weatherman say there was a 10 percent chance of rain. Ten percent was not good odds. It would be easier to draw an inside straight. But on the bright side, it was better odds than Russian roulette. How nice. I looked again at the sky. "Martin!" I almost turned the wrong way on a one-way street. People honking, glaring through their windshields from the moment I put on my turn signal, plus Kiki warning me--yet I didn't notice. "Honey, that's Ontario." Kiki sounded puzzled, because we drove that area all the time. "Want me to drive?" "I got it. I got it." "I know you do. So anyway, there was this white Pekingese like I want us to get, named Pao Pao, what a cutie, and he pops up at the direst moments, with words of wisdom or a clue written on a fortune cookie and..." On the freeway west, my renegade mind ticked down the list of our misfortunes in the preceding months. Lost in Kiki's narrative, I pictured the snow-covered dumpster. Listening for a weather update, I daydreamed about Kiki underneath my car. Even my usual interior game of calculating our minute of arrival using our speed and mileage markers proved too complicated next to the image of Kiki in the dense stand of Wisconsin pines. Where we tempting fate here? Maybe I needed to say something. Plus I needed to whiz. If there was Phantom of the Opera organ music playing in my head, Kiki wasn't hearing it. "We're here!" She rocked in her seat. "I can't believe you're doing this with me." I guess not with the saying something. We checked in at the front desk, and Gary, the owner of the drop zone, was right there. "We've been waiting for you guys all week." Young muscular guy, stood solid and straight, used hand gestures. "You won't believe this, but our on-site radar has a storm coming in. We'll get you up there though, don't worry. You'll be our only load of the morning." "That's OK, we understand." I smiled magnanimously, and used hand gestures too. "We don't want to ruin your perfect student safety record, do we?" "Bro, we'll take care of you." He nudged me with a conspiratorial elbow. "Let's get you right to orientation. Follow me." The jump instructor, an athletic blonde man using the same hand gestures, sped through a lecture on what to expect, when to arch your back, how to read the altimeter on your wrist. My mind flipped through our carousel of calamities. I started feeling sweaty and looked toward the door. At just the right moment, Kiki squeezed my hand and winked at me. The lecturer turned out to be Kiki's assigned jump instructor. He nodded to the corner and said, "You're going with Mad Dog." Slumped in the corner desk was a guy with wild unkempt hair and sunglasses, who hadn't shaved in about five days. He pushed up his shades, revealing bloodshot eyes. "You ready to rock this thing, mate?" I held out my hand. "Sure." He held out his fist, so I bumped it. In the hangar, while the airplane taxied onto the tarmac outside, they strapped us in harnesses: over the shoulders, through the legs and tight. It looked like I was wearing a codpiece. Shit, that reminded me-- "I've got to use the restroom!" "Are you off your nutter?" Mad Dog lifted his hand at the others filing to the plane. "Do you know how much fuel is nowadays? Go! Run!" Having a flashback to beginners swim class, I trotted off to the duddy, as Mad Dog would call it. Standing at the urinal, the airplane angrily buzzing in the background, I scrunched my eyes. "Come on, come on." My misgivings had boiled themselves down to creepy flashcards: Dumpster. Car. Skiing. Skydiving. I shook Mr. Dickens, but he wasn't playing. Oh, please, please, please. Then I thought about what worked before. In the classroom, Kiki winked and took my hand. That settled me down, instantly. So, I pictured Kiki winking at me once more. Then reaching over and taking my... "Ahhh." I laughed over the sound of splashing. Wait until I tell her about this, I thought. If we survive. Knocking at the door. "Circus is waiting!" A few moments later, I sprang from the door. "Let's do this." At least I would die with a happy bladder. The winds had picked up by the time we ran outside. The plane was loaded with jumpers, shrugging inside of their gear. We hopped inside and took our seats beside the door. The Plexiglas door came down, and the plane started bumping its way down the runway. In a small plane like that one, bumping is just the right word. From the moment we lifted off, we felt every jive and juke as the aircraft struggled to climb through the gusts. Or at least I felt every jostle: The rest of the merry passengers seemed to have already started the party, psyching each other up with war whoops and high fives. Kiki was right in there with them. "That your girlfriend?" Mad Dog leaned over my shoulder as he fastened our harnesses together. "Damn!" He shook my harness either in congratulation or to test our connection, I don't know which. All the way up, he kept tightening and tightening our connection points, as we climbed past scattered clouds, as the air grew colder and thinner, and as our connection became so tight that I felt I could no longer draw a full breath. At last, Mad Dog finished. "The cloud deck is firming up. We're barely going to get out on time." The plane continued swaying its hips in the wind. In the back of my mind, my flashcards were cycling. Unfortunately, Kiki sat too far away to reach either my hand or Mr. Dickens. The pilot spoke a garbled message on the intercom, prompting one of the jumpers to roll away the Plexiglas door, the only thing separating us from a 2 1/2 mile drop. Mad Dog patted my side, signaling me to rise. We were the first ones. We walked to the gaping doorway, where I saw sporadic clouds, one of the propeller engines nearby, and far, far below, the squares and lines of civilization scraped into the earth. The plane seemed to bob through the air. I decided I had to warn him. "Listen to me, you're in danger! We have incredibly bad luck. She's a klutz, and I may be too!" With the rushing of wind in our faces, I couldn't tell if I made my point. Mad Dog said, "Good idea!" We tumbled out of the aircraft, into space. I didn't have time to tell Kiki I loved her, only to meet her eyes as I disappeared. Spinning, somersaulting, the world turned into a kaleidoscope. In a few seconds we settled into our freefall. It was like lying down in a 180 mile per hour hurricane. It went on and on. They said that the freefall was only supposed to last a minute. I was certain now that it lasted for several. Any time now he's going to pull the shoot, I told myself. We sped past fuzzy cloud after fuzzy cloud. Any time now, any time now. Or maybe not. Finally, the jerk of the parachute deploying. Now I caught my breath. For the first time I felt safe, like we were under some semblance of control. Under the canopy, all was peaceful and colorful. Now I was really sightseeing, eyeing the great green squares of Illinois farms stretching in every direction to the horizon. It was so serene that we could have a conversation, Mad Dog and I. "There she is." Mad Dog banked sharply, making my stomach lurch. "Your sign. How you like it?" Then I saw it below, stretched across a corner of the grass landing field: KIKI, WILL YOU MARRY ME? MARTIN On the whole, I was pleased. Pleased by the way sign was spread, and pleased that the message was so visible. Pleased to have reached that point in my scheme, still alive. I did notice from here, however, that there was extra room on the bottom right corner beside my name, where I could have told the print shop to add a long-stemmed rose, something nice. That's the way my mind works. But I was not allowed to stew on it. A chilling gust of wind blew us back. Our legs swung. By the minute, the menacing sky was bearing down on us. The heavy steel-colored clouds joined shoulder-to-shoulder and descended. Suddenly we whipped around on a dime, then we whipped around again. Tight turns, violent turns. Turns that flopped my body like a rag doll, wrenching my stomach away from the grip of gravity. My mind raced. My lungs gasped the clammy air. Were we out of control? "Legs out, mate. Here we go!" And there, suddenly, was the green field snapping into frame. We swooped in, grass coming into focus and flying past us on all sides. Oh boy. Like that, we were down, on the mark, right beside my oversized banner sprawled on the grass. We were a huffing, four-legged, two-headed beast--half of which needed a shave and half of which was glad to be alive--standing over a deflated nylon parachute. "Well, that was some fun, eh? My instructions were to bring you down, pronto." Mad Dog patted my shoulder. "Good on ya, skydiver! Now let's get you unhooked. You have company coming in." It was only a few seconds before we were free of the rig, and one of the staff who had joined us on the field pointed out Kiki and her instructor circling a couple hundred feet overhead. She was either being attacked or she was ecstatic, because we could hear her shrieking all the way on the ground. The wind was snapping the flags on the field. The storm was coming. My fingers remained crossed all the way until they touched down, easy as pie, not 100 feet away. Kiki hopped in place almost like she had to go to the bathroom, and in a moment was set free and ran into my arms. "Yes, yes, yes, you sneaky boy, yes!" Her arms and legs squeezed me. The engagement ring lay forgotten in my pocket. People crowded around us, congratulating, laughing, snapping pictures. It was the happiest moment of my life. My banner leapt into the air and twisted downfield. A dark blue storm loomed across the plain. Gary called out. "Group shot. Hurry!" As the happy gathering posed on the field, a bolt of lightning flashed behind us. "I caught it! That's going to be a killer shot." Before we ran to shelter, Kiki realized she hadn't thanked her instructor, and rushed over to him. The blonde guy was on one knee, gathering his rig. He turned to stand and Kiki smacked into this helmet. Her mouth squirmed back and forth a few times, then hatched a grin. "I chipped my tooth." # # # Being engaged felt like we were playing house. Kiki was a real trouper. "I'll follow you anywhere. Even to Yablonski." That was my last name. Kiki liked that both her names would end in "i." I let my apartment go, long overdue. A couple times, I even spoke to the mysterious parents on the phone. Not that any of that mattered much. Whether choreographing epic karate fights using every room in the apartment, or pumpkin seed spitting contests to see who got to be on top that night, we simply liked being together. We liked being attuned. Sometimes in a private moment I would feel a whiff of suspicion, because I was pretty sure the Garden of Eden wasn't on Diversey. But what could I do? I couldn't control life. I let it happen. When I received the strange phone call then, half of me collapsed in a yawning, screeching chasm. The other half, I distinctly remember, thought, Of course. Killed by falling ice, the policeman said, I'm sorry. It was only November, so none of the yellow warning signs were out on the sidewalks, the ones that Chicagoans are used to hurrying past or ignoring completely. My research showed that authorities keep no official count in the mortality records, except that, of all American cities, Chicago suffers a handful of casualties every year from icicles falling from 1000-foot skyscrapers. Of course. It wasn't that she was a klutz. It was more fundamental than that. After all, Kiki never technically broke the terms of her Probation. Rule Number 3 was No other shit like that. It was 2 Prudential Tower that broke that rule. But none of the causation mattered because good things simply do not last. Life sees that this is so. To me, it was a sour joke. I had nothing but contempt for any world that was run like this one. How could so much energy and life and brightness simply vanish? Really, from the Third Law of Thermodynamics I knew that energy never disappears--it transfers or transmutes. Thus, Kiki became a whisper of heat released into a world that barely noticed her, that certainly didn't deserve her. What increases is entropy, chaos, confusion. A world without Kiki was a pile shit. Life is capricious. Life schemes. Once again, I was alone. Kiki's family made minimal contact with me. Cold, inscrutable, they got her body, they got her things. (I let them take whatever they wanted. They left the framed photo of us with the purple lightning bolt.) They flew back on a private jet to Minnesota. It was a business transaction. I didn't inquire about the service. The apartment was barren and quiet. Every day. I filled my waking hours with mechanical things: work, weights, martial arts. My mind could not concentrate on reading or watching. I was back in my cell, in my world of black and white. Evenings, I would remember the oasis that was my short time with her. Kiki had appeared like a comet: fleeting, beautiful, legendary. Comet Kiki. I slept with my head on her side of the bed. When I couldn't sleep, I pulled on my coat and boots and I walked the city. To the north, south, west and east, I walked everywhere. Those weekends when I couldn't work were the worst. I could be walking at any time during the day or night. Outside of work, I had become silent. So, it was with a monk's determination and detached eye that I marched for mile after mile after mile. Observing but always going on and onward. I think now that I was haunted. I was driven by my soul to the very end of nowhere. On one of my mad excursions, I found myself among the kitchy shops of North Broadway, closed for the night. I diverted myself a few blocks west, to the alley behind Roscoe where (it must be more than two years ago, I thought) life took such a strange detour. It was around the holidays and I was hollow inside. Snow was falling like on that night, and even before I turned the corner I could hear the baboon-like echoes of late-night partygoers from some balcony down the alley. When I entered the alley, the first thing I saw was the small streetlight between the buildings, still there as it was before, shining down with its bluish-white light illuminating the cone of falling snowflakes. It stopped me in my tracks. I wiped my nose with my wrist and caught my breath. I didn't know why I was getting choked up like in a Christmas movie. I shook myself and got walking. Hunching my shoulders against the snowfall and the nearby sounds of drunken merriment, I trudged a direct line through the alleyway. The laughter of young women, once one of the most beautiful sounds in the world, now pierced me through the heart and hastened my march. But in spite of my will, my legs slowed on their own. I grimaced at that dumpster. The lid was flipped open, as it was on that fateful night. The balcony, third floor, loomed dark and deserted overhead. Tonight's boisterous party was elsewhere. The dumpster itself stood in a different spot: either that, or the fall had been more improbable that I ever realized. The entire episode was freakish. How the hell was I even there for it? What the fuck was I doing there now? I kicked the dumpster. Stupid, I know, but I was moving on. For good. Before I could, however, I heard a faint rustling sound. I drew up to the edge of the dumpster and looked inside. There was something stirring inside. A cat, possum, maybe a rat? All kinds of crazy things in the city. I threw aside a cloth and ducked out of the way. Nothing jumped out at me, so I peered inside. Something was definitely there, but it was tiny. Mice, most likely. Couldn't be a snake, not in this weather. Now curiosity was getting to me. I reached in to move away another cloth. My heart jumped into my throat. It was a baby! For a moment I had the shakes. Thankfully, my hand thought on its own and brought out the phone. "Yeah, yeah, listen, I found a baby here, outside, in the cold, in the garbage. There's blood, but it's alive. I'm in the alley south of Roscoe, between Kenmore and Seminary." I answered the man's questions while I paced and held the infant close for heat. When I hung up, my breath seemed to have left me along with my last word. My mouth was open but I couldn't draw breath. I was crying, crying uncontrollably, while I wrapped myself around the baby in the night. I was in better control when the medic hopped out of his truck and took the baby from me. "Take me with you. I'm going with you." He looked at the baby, then at my coat. It was matted with blood. I whipped off my coat and threw it in the dumpster. "I'm going with you." "In the front. Belt in." At Children's Memorial, we learned that Baby Doe was a Hispanic girl only a couple of hours old, hungry and cold but otherwise healthy. No leads on the mother, according to the detective at the scene. In a way, I was pleased. My heart had already laid claim to her. Falling Hard Being a single man, they gave me a hard time, but I was persistent, I was interested, I was lawyered up, and I would not be denied. I've gained custody as I wanted, and a year later adopted her as my own child, as I wanted. In fact, I was surprised at how dogged and intense I could be outside of a classroom or office. The name I gave her is Karen Jean. When I hear her say her own name, I can picture so clearly the other Karen Jean I loved so dearly: "Kiki. I Kiki." She is my life, she is my heart. I am devoted to her. Now I remember that in their orbital journeys, comets do in fact reappear--or fall into your lap again, as the case may be. These days, life is bright. I stay well away from the Dumpster of Destiny off of Roscoe. And, as soon as she is old enough, I am enrolling KJ in ballet, tumbling, gymnastics and tap. # # # Thanks for reading! Please rate my story below and let me know what you'd like to see next. Happy holidays!