Ones Thoughts While Falling

E. McGowan Craig

My dear friend, 

By the time you get this letter I’ll be in the sky. 

I suppose it has been quite a while since we last talked. I haven’t seen you since the wedding last year. How's Esther? Is she still working out that internship at Goldman Sachs? I heard you've moved to the advising sector. I suppose that fits you well, you are a thoughtful person. 

I know you live in the city, but have you gone stargazing recently? The stars are too far from us I think. Their light takes years to travel to our eyes. Think of that– hundreds of dead stars shining at us from the beyond. 

Have you ever been skydiving? I’m going with a coworker this coming weekend. I suppose that's what I am referring to in the first line of this letter. I apologize for the dramatics, I couldn’t help myself. I've never thought of going skydiving before. 

What does one do while falling? Perhaps one would grip whatever cord is holding them and close their eyes till landing. I find that would be a great waste. I want to fall with my eyes to the sky. 

What does one think of while falling?

Perhaps I'll think of my mother and father, and my childhood friends, those I wish I hadn’t left behind. Or of the first time I ever went to another country, or my first job, or the first time I ever kissed a girl, or the first time I ever kissed a boy. Perhaps I’ll think of the day we started stargazing, and you said that you hoped man would never make it to the stars. “Knowing us, we'd try to sell them. How foolish is that?” you said, “The stars are so plentiful, they would have awful market value.” Perhaps I'll think of Orion, or Chang’e with her rabbit, or Bathor, mistress of the stars, and how the Egyptians once thought that the sky was an ocean that the clouds and stars sailed upon like ships. Perhaps something will break and I’ll think of all of this as I fall to my death. Perhaps I'll die from a heart attack before I hit the ground. 

Perhaps I’ll think of 2 years ago. We went on a trip together, somewhere like Chicago or Boston– I can't remember where exactly. 

I’ll think of what I do remember from that trip– the look on a businessman's face as I watched him fall. 

It was the night you passed out in the hotel bar, I helped you back to the room and then went on my own intoxicated escapade. How lovely is the influenced mind, all that is truly important comes to front. I wanted to go stargazing. 

That night, I went to a high rooftop to see if any stars pierced the city clouds. The man fell with his eyes to the heavens, perhaps wondering something similar as I, something along the lines of: “is there anything left in this night sky?” In his eyes shone the light of a plane that flew above us, blocking the moon and my view of any straggling stars that fought for their place in the polluted sky. 

I wonder if any stars died as he hit the ground. What a beautiful notion– to die at the same moment as something so ancient and so far away. A moment shared between space and time and the suicidal businessman as he fell and a star winked one last time. 

When I fall, I hope there is nothing blocking my view of the sky. 

Perhaps I’ll think of when we lived together for a year after college. Do you remember that? An apartment in the small town we hated since high school, that we promised to leave forever. But things feel different now. I miss that small apartment, I miss how it was the only three floored building in the whole town, and how our next door neighbor was a field of grass where you could lie down and watch the clouds change. I miss how you used to point out the types of clouds and the things they had to say, the stratus warning us of rain and the cumulonimbus of thunder. I miss looking from our balcony and being able to see every star in the sky. I miss the feeling of quiet company. We can both afford to live alone now.

I’ll fall this weekend and think of all of this- though I suppose these are things I am always thinking about. 

Don’t worry about me, about any cords breaking. There will be a man tied to my back with a go-pro on his head who will shout in my ear and keep anyone from actually falling. Most likely, he will block my view of the sky, of any clouds sailing along the ocean trying to tell me of the changing weather. 

It's raining now, and I have found that this letter is longer than I meant. I have always been one to ramble. How much value does a letter of nonsense have? No, nonsense is the wrong word, just a letter of weightless musings. But humor me just one moment more. What would you think of if you didn't know when you’d hit the ground? Would you think of Esther? Of your work? Of me?

Of how long it takes for light to travel from the sun to your eyes? Of what clouds mark the sky, of where in the world it’s raining, of the man who killed himself two years ago in Boston or Chicago? Of which stars are shining dead and which are still alive? 

The rain is getting louder, there is traffic outside of people wishing to get home before a nimbostratus turns its tears to snow. I wish to sit quietly alone. The world is much too loud. Stars die in silence years before we ever realize. 

I miss you, I hope I can see you soon.