I'm back, writing in the most boring blog in the world. Kevin and I joke oh, about once every couple of months about a local gay rag columnist (whom shall remain anonymous). In our collective memory, all of his columns were the same: "I'm too busy to write a real column because I have finals at school, and work, and being a busy gay student isn't really all that glamorous!" I guess I feel the same way about this old blog of mine. I need to shake things up a bit. So here goes:
Two months ago, I saw a guy jump off the balcony of his building. I was leaving work to go to the office supply store and saw something out of the corner of my eye flying through the air. It landed in the garden area of the building across the street. There was actually a man feeding his parking meter about ten feet away from the garden, and I thought "well maybe that was just my imagination, because surely if someone just took a leap off of that building that guy would have heard it and done something about it." But the guy fed his meter and left as though nothing happened. I thought maybe it was a pile of clothes or something that someone threw off the balcony, or maybe some kind of construction debris. So my friend Kathleen called me as I am approaching the building and all of the sudden I look into the garden and realzie that whatever landed there was
breathing. I got off of the phone quickly and I still did not believe my eyes and could not make out what I was seeing. He was on his back and his feet were pointed towards me. I walked into the garden and saw his face. He had blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. I had the audacity to ask "Are you okay?" I guess it was a reflex from first aid training in school. His arms were by his side, and his left arm was very broken.
I called 911 and the police arrived in probably three or four minutes, but of course it seemed like forever. I stood about 10 feet away from him, on the sidewalk... for a couple of weeks after this happened, I really regretted not being closer to him, but had a good friend remind me that it was probably better that I didn't touch him in any way because he was, well, broken.
I was on the phone with 911 when the guy started making snoring noises. Then about a minute later he started breathing really really hard, really unnaturally. Then he stopped. I can only guess that he drowned in his own blood. Again, even though there are people on the street I seem to be the only one with this guy, just me and the guy, just me and the guy, until the police arrive and then people crawl out of the woodwork to try to see what is happening.
When the ambulance left, the sirens were on, and I went on with my day hoping that maybe the guy had lived somehow. But later that afternoon, the Rocky reported on their website that he had died. A few days later, they had sort of an obituary column about him. He died on his 27th birthday and had been recently treated for depression. He had a master's in creative writing. A girlfriend. Lots of friends. I went to his Facebook page, and completely and utterly got the chills- his userpic was him lying on his back, on the ground, in nearly the same position that he landed.
Since the would've/should've/could'ves have dissipated, I am still trying to figure out what this means (a neverending task, I know). I still feel very heartbroken about it. The fact that he was motionless and silent when he was falling is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life... the idea that life wasn't even worth flailing for or screaming for or expressing any kind of futile regret for. I am making a print edition about him to perhaps maybe find some kind of understanding of all of this. I think I imagine this image to have the power to turn back time and if not save the poor guy, at least start healing that place & time for me. I definitely feel like this event follows me around, that I reek of it. There are some other kind of um, otherworldly things that have happened since then but it is really not the time nor the place to discuss those here.
