The Free Fall

The Free Fall

“Is this how high we have to be?” Amanda asks as she looks out at the colorless midday skyline.

Out of breath from the stairway climb, Mr. Man stops a moment, raises his finger to wait, and gives Amanda a regrettable wink.

“No one has ever made it this far before, Amanda,” he wheezes.

Amanda rises on her tippy toes to see over the fencing at just how far above the street they are. She’s a little dizzy from the height, but so darn excited to be the only winner ever invited onto the third floor platform.

Mr. Man side eyes a look at Amanda. Her dark hair lifts and dances in the heightened breeze. It twirls and sways to the rhythm of her youth, a beat much too fast, too dangerous for Mr. Man to watch. The chorus of long shimmering fingers tease, stretch, call for his touch.

His tie looks preposterous trying to imitate the wind blown sirens of hair. It slaps him in the face then whips around his head before lying tired and flaccid on his shoulder.

Mr. Man laughs and loosens the tie. He surveys the cloudless flat expanse. With no horizon worth looking toward, his eyes instinctively land on the newly developed outline of Amanda’s breasts. He has to admit they are a nice shape, if not a tad too large for his taste.

“Why are you shaking your head ‘no’, Mr.Man?”

Mr. Man tightens his tie again, “Was I? I’m sorry, nothing to do with you,” he lies.

Amanda raises herself higher and bends over the fence in order to get a better view. Her skirt is rising past the point of decency as she struggles to see beyond the ledge. She is so close to exposing what Mr. Man imagines to be pink-gingham panties. He is speechless. He knows the right thing to do is warn her. He should tell her to step back and remind her it’s not safe. Instead, he stares slack-jawed into the abyss of her partially bloomed adolescence.

Amanda feels Mr. Man’s eyes on her. She tests the alchemy of her newly discovered powers by pushing herself over the edge a little more than she needs to see. She waves to the crowd below and pauses, making sure Mr. Man can view as much as her skirt will allow.

She’s not attracted to Mr. Man, she doesn’t even find his class all that interesting. There is something about this place, this primitive contest, that has forced her to shed a layer of innocence. She understands they are profoundly alone in this moment. A Catholic School Adam and Eve perched on a podium high above the earth, exposed only to the blinding judgement of god and sky.

Amanda looks down at the fragility in her hands and contemplates the value of her sacrifice. Mr. Man looks at his weathered hands and speculates his fading virility.

The silence weighs heavy between them, each wondering who will break first. Amanda thinks it might be hers, Mr. Man knows it will be him.

“Are you ready, Amanda?”

Breathless, she responds, “I am, Mr. Man.”

Amanda takes her egg and gently places it into the cradle she has spent all semester designing for the competition. She secures the eyelet lock and gives Mr. Man a nod.

With his hand flat against her belly, he gently pushes her back as he hurls the egg, in its Amanda made nest, over the edge. They stand still, listening. His hand quivers on her quivering belly as the egg free falls onto the sidewalk below.

They wait in silence. Until, “It didn’t break!” is heard from below. “ The egg didn’t break!”

Amanda hops up and down and in her excitement, throws her arms around Mr. Man. The air in their lungs take pause as her cheek rests on Mr. Man’s chest. She wants to hear everything inside him. His prayers, his desires, what any of this means. Instead, she hears his heart beat, his loud, rapid heart beat. The sound of it frightens and thrills her. She exhales and lets him go. His body still tense from her perfect, childish impression laid upon it.

“Amanda, I....”

“I get an ‘A!’” Amanda yells to the crowd bellow.

Amanda gets an ‘A.’