DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON
By the next day i felt like new man. I went right from the dark stagnant waters of the tunnel of love, onto the brightly lit ferris wheel without a second thought. Hell, i still had some ride tickets left in my pocket and it looked like the midway was still open. Cotton candy anyone?
I had a previous invite to go into the city to hang with some friends on Saturday. Perry, Mark and John (those guys from Houston) were in town and we were to meet up for drinks at the Fish. It was a beautiful warm afternoon and just as i crested the moutain above Wurtsboro i caught sight of some papers fluttering across the West bound lane. Then i saw the car, a newish silver SUV over on it's side, wheels still spinning. The driver was face up in the middle of the road. I pulled over and ran across the road to the guy. He wasn't moving. An insurance form was stuck to his bloody face. I pulled it off and laid my finger tips against his neck, just like they had shown me in hunting guide's class. I swear i felt a pulse. By then there was a Hasidic guy in an orange vest over my shoulder. " I think he's still alive." I said. He bent down and felt for a pulse and shook his head. Must have been my own beating heart I felt through my finger tips.
Ten minutes later i was back on the road, like nothing had happened. The cops had shown and there was no reason to stay. It was surreal. Once in town I told the story and no paid the least amount of attention. All talk was of these Austrian artists who had been part of the World Trade Center studio program and had taken out a window surreptitiously and built a gang plank out the window on the 90th floor. Then one of them stood out on the plank while a hired helicopter flew around the towers photographing the work. The reporter who broke the story in the Times a week before
was at the table and everyone was snubbing her. Some big cheeze from the Port Authority had read the story and now the gallery was being sued. "There's an opening for the Austrian's on the 11th." Perry said. I said I had to be back in town for work on Tues., so would definitely make it.
When I got back home at 4:00am there were three messages on the machine from Friendly. "Christie? You there? Meoooooow!" Beep. "Hellooooooo. Where aaaaaare you? My pussy needs petting. Ooooooooo." Beep. "Can't wait to see you on Monday." OK. I admit it was a trap. So what. I couldn't wait to feel those steel jaws clamped against my ankle.
I had a previous invite to go into the city to hang with some friends on Saturday. Perry, Mark and John (those guys from Houston) were in town and we were to meet up for drinks at the Fish. It was a beautiful warm afternoon and just as i crested the moutain above Wurtsboro i caught sight of some papers fluttering across the West bound lane. Then i saw the car, a newish silver SUV over on it's side, wheels still spinning. The driver was face up in the middle of the road. I pulled over and ran across the road to the guy. He wasn't moving. An insurance form was stuck to his bloody face. I pulled it off and laid my finger tips against his neck, just like they had shown me in hunting guide's class. I swear i felt a pulse. By then there was a Hasidic guy in an orange vest over my shoulder. " I think he's still alive." I said. He bent down and felt for a pulse and shook his head. Must have been my own beating heart I felt through my finger tips.
Ten minutes later i was back on the road, like nothing had happened. The cops had shown and there was no reason to stay. It was surreal. Once in town I told the story and no paid the least amount of attention. All talk was of these Austrian artists who had been part of the World Trade Center studio program and had taken out a window surreptitiously and built a gang plank out the window on the 90th floor. Then one of them stood out on the plank while a hired helicopter flew around the towers photographing the work. The reporter who broke the story in the Times a week before
was at the table and everyone was snubbing her. Some big cheeze from the Port Authority had read the story and now the gallery was being sued. "There's an opening for the Austrian's on the 11th." Perry said. I said I had to be back in town for work on Tues., so would definitely make it.
When I got back home at 4:00am there were three messages on the machine from Friendly. "Christie? You there? Meoooooow!" Beep. "Hellooooooo. Where aaaaaare you? My pussy needs petting. Ooooooooo." Beep. "Can't wait to see you on Monday." OK. I admit it was a trap. So what. I couldn't wait to feel those steel jaws clamped against my ankle.
posted by mike osterhout at 1:07 PM
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