Thursday, December 04, 2008

Remember That Day When God Tapped Me on the Shoulder?

My all-American, non-threatening, apple pie and Mom face allows me to get away with plenty sometimes.

Like when I want to climb to the top of a tall building.

I didn't intend to jump when I arrived at the top, but it crossed my mind plenty of times.

The tallest building in Santa Rosa is this retirement edifice east of downtown. It towers over everyone and everything.

And when I would pass by on my late night walks, I felt safe. It was as though an entire generation of wise men and women were peering down, protecting my every step.

Along with the trusting face, I also work in a profession that opens doors that otherwise would be slammed shut.

Like those to the roof access.

The fog had finally broken when I approached the security desk. I explained that I worked for a local radio station and I wanted to get some photos of the city for our new website.

Seemed plausible enough.

I showed my business card and ID and explained exactly how long I needed to photograph.

It turned out to be surprisingly easy. I mean, really, all I was asking for was some time on their roof.

"Ten minutes," he croaked with his arms crossed.

"Fine by me," I thought.

The roof was rectangular with four smaller rectangles dotted equidistant from one another. A friendly railing enticed me to head to the north side.

My intense fear of heights was flattened immediately by the breathtaking view.

I didn't end up taking a single photo.

As I peered over the railing, it was though I could suddenly peer into the future.

A future where I didn't exist.

All I had to do was fling my body over the railing.

My parents and sister would be crushed. I've never even met my two year old niece.

No one at work would mind though.

They with their cool cliques and entertaining parties they never invite me to. They'd ravage my office before my corpse was dry.

"Oh really? Stacy died? Oh, ok. Where do you want to go to lunch?"

Another fool would be in place within two weeks.

Dialysis? I'd free up a chair and lower the dependence on Medicare funding. They'd welcome my exit because I'm a big pain-in-the-ass.

Girlfriend? Ex-lover? The Chinese couple at the hole in the wall deli?

Nope. Nah. Uh-uh.

With the clock ticking, I began to empty my pockets to prepare for the inevitable.

But then God intervened.

This is the same God that gave me Glomerulonephritis.

The same God that sealed my fate at the moment of conception.

A God that thrills to mocking me on a weekly basis.

I blacked out.

I awoke to find myself in the stairwell with a number of medical personnel around me.

The preceding events, a distant memory.

They had no idea what my intentions were, which is just fine with me.

But I'm still not talking to God.

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