It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York. The sky was a magnificent deep blue, with a few lazy white clouds slowly drifting across the horizon like meandering sheep. From my dramatically high vantage point, I could see the wide spectrum of assorted cars moving slowly about, as the generally do on a Sunday. They reminded me of the pet beetles I used to dig up from my backyard and keep in a jar as my pets. The distant wailing of police sirens, and their flashing lights, did very little to detract from the wonder of the day.
I noticed that even the birds seemed to be enjoying the gorgeous weather. They sang and swooped about in graceful arcs, back and forth between window ledges. Whether they ever did pause in curiosity to watch me, as I hurtled past them, my arms flailing about desperately and my legs kicking out uselessly, I'll never know.
Despite all this, I couldn't bring myself to care, even the slightest how amazing the sky looked, or how wonderful the birds sounded as they flittered to and fro. In fact, there was very little at this point in time that could improve my gloomy mood.
Except of course, having just been pushed off the very top of the Bank of New York, to be doing anything other than falling 50 meters per second through the air. That'd be really nice actually, and I have no doubt it would improve my day immeasurably. To say that I really wasn't looking forward to resembling some 3D impression of one of Picasso's famous pieces, on the pavement rushing up to meet me, was definitely understating how I felt at that particular point in time.
I stopped wailing like a banshee momentarily to draw in a huge lungful of air, before once again resuming my ungodly screaming.
I must have been a sight to see. Hundreds of people had gathered on the opposite side of the street to watch, their hands covering their faces in shock. I was never sure if that was because I was falling to my death, or because of how I looked as was falling to my death, and yes, before you ask, there is a difference.
There was none of that stereotypical damsel in distress stuff displayed by me that day. There were no billowing white dresses, or angelically lustrous golden trestles framing a dazzlingly pretty face, or musical squeal of fear. Oh no, I was having none of that. Like I said, my feet kicked out and my hands flapped up and down pointlessly outstretched at my sides, as if I could some how take off like a bird and get myself out of the messy situation, that was sure to follow. My hair whipped about my face, lashing into my eyes and mouth, so I was both temporarily blinded and choking on my own hair at the same time. I was genuinely surprised my screaming didn't crack the glass in the windows of the buildings near by.
So, there I was, about to die. Admittedly, doing my very darndest to ensure that everyone heard my loud protests about that, but falling to my death all the same.
And then, suddenly, my descent began to slow. All of my weight and the inertia of my fall was eased, as two large hands gripped onto me by the sleeves of my cotton cardigan. I gawked in shock.
I was staring into the most brilliant, electric blue eyes I had ever seen. In fact, I was staring into the most handsome face I'd ever seen this close before. Somehow, the man, Superman (if you hadn't already guessed), was facing me, his body perfectly horizontal, his large spandex clad frame completely blocking my view of the sky, and his brow furrowed in concentration.
I momentarily stopped screaming, left completely breathless and thankful when I realized what was happening. Hope unfurled in me like a glorious rose, its delicate petals spreading open to greet with joy the powerful sun above itself.
It would seem that all flowers, no matter how hopeful or joyful can be squashed.
Because, just like that, with a loudly audible ripping sound, the sleeves of my cardigan, that my rescuer was gripping so firmly, ripped, cleanly and completely away from the rest of the material.
Yep, you heard me, it ripped. Seam from seam, thread from thread, fibre from fibre. It tore right off. And what significance did that have, I hear you asking? Well, only the difference between my life and death, I tell you!
I screamed, in outrage and horror, as I watched Superman continue to hold the sleeves, his face one of complete surprise. He looked almost comical actually; the two pieces of material flapping from his clenched hands bizarrely in the wind.
I again fell towards the pavement. It was alarmingly close now, I must have been around 60 metres from the ground and narrowing.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
That was it. I was going to die. Any chance I had of surviving was completely thwarted, and now, all I could think of was my pet beetles. Not the pavement, not Superman, not my family, not my even my pet dog. Oh no, I thought about the pet beetles I used to have as a kid. Maybe it was actually a blessing I was going to die; one less nutter out in the world I suppose.
And then I felt my back hit two bars that felt like steel, and I knew I must have hit the pavement, or maybe a lamp post above the pavement.
I continued screaming, knowing that I was dead.
Except that I was screaming. I. Was. Screaming. I stopped screaming, and realized that I had been screaming, as ridiculous as that revelation may sound. Surely that could only mean one thing?
One after the other, I nervously opened my eyes, after all, I had already thought that I had escaped death once today, and that had been frustrated, who's to say it wouldn't happen again?
Superman's amazing blue eyes stared down intently into my unbelieving face. It was his two arms that had caught me and felt like two metal poles. He held me bridal style, one of my hands resting against the strange "S" symbol emblazoned on his chest, as we hovered 3 meters above the ground. He continued to look at me, his chest slowly rising up and down in a calming sort of way beneath my fingertips.
Except that, at that moment I felt anything but calm. I shouted out the first thing that came to my adrenalin fueled brain, my voice hoarse and cracking, my cheeks flushed bright red in confused agitation.
"WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU CATCH ME LIKE THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE?!"
I had lifted my neck up off his forearm, and now glared at him furiously, my mind somehow skittering about in every possible direction it could find.
Superman's eyebrows rose up in astonishment, and then, no, that wasn't possible! The largest, most mirth-filled smile spread across his features, and I began to feel his whole body shake up and down, as his head tilted back, and flashing me those stunning white teeth, he full heartedly laughed.
As in, this was no restrained wheeze of hidden humour, or smothered chuckle, this was an outright, ridiculously loud laugh. My scream, which had been loud enough to wake the dead, was nothing compared to this; it was absolutely outrageous.
At first my nose crinkled up in indignation, and I tripped over my own tongue, trying to think of something to scold him adequately with, and then the sides of my mouth quirked up in a wry smile, acknowledging that maybe my reaction could be considered, at least slightly amusing. But then I was laughing too, with just as much gusto as he, my head thrown back, and my lungs pinching in protest in their already worn state.
Superman's feet touched the ground gently, and he easily maneuvered me around, so that my feet touched the ground and I rested almost completely against that fantastic chest of his. I trembled uncontrollably, and I could barely hear the thundering applause from the onlooking crowd surrounding us, since my own rushing heartbeat blocked most of it out.
All at once I was laughing, crying and trembling uncontrollably. If it wasn't for the strong arms that pulled me tightly against my rescuer, I probably would have melted then and there into a pile of sniveling mess on the blessedly solid ground beneath me.
Words couldn't describe how glad was that I was not one of Picasso's paintings.
Even after Superman's laughing had subsided, he continued to hold me for a few moments, and I felt his chest rumble before I heard him quietly ask, his mouth close to my ear, whether or not I was all-right to stand by myself. I took in a ragged breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and nodded slowly.
He stepped back, and strangely I felt like I was falling again. I could only stare at him, probably looking like my dog did after it stuck it's head outside the window when I was driving... Why was I even thinking about that?
A genuine, and protective look of concern was written across his features, and I saw him swallow.
He smiled dryly, and said, loud enough so that I, and the crowd could hear, "Remind me to buy you a new cardigan sometime."
The people around me laughed in delight, and the air rustled my hair once again as he took off, to an uproar of cheers from the crowd.
I swallowed dryly, before feeling the loving arms of my sister engulf me.
