She looks down from the window on 23rd floor. A basketball court. Newly painted. A bunch of kids practice their shots. She inspects the large glass window that covers the road-facing wall three feet above the floor. No openings. No locks to unlock. All fixed glass panels. Central air-conditioning cools the room at all times. She knows this. She has been here for a week. No outside exposure. She presses her head against the glass of the fixed window. A pool by the side of the basketball court. Maybe if she lets go, she might fall straight into the pool. What could be the chances? If only she’s extremely unlucky and falls 12 feet sideways. But the pool must be 6 feet deep at most.
Will her body hit the floor of the pool with enough force if she falls?
The sound of the water running stops. Silence. She fiddles with the frames of the windows. Hastily. Maybe there is a lock after all. A hidden lock. Maybe if she bangs her head hard enough, the glass of the window breaks and she can jump through.
Her phone rings.
She picks it up quickly so as not to make any noise.
One of the kids shoots a half court shot and runs around the court. She wants to hear his shrieks of joy.
It is her brother. She rests her face against the cool glass of the window and listens to him while her other ear tries to listen to the silence from inside the bathroom.
He is far away, her brother. He cannot stop what is happening to her. So he tries to stop what she wants to do, even though he doesn’t know the urgency of it. She moves slowly along the wall of the window, her hands looking for secret locks, once again. She knows it’s futile. But she doesn’t want to live by not trying.
The bathroom door opens. Her hands stop. The voice on the other side of the phone continues. A hand rests on her shoulder.
Of Coffee Conversations 