Make the jump, these words did not so much flash across Rita’s mind, as course through her trembling body teetering on the cold stone ledge. Rita had been plagued with a sensation of prescient doom for many days, since it all came to a head on that nondescript morning in March. But those heavy thoughts were not to darken her existence any longer. Rita’s mind was clear – crystal, one might say – while the sensation of her lavender flowered skirt pattered against her legs with a gentle breeze that belied the gravity of her situation. Aside for that minuscule encounter with nature, by her handmade garment (courtesy of Laura Ashley), all else was surprisingly still at those grand altitudes. Rita’s mind was the still most of all: it was devoid of angst, anguish, and the noisy noise of demanding oh so many whys from the carelessly cruel universe. For once in her short and shoddy life, Rita had become sheer stillness, in breathing, in panting, in whimpering, in feeling. In fact what began as a quivering before a leap out of faith had become a certainty of being. This was the way it was meant to be at the end. This was for sure the way forward. And for once, because that is all it takes, the once, this was her opportunity to fly out of a puny existence. So absent of hesitation, she did so finally—with the alacrity that is freedom.
