The Falling Man

“Katrina! We need to leave now!” I called from the bottom of the stairwell.

Every day was the same thing. I’d get Katrina up a good hour and a half early to get her to her babysitter’s house by eight-thirty, and she’d always fuss around with her things, delaying us a good twenty minutes. I had tried everything I could think of; bribing, getting her up an early twenty minutes, even an hour. She was always late.

“I’m coming!” She bounced down the stairs, her hair in pig tails, wearing bright pink rain boots and a rainbow-striped dress.

Oh, how my daughter had fashion sense. I wanted to pick out her clothes for her, but I figured, let her have her own self-expression. She’s young.

“Kat, why are you wearing rain boots?” I asked, taking her hand into mine and leading her out of the apartment.

The door clicked shut behind us and I fumbled hurriedly with the keys, seeing that the numbers on my wrist watch read 8:27.

“It might rain today,” She said matter-of-factly.

I looked at the sky, which was mostly blue with a few clouds. I guess this ruled out meteorology as a future profession for her.

“And who told you it was going to rain?”

“I dreamt it.”

Now she’s a psychic. Perfect.

“Alright. Miss Caitlin has an extra pair of sneakers at her house, so if your feet get too hot, you can change into them, alright?”

I picked her up, opening the car door, and placed her in her car seat, buckling her up quickly.

She nodded, watching me mess around with the belt, then slam her door shut and run around the car to the driver’s side.

I had to be at work by nine. Caitlin’s house was only fifteen minutes away from the firm, but also a fifteen minute drive from my house. It was now 8:34.

Maybe I should start getting Katrina up at five in the morning. Then she’d have plenty of time to fuck around, and she wouldn’t be as much trouble for Caitlin.

“Mommy!” Katrina wailed from her seat.

My eyes shot quickly to the rear-view mirror, trying to focus on her and the New York City traffic at the same time.

“What is it, baby?”

“I asked you if Miss Caitlin had the Lion King sneakers or the pink ones at her house, and you didn’t answer me even after four times that I asked, and I asked politely and-”

“I was focusing on the road, Katrina. I’m sorry,” I gave her a sympathetic smile, watching her pout in her seat.

“But, to answer your question, I think Miss Caitlin has your pink sneakers.”

This caused her to frown even more.

“But I wanted the-”

“Katrina,” I said in a firm, testing tone, “She bought them for you. Plus, they’ll go with your outfit better.”

“Fine,” She sighed, rolling her eyes.

My God, my four year old daughter is rolling her eyes at me already. I cannot wait until she’s fourteen.

A guy in a blue Volvo cut in front of me, causing me to slam on my brakes and the horn.

“You fucker,” I muttered, having to make a sharp turn into the next lane, then onto the street. The person behind me mimicked me, honking loudly.

“Mommy...” her voice was quaking out of nervousness.

“It’s alright, Katrina. Don’t worry. Mommy’s got it under control.”

I spun the wheel quickly, avoiding some dumb kid on a mo-ped that chose to stop in a moving lane. What the hell is wrong with people these days?

I pulled up sharply in front of Caitlin’s apartment building; she was already standing outside, walking over to open the car door.

“Morning, Ana.” She smiled at me, unbuckling Katrina.

I had met Caitlin through my boss. It was his niece, who was only a few years younger than me. She was trying to pay her way through college, and it was an easy way for her to earn a few extra bucks.

“What on earth are you wearing, Katrina?” She asked in a light tone, looking at her pink boots, then at me.

I shrugged, “She dreamt it was going to rain.”

“They’re rain boots.” Katrina grinned, taking Caitlin’s hand and leading her to the apartment.

“Katrina!” I shouted, causing her to spin around, “I love you.”

“I-love-you-too-Mommy,” she called, then rushed into Caitlin’s apartment with her.

It was now 8:49. I had to be at the firm in under 15 minutes, in rush hour traffic.

I had been working at a law firm as a secretary for a big lawyer in the city. It was mind-numbly boring, my boss was a complete dick, but the pay was good and that was really all that mattered. I needed to keep clothes on Katrina’s back and food in her belly.

I sped past the stores, tourists, and signs, getting caught in a sea of taxis.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groaned, slamming my hands down on the steering wheel. The light had changed from red to green at least three times, and I had barely moved an inch.

I had been late twice this week already, and the boss was getting testy.

Yes, he had no name to me. In the real world, he was Peter Horshwitz. But in my head, he was either ‘the boss’ or ‘dick’. I had almost slipped a couple times, but his head was way too far up his ass to even notice.

I pulled into the parking garage, throwing my keys at the valet, and grabbing the ticket from his already outstretched hand, then rushed over to the elevator, which conveniently read ‘Out of Order’.

I hurried up the stairs, the wrist watch now reading 9:09, and proceeded to slip in a step, scraping my leg and breaking a heel.

“Fuck!” I screamed, picking myself up along with the heel, and continuing to rush up the stairs, limping with each step.

I reached the floor, pushing the door open, only to realize it was stuck. It took a good leap and a shove to get the goddamn thing open. Aren’t janitors supposed to take care of these things? I bet their bosses were more lenient with their arrival time.

I ran down the hall, through the office door, and past the receptionist area, hearing a chorus of ‘Hey Ana’s’ from Carol and the other receptionist.

I slid gracefully into my chair, it spun me quickly to facing my computer, which someone had already turned on for me. I shoved my purse underneath the desk, giving it a kick for good measure, and took a deep breath in hopes to compose myself.

“Hello, Miss Gordon.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin to hear the boss’s voice so suddenly.

He was standing in front of my, his hair slicked back and greasy as usual, squinting at a stack of papers in his hand through thick-lens glasses as he sipped on his cup of coffee.

I forced a smile, opening a drawer in my desk to pretend I was about to look for something.

“Good morning, Mr. Horshwitz. You have a meeting with The Palanquin Practice at...” I flipped through the day timer, “10:30.”

“Good, good,” He nodded, resting his cup on my desk, “If you could get me the memos, their proposal, and the listings before 9:30, that’d be great.”

I nodded, bringing up the files on my computer, and holding my breath that the dick would just leave.

“Oh, and Miss Gordon, one other thing.”

“Yes?” I looked at him as he gave me a yellow-toothed grin.

“Don’t be late again or you’re gone.”