Sunday, February 21, 2010
ridge walking on top of the roof.
we had just moved to the states from Romania. I was eight and a dreamer. Hollywood and its shallow people appeared strange and lonely.
I had decided that I too wanted to fly, like the free birds I observed from my windows. I grabbed an umbrella, mother's beloved vintage Dior, and, I jumped out my window, three stories above ground. two seconds of free falling.
don't know what was more broken, me or the umbrella.
got away with two broken legs and a bruised face though (worth it).
after the cass was on, I kept telling mother I would be fine, promising I would never ever jump out my window again. but mother cried that whole week, telling stories about how Christian Dior himself had owned that very umbrella.