Member-only story
I’m Dying!
No, not now!
—I’m dying!
What is it?
—I’m dying!
Should I call an ambulance?
—No! No, not now! No, not tonight! I mean, eventually!
Boris, everybody dies.
—It’s unacceptable!
from “Whatever Works” (Woody Allen)
When I was about seven I was flying around our apartment on Avenue C.
It was all about the cape. If it was attaining any horizontal auronautics then I was truly in flight.
Television was a new thing in our home and through that magic window I had seen how it worked when Superman took off—out of the phonebooth and up into the sky. ”Look, up in the sky! It’s a bird, it’s a plane. . . ”
I was not one of those mythical kids with impaired critical thinking skills that supposedly jumped out a window thinking they could fly after seeing Superman do it. I suppose if I had managed to get anywhere close to the ceiling inside the apartment I may have tried some gliding around from a bench the next time we were in the park.
