The First Time I Saw Her

The first time I saw her was the day she jumped.

She was beautiful. My age. A couple of years younger, maybe, but not long out of high school.

Her long, black hair, almost like a cape down her back. Long enough and heavy enough that the wind barely moved more than a few strands. I’ve always been a sucker for women with long hair.

She turned, looked at me. Her eyes, so brown they were almost black, stared at me through her glasses. They were sad eyes. Intelligent, but drowning in despair.

Her slim figure was covered by a faded pair of jeans, and a t-shirt with that silly rabbit on it. It said “You suck, and that’s sad.”

I knew what she would do. I ran to try and stop her, but was too slow. She put her arms out, and simply fell back. I got there in time to see, not sadness or fear, but a strangely serene look on her face. I turned away before she hit the sidewalk.

If only I’d been faster. If only I’d known sooner. If only… I could have gotten to know her.

The second time I saw her was the day I jumped.

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