Insurrections

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Walter caught the sight out the corner of his eye one hot July day, and for so long afterward he asked himself what if he had never seen those dangling legs from the balcony above, kicking, kicking, kicking against the open air.

He watched them first with confusion — what an incongruous vision, a man’s legs in baggy black jeans flailing against the open blue of the sky. He next watched with interest, and then with terror when he heard the gagging and hacking. A man hanging. A man dying.

Laura! Laura! Walter called. Laura, come! Laura come now! Laura come!

She didn’t answer right away. He wondered whether maybe she hadn’t forgiven him their last argument the hour before. He couldn’t recall why he had shouted and dismissively waved his hands at her. When she didn’t respond, Walter figured his voice was making her nerves twitch, and she was turning up the television and ignoring him as she did when the neighbors’ baby wailed from above.

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