I've seen it a hundred times. Some guy jumps off the roof, lands in a crouch and then runs off. A clean getaway because the guys chasing him don't want to risk a twisted ankle. That's the worse, right? A twisted ankle. Fucking movies.
(more) That's what I thought when I laid there on the grass, the wind in my lungs residing up somewhere near the spot I had so foolishly flew from. I couldn't even judge the distance of my fall for all the spots in my eyes. And the pain. Oh, God, the pain. Shattered shins, cracked ankles. I think my femur lodged itself in my hip and my hip was now in my stomach. I wanted to vomit.
"Hey, man. Are you alright? You want me to call an ambulance?"
"Why did he jump?"
There were voices around me. Apparently, my little stunt had drawn a crowd of concerned neighbors, now pulled from their evening duties of watering green lawns, to witness my ultimate embarrassment.
I felt like a dumbass. A big, thirty-two-year-old dumbass who always thought it would be fun to jump off a roof--to fly like Superman, to stop being such a fucking coward and do something crazy for just once in my whole unnoteworthy life.
Well, I guess now I had a story to tell the grandkids if I ever had them. I wondered how hard it was for paraplegics to procreate.(less)
The second I heard the shot, I knew it came from above, either from the rooftop, or an open window high, high up. The limo had already started to race away from the square and I could see Mrs. Kennedy in her pink dress sprawled halfway onto the trunk of(more) the car, trying to gather something up in her hands. The agent on the running board was trying to turn her back around. I couldn't see the president.
I looked up and tried to find some irregularity in the arrangement of windows that faced the plaza. Then, in an open window near the top of the brick building, the book depository, I spied a figure in the shadows. I swear I saw a rifle, too, then I blinked and he was gone. Much later, when I saw the pictures of Oswald on television, I knew he was the same man I had seen then: small, weedy-looking, and pale.
Me and the president are almost the same age. I didn't much care for his politics, but no one deserves to get their head blown off like he did with his wife sitting next to him and for all the world to see. Not in America, we don't do things that way. It's a damn shame, and when my boy asked me why that punk Oswald shot the president, I told him it was because he was a coward and a pissant and that he hated America. I still believe that.
And when that gangster Ruby put one in Oswald's guts, I was happy at first. But then I realized that we'd never hear the truth about what really happened, about who put Oswald up to it. Me personally, I believe the Russians are behind it somehow. You bet I do.(less)