Tuesday, July 3, 2012

On call. On the phone.

I am standing with a friend on a dirt road in the pitch black of a country night.  We stand in darkness because of the heavy canopy of leaves over our heads, but down the hill, the moon's blue-green glow bathes a neighbor's treeless suburban lawn in iridescent light.

Yet I can still see my friend's face from the glow of his iPhone screen.  He's talking to his higher-up, explaining that the report of the plane crash was a false alarm.  A police officer already went to the beach to check it out.  What he found was a lot of Chinese lanterns floating in the water, candles still flickering.  From a distance, they easily could be mistaken for the windows of an airplane floating on the surface.  There is no need for further action.  We feel confident that we know what happened.

The next morning, it's the phone again. A guy has jumped off a bridge.  Dead on impact and the body was recovered. This case is closed now too.  Cup of coffee?