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"Loverboy" - Say Hello To Heaven
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Vincent Lane Offline
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03-24-2015, 04:46 PM Heart  "Loverboy" - Say Hello To Heaven -->





If.

If. Just if. Do not think for one moment that I’m suggesting this to you. My agent says I’ve got enough to worry about from a legal standpoint just from old paternity cases and the occasional restraining order to lay down on some obsessed fan.

But, IF you should ever wonder what it is like to leap from the top of a multi-story hotel and dive like a falling angel into the pool below.

It’s not good.

Something about the way the air went completely silent around me just as I stepped out of the safety of the penthouse suite – what kind of idiot jumps out of a perfectly good hotel room, anyway? – definitely brought my mushroom-addled brain right back into focus.

The sudden realization that gravity was about ten seconds away from kicking my ass helped, too.

It’s funny how time works, too. It felt like the hours leading up to me being suspended in mid-air, arms windmilling on their sockets, running in place like I was riding a magical, flying, invisible bicycle, felt like less than a second once I was up there with no one to talk to but the morning sun.

That moment, though. That one second of time between when my own spastic inertia sent me swimming in air through a rainstorm of tiny pieces of fractured window glass and the inevitable capitulation to the inexorable pull of the Earth’s loving embrace, not even enough time to take a full breath, felt like a lifetime.

Some say your life flashes before your eyes. I’d say it was simply my brain going through every single memory it could find in order to figure out exactly what the proper way to react to suddenly flying was.

It felt like so long that eventually I thought I might actually be able to fly.

Maybe pumping my arms and legs like I was could actually keep me aloft, like I was treading air. Maybe the wind was strong enough that day to slow me down enough that I could adjust my trajectory and grab ahold of my windowsill. Or any windowsill. Or anything.

The truth I then had to come to sudden, unacceptable terms with was that I was a man, and men cannot fly.

“Fuck.”

Oh, I was fucked. That’s definitely not the answer I wanted my supercomputer of human evolution to come out with, but, that’s all there really was to say. Like dividing by zero on an old calculator and just getting a big ‘E’ on the pea soup-colored screen.

“No… no no no…”

Turns out that didn’t work much better. Apparently the forward momentum of my upper half was winning the centripetal battle against my lower half, spinning me headfirst toward the ground below. Simply refusing to allow that to happen did not, in fact, do anything to prevent it.

“No! No!”

[color=#FFFFFF][i]Say it louder, Loverboy. Maybe that god you stopped believing in after the tenth girl you met that’d been finger-popped by her old man would suddenly resurrect himself in time to catch you in a pair of cupped palms like you were an injured bird.

Nope.

Gravity drags an object down at approximately 32 feet per second squared… I don’t know why I remembered that as the pool started to get larger. It might have been all those memories I’d rifled through the old mental Dewey decimal system card catalog while trying desperately to remember how to fly.

At any rate, terminal velocity comes fast. Very fast. There comes a second moment of flight, and with it, a second moment of ridiculous hope.

I had been screaming mindlessly at the pool below me since I’d gone bottom-up and begun my plummet. I think I may have just wanted to fill my ears with something other than the sudden rushing wind tunnel noise that the previously silent air had become. Either that or some part of me really believed I could scare the ground further away from me.

But, once the drag trying to slow me down like a million tiny, grabbing hands balanced out with the hungry swallowing of gravity, there was a buoyancy. I wasn’t speeding up, it was like I wasn’t moving at all.

I should have kept my eyes closed.

No one has ever accused “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane of making too many good decisions; for example, see: window, jumping out of. I think even dumber than the jump itself, though, was my inexcusable compulsion to see how much further I had to go.

“OH SHIT!”

Actually, that was just what I was TRYING to scream. It came out just as ‘oh shh’ because that was when I somersaulted into the water. Water which, as it turns out, does not feel like a comfortable pillow full of goose down or a spongy pit of packing peanuts. In fact, in metaphoric terms closely associated with my, perhaps regrettable, choice of career, the pool hitting my back (my back hitting the pool? All relative) felt like a gigantic chair swung by the strongest opponent I ever had. Times forty.

I can’t tell you much more about what I thought at this point, because my consciousness left me like a bulb dying at the flick of a light switch. The last thing I recall was the feeling of my entire inside trying to leap out of my nose.

Then it was just black.


[Image: m1lMPtM.jpg]


“Vinnie! Vinnie!”

I wake up to my favorite set of circumstances – a pair of wet, half-naked tits in my face. As my eyelids flicker open and I wince against the chemical burn of too much chlorination, I watch the love of my life’s breasts wrestle against the purple fabric of her bikini top. The thousands of little bubbles racing up and caressing her every curve mimicking my desire.

Then I smile and try to breathe, and I realize I’m the one under water.

“Vinnie, oh my god!”

Which explains why Roxy’s voice sounds so distorted and fucked up. Good thing, actually, since my initial thought was that I’d blown out my eardrums and deafened myself.

I feel warm arms slide under my limp torso and drag me up, my face stretching the surface tension of the water like a skein of amniotic fluid. The bubble bursts and my gasping mouth takes in a freezing gulp of air. Like a baptism, I’m born again.

“What happened, Vinnie? Jesus, what’s did you do to yourself?”

The water keeps flowing from my nostrils, warm and thick, much longer than it should have before I finally realize that it’s blood. The copper taste hits my lips like the tip of a battery and I am suddenly very aware of just how much every inch of me hurts.

“Baby… I just wanted you to catch me…”

And somehow, I did the impossible and smiled up into her frightened, quivering eyes. Against the screaming protests from my neck and spine, I turned my head. I looked to be floating in a reddish cloud in the middle of the pool, my fiancée holding me up by my legs and shoulders like a baby.

“That red’s me, huh?”

“Yeah. You pulled a full Louganis. We need to get you to a hospital, your organs are probably all explody inside of you.”

“I don’t feel too bad… considering…”

This was black out number two. I remember more like an infant turning his face against the nourishing breast of his mother and falling into a comfortable sleep. I dreamed of ridiculous things, like monsters visiting psychiatrists. My clairvoyance was on point that day, it turns out.

A moment that was really an hour later, I wake up in one of those long reclining lounge chairs at poolside. The kind that feel like you’re lying across a hundred plastic belts stretched out around a lightweight frame, because you are.

Like a sieve, the chair keeps me from melting between the bands and puddling on the sunbaked concrete beneath me like the seemingly dozens of gallons of pool water slowly widening in a shadowy circle around me.

“Just hold still sir, we’re almost done.”

My arm is squeezed by pumps of an EMT’s sphygmomanometer, and all I can do is lie there and laugh.

“Yeah dude, sure. Do what you gotta do. I’m fine though, man. I jump off cages and shit for a living, you know? This is the third time this week I’ve had medics checking my pulse.”

“You fell over fifteen stories, sir. You should be dead.”

“Yeah man. I should be dead. Maybe then I wouldn’t be fighting zombies and demons and vampires and shit every time I turn around. You ever get a hummer from a little Asian boy, dude?”

“Okay, so, concussion is a definite yes…”

“No, no, for real, man. I’m fighting a serial murderer who likes to mouth-fuck little kids. This whole situation I’m in right now doesn’t seem so bad compared to that, huh?”

“Did you try to kill yourself today, sir? Do you need to be referred to a psychological professional?”

“No thanks, man. Every time I see a shrink he drops me on my dome and I wake up staring at the lights. I wasn’t trying to die, man, I was high as balls. You’re a damn liar if you try to tell me you’ve never swallowed a bag of fun while on vacay in the Sunshine State.”

“I’ve never…”

“Fuckin’ liar. Look at you. All beefed up but with one of those late-thirties hairlines even though you're 25, tops. You play ball in school?”

“Yeah,”

“Get hurt?”

“My knee, yeah,”

“So you shot some ‘roids into your nuts, tried to make a comeback? Ended up getting kicked out and went to a tech school? Learned to drive an ambulance but never quite kicked the painkillers? Come on, man, you think you aren’t easy to read?”

The EMT just looks at the dial on the pump as he lets the air hiss out from the tight cuff on my bicep. He heard me. We both know he heard me. He’ll never admit it, though.

“Your BP is off the charts.”

“I did two key bumps and took a swan dive off of a fucking building, dude. If my heart wasn’t racing I’d be more worried.”

“That’s… actually a pretty good point.”

“Yeah. I do that from time to time. Like when I tell guys like Cain that they shouldn’t waste their time at a shrink’s office when their only real medical issue is erectile dysfunction. Just because I end up on a lot of stretchers doesn’t mean I’m stupid. In fact, I had myself some sort of epiphany up there in the blue, man. When it was just me and the sky.”

“Uhm…”

“I was right there, man. Right up to heaven. I could smell the ozone and feel the electricity from the thunderclouds rolling in. This Cain dude is a demon… so I’m an angel, right? I’m like Michael swooping down to the tune of trumpets and swinging my flaming sword… which, as usual, is my big ol’ hog… and taking down the seven-headed dragon. It’s fucking revelation, man. It’s so simple to see now!”

“I think it’s time we get you a sedative… I don’t think you’re concussed after all.”

The EMT shines a penlight in my eye, and I feel it start to water. I wince and try to focus through the blinding corona, and then I feel a pinch on my tricep. A little burn. Then a numbness.

“You’re a good kid, paramedic dude. I’m glad you didn’t have to watch me die.”

“You’re going to be all right, sir. Amazingly, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. It’s kind of a miracle.”

He’s fading away from my vision now, my ability to focus being robbed from me by the opiates rushing through my veins like an old friend who invites himself back over. I nod at his disappeared face anyway.

“A miracle… I’m a miracle, dude… I’m a miracle…”

Looking up above me, as the darkness encroaches on the corners of my vision, I see the curtains billowing out of a broken window a million miles in the air as the sun dips below the cover of a cloud somewhere over in the west.

I smile while I sleep.
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