Well, I saw a body bag. It wasn’t exposed. But the outline of the body inside was unmistakable. Still, I’ve never seen a body like that before. Laying in the street like that. The only corpses I’ve seen were in caskets. My aunt’s, my uncle’s, my grandmother’s, my great-aunt’s, my grandparents’ neighbor’s…I’ve been to quite a few funerals so far, sadly.
I was riding on the passenger side of my mother’s police car. She was on the way to work, I was on the way to the doctor’s office. The crime scene was almost directly across the street from the office, so I was able to crane my neck and peek through the window of the waiting room once we’d arrived.
The street was taped off with yellow crime scene tape, and a few police vehicles were parked nearby.
I see stuff like this all the time on crime shows. It fascinates me. I always considered a career in criminology, maybe forensics, as a backup if I wasn’t so set on being a journalist. I asked my mother if we could stop by the crime scene after I finished at the doctor. She said she’d take me, except for the fact that her being there meant she’d have to fill out paperwork and things that she really didn’t feel like doing that morning on top of her other work. So I was left with only the view from the windows of my mother’s car and the doc’s office.
She told me after she returned to collect me from the doctor that it was a jumper. A woman had jumped from the nearby parking garage and on to the street below. A man was driving by and heard a thud in the street behind him. Spotted her body in his rear view.
So, I saw a dead body laying in the street from a woman that killed herself. Someone so fed up with life that she decided to jump off a concrete structure onto the hard asphalt below. I didn’t know the woman, but it saddened me. And I felt guilty for being so curious about her corpse laying there in the street. I wondered what drove her to that point. There is something very final about jumping off a building. You can’t come back from that. And if you do, you won’t have a pleasant existence thereafter.
That wasn’t a cry for help there. She was done. Done dealing with whatever it was that she felt was weighing her down. I can’t help but feel for the woman. I don’t know if she was a good person, or if she’d done bad things. And I don’t care. I know what it’s like to want to hurt myself and so these things tend to affect me deeply. I don’t know her story, I just hope that somehow death brought her peace from the turmoil she so desperately needed to escape.