The Fall

Prague, CZ
19 July 2013
Revision of The Fall
Thomas Secrest

I found god today.

She was crossing a street, not a busy street, not with cars anyway, and while she was crossing she stumbled on one of the old paving stones that cobbled the street and fell. Not a hard fall, but one that brought her to her hands and knees. The mobile phone she was carrying hit the paving stones and spontaneously disassembled itself into 6 or 7 bits. 

As I walked closer, I noticed that god didn't get up right away. She stayed down on hands and knees, looking startled and stunned and maybe a tiny bit frightened.

God was a gypsy, or as they are known here, a Roma. Romas are the central European equivalent of the untouchable cast in India. Roma are invisible people. There can be no other explanation for the stream of pedestrians that walked past her without a moment’s hesitation. They seemed to sense that god was there, because they managed not to step on her or the pieces of her phone, but for some reason they weren’t able see her, and except for a quick side step, continued undisturbed along their paths; one after another after another. As I said, it was a busy street, but not with cars, it was busy with pedestrians.

Finally, god started to pick up the bits of her phone. Her movements were timid, as if she were afraid of being stepped on or kicked. She crawled along, gathering the pieces, looking up hesitantly every few seconds, half expecting someone to trip or fall over her, or crush the fingers on her small hands as they reached out for the pieces of her phone. However, the endless stream of people slipped past her as if it had all been carefully choreographed. Not a head was turned, her plight went completely unnoticed. But of course, she was invisible. With the phone bits, now held in cupped hands, god rose and slowly walked the rest of the way across the street.

After crossing the street, she walked to the nearest doorway and sat down on the stoop. The doorway belonged to strip club and either side of stoop were large windows hung with heavy, faded gold drapes, which looked as if they had never been opened. The heavy fabric insured that no matter the time of day, it was always dark inside. Framed by the old faded drapes and backed by the majestic old red door she sat there like a painting. She placed the phone bits in a little pile between her feet, and leaving her arms stretched out between her knees, she began to cry. I couldn’t hear her crying, nor could I see the tears, still I knew she was crying, I could, if nothing else, feel it.

Why was god crying?

I had seen the fall, it wasn't overly hard, no twisted ankles, no broken bones, no blood; maybe a bruised knee and some skinned palms, but that should have been about all. Nothing every child hasn’t experienced on many occasions.

What had I missed?

As I got closer, I could see the dirty spots the grime from the city streets had left on the knees of her pink sweat pants and the fragments of what used to be a mobile phone between her bright pink sneakers, but I still couldn't understand why she was crying.

I finally stood directly in front of her, the tips of my enormous black boots almost touching the tips of her tiny pink sneakers. Seeing my feet she slowly looked up; eyes red, nose running, with tear streaked cheeks -- her eyes said it all; she wasn't crying because she had skinned palms or bruised knees, or because her mobile was in pieces, or because her pink sweat pants were ruined -- god was crying because god was just a little girl, an invisible little girl, and sometimes it hurts to be invisible.

It's good to be god.