See Me

Philippe Petit’s tightrope stretches between two books in our house:  The Man Who Walked Between the Towers and Let the Great World Spin. I was expecting him in the first book, but not in the second. By the button-light of my alarm clock, he appeared on the pages of Colum McCann’s novel when everyone else was asleep.  At 2 am in 2012 to me, Petit was in the Catskills in 1974, where in the warm months he trained for his World Trade Center walk.  One day in winter, he returned to the field alone to visit the cable. He couldn’t resist the pristine plane of snow. He jumped. His body punctured the deep white and was suspended up to the armpits–trapped in a frozen cell tailored-made for him. His shirt pulled up with the snow, exposing his skin. Ice water filled his boots. The sun began to drop into night.

He wanted to be seen. Not in the snow, but between the towers. From below, from above. A dot.

We have line walkers at our house. I hear the squeak of scotch tape lifting off the roll. Later, opening a window, I see a message taped to the wall. Lines drawn hard, a furrowed brow. A tagger deep in the subway. A skywriter. I was here. See me.