What Has Fallen Away?

I’m reminded of Mad Men. The opening credits. That insistent music. The non-descript man, falling through space as his world breaks up around him. The familiar structures that just before held life in place are now tumbling. In a sense I see myself as this falling man. But, if you reverse the image, he’s rising. Falling is just rising in reverse.

I’m reminded of the fascinating show The Leftovers. Instantly, all over the world, 100 million people disappear. From around the kitchen table, lawnmowers left to drift, driverless cars careering through intersections, babies gone from playpens. The organized religions assume people have been plucked by God to rise and be with Him. But news broadcasts wonder why the Pope was left behind?

Not only has The Leftovers actress Carrie Coons been suddenly robbed of her TV husband and three children but she’s left with profound questions. How do millions just disappear? Where do they go? And why? The billions left behind, the leftovers left to ponder existence. A cult forms. They dress in white and stand in front of people’s homes, smoking, staring. They deem themselves reminders of what is to come. People disappear for no reason and why not smoke if you’re going to be plucked from obscurity, into obscurity? Maybe they are the artists, the writers of the world? The reminders.

And if falling is rising in reverse, is falling so bad? Is rising so good? In space, there is no up or down so what does that mean for planet Earth. Rising? Falling? Skittering sideways? And what of we on Earth? Sometimes I feel like I’m skittering sideways. That sounds like a memoir title, Skittering Sideways: The Story of a Sideways Life, by Bruce Nelson.

My God. Now I’m thinking of 9/11 and the falling Twin Towers. How they fell away, taking thousands of lives with them. And that desperate 911 call from Kevin Cosgrove, left behind in an online recording forever. Like he never left us. Never really fell. On the day, a day that began with him humbly heading to work. By 10am he’s under his desk, trapped above airplane debris and bodies. No way down. Only one way to fall. On the tape we hear the operator. She keeps him talking, asking him to spell and re-spell his name. Dutifully into the phone amidst smoke and heat and the stench of jet fuel we hear C-O-S-G-R-O-V-E. She knows. The operator knows. And so often they’re women, guiding us through falling, descending from a womb. To a tomb. Then that dreadful ‘Ahhhh’ from Kevin as the building falls. Or is he born?