The wind rushing across my face reminds me of those finishing touches, the brush of makeup before the show. A ruffle of my dress, the one I wore in my last performance, flares in the breeze.
Memories from Twenty years before, before I had children, before Max, before this wasted life.
I woke up this morning and decided it was the perfect day, my face glowed and the lines of my last great performance came tumbling out of my mouth.
In the bathroom, getting ready, I took one or was it two too many Xanex, or was it Valium, I never remember what the doc gives me anymore.
I barely remembered the drive, the climb, and the walk up to the edge of the cliff, mostly thinking, Perfect, rocks below- great for the sound, "Hurry up," I hear on the wind, I see the house lights dim, the curtain goes up, "You're on..." as I take my final step forward into the spotlight.