A woman jumped from the top floor of a Northeast Bronx building, from the 33rd floor of a building, at around 10:40 in the morning (10:40 AM, a time that seems too early to jump from anything at all). The woman might have recently lost a child. The photograph online shows the body at the foot of the tan building, near a patch of grass. Under a white sheet—a waiting body. Before the woman’s final decision she might not have considered the possibility of this white sheet, its thinness, or how it would not cover her body fully, the birds moving around her, how her legs would peek through at the bottom, her running shoes exposed, her childlike ankles exposed, and the woman certainly would not have considered someone taking her photo, this photo now posted online for anyone to see, capturing her ankles exposed in such a way.

THE BALCONY

Serendipità eats the watermelon alone. The whole melon, she cuts into it alone and halves it alone, she digs in. She makes bright pink squares, she digs them out with a knife and a spoon, and whenever the juice accumulates she tips the thing and drinks what she can. When she takes breaks from eating, she covers the flesh with a paper towel. Her fingers are covered, and when she’s ready to begin again, she does so greedily, the light pink paper towel set aside.

The balcony is covered in green mesh netting; it isn’t safe to sit on. Construction is happening throughout the home, there are wooden ladders about, nails, tarps, a saw, and on the floor white dust. The pipes are exposed and the wiring is exposed. The yellow building exterior and the brown shutters are covered with green safety netting. The church bells ring.

When it comes time for the construction workers to begin, Serendipità moves to the balcony. She carries the white dust under the soles of her bare feet, it’s useless to sweep it, the white dust accompanies her.

It isn’t safe to sit on the balcony, the one hundred construction workers tell her. She defies them. When draped across the balcony, Serendipità tries to make herself as light as possible. She holds her breath or breathes slowly, lightly. Also, she doesn’t move much or at all, only to scratch an eyebrow or a forearm, or to look down at the traffic lights. It doesn’t seem entirely dangerous or unreasonable for her to be out there on the balcony. If she can make herself light, it doesn’t seem unreasonable. She chooses one position to hold while on the balcony, and she remains in this position for the next eight to twelve hours. Behind her there’s the clamor of work.