The Test – The Twenty-Fourth Floor
Matthew 4:5-7
I cannot be alone in my fear. Something in those Satanic verses tells me that there are those who understand and wrestle with the temptation and have done so for generations.
Due south of Cartagena’s old city, a peninsula jutting out into the Caribbean Sea, lie the neighbourhoods of Bocagrande, Laguito, and Castillogrande. Lining the beaches of this L-shaped strip are high-rise apartment complexes and upscale hotels that tower above a narrow stretch of land just three broad avenues wide with intersecting streets. Palmetto Elliptic Tower was one such massive monolith rising 40 stories to where pelicans flew and my little north-facing corner, where I was to live for a month, was located on the 24th floor.
The air in Cartagena is saturated with a mix of smog and salt that hovers in the humidity and sticks to everything it touches. I refused to close the sea-facing glass doors as much to let the sound of the sea seep in as to allow a passage for the smell of mould and mildew to escape. The apartment was marketed as a luxury suite, and it was well-enough equipped but was more functional than luxurious. On the deck outside, with a sublime vista of the sea, was a plastic table and two chairs – as fine a spot as any to feel inspired and work the day away.
“I do not fear the height,” I have tried to explain on many occasions, “I fear my impulses.”
Whenever the subject is broached and I need to explain myself, as I do so honestly, people respond with a quizzical look and become unable to refrain from asking if I am depressed or suicidal. The truth is that the compulsion to jump comes not from any dissatisfaction or emptiness in my life but from an inability to fully cope with my own freedom. The barrier between me and freefall is only waist height. Then it is 24 floors straight down to the pavement of Carrera 1 below and the spectacle that would ensue. It would be almost too easy. Two hands on the rail and a soft hop from the balcony swinging my legs over the side and then the opportunity to see what would happen.
My conscience piques at me and I begin to wonder if the universe would allow it. I have read too often about the sudden and unexpected death by suicide of seemingly joy-filled celebrities which inevitably arouses discussions of depression and mental illness, but never do they discuss the innate impulse to test one’s mortality. It is preferable to remain naïve to its existence as most are too fearful even to discuss the subject.
As I have survived this long and come to better understand this impulse, I have learned to accept it as part of who I am. In no way do I view it as a phobia or a disorder. To deny this impulse is the disorder which is why early writers made sure to strike that same impulse into the heart of the divine. With the end of you is the end of all things, for without you there to perceive all that is, there is nothing. Only my grandmother understood me when I spoke of this impulse, this desire to soar from the highest point. To clarify: no, it is not a desire to fly. It is, as odd as it may seem, a desire to play the role of God and entertain the notion of the removal of perception from the universe. It is the willingness to explore entropy, chaos, and the breakdown of reality. It is the very same reason why I have vowed to never hold a firearm. The power to take a life, even my own, is one I renounce because the temptation is too uncomfortable for me to bear.
One month spent living twenty-four floors above the pavement was akin to daily torture. Still, I would trot my computer out onto the deck and immerse myself in my work and consume all of my meals right in that most unsafe place. Even with Jenia sitting across from me, the temptation would grow too strong and I would cling to the sliding doors while leaning away from the balcony and my leg bouncing nervously.
The one hundred and eighty-degree view from the deck of Palmetto Elliptic was glorious and made for the most immaculate of sunsets happening to the south. 
From the north side of the deck could be seen Cartagena’s old city. During the day, the noise of traffic and boomboxes and thousands of people playing along the shore filled the air, but at night there was nothing but the roar of the sea and the lapping of the waves along the shore. Despite all of the apartment’s imperfections, its location was absolutely perfect even if it tormented me at every second. Nature has a habit of placing wonderous beauty at the doorstep of danger. Our Earth is filled with cascading waterfalls at the edges of rivers too wild to swim, mountain peaks devoid of oxygen and too lofty to climb, and glorious star-filled galaxies only visible through the vastness of space from the safety of our small planet. With technology and hubris, we have forded these raging rivers, ascended those soaring peaks, and travelled by spacecraft through the firmament into the cosmos and looked back down upon our tiny pale blue planet. For centuries, we have stretched out our arms to question what is possible for our species losing many lives, whose psyches were unencumbered by thoughts of the unravelling of the entire universe, along the way.
The impulse is real and it is disturbing but it only manifests when there is freedom. I love to fly. From the top of Burj Khalifa, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and only a narrow slit through which to extend your arm, there is absolutely no hint of even the slightest concern – I am effectively in a bottle. Open a window large enough for me to fit through in a bathroom ten floors up and the universe whispers at me to look down and my heart starts to beat out of my chest. The height is beautiful and fascinating but the freedom is terrifying. Falling is exhilarating and why we use it as a metaphor for the passions of love. It is the freedom that chills us to the bone. Freedom is simultaneously our most cherished right of existence – the freedom to choose; the freedom to walk, sleep, eat, breathe, and dance; and the freedom to feel safe. It is a cruel trick that that same freedom should be the seed of that impulse that stands in the way.
What catches me is the knowledge that the decision is permanent. There is no way to run a test and explore the possible outcomes. It can be accomplished only once. There is a ceaseless conflict while I sit on the balcony on the 24th floor, I calmly breathe in the majesty of that heavenly scene while I inwardly hyperventilate. What should result in an instinctual serenity ignites an impetus that requires all of my logic centres to control. It is the animal passion that, instead of receding from exposure, grows with every passing day until all of the splendour has worn away and I long to plant my feet firmly upon the safety of the filthy concrete.
