It happened, I suspect, on 8th July this year.
I was thinking about her lately and in my mind I was making promises to give her a call when I get to Belgrade. I knew my mom will have some news, at least the neighbourhood rumours, and I was going to look for her phone number via Yellow Pages, and make a call.
It was like a cold shower when, instead, I heard what followed my sister’s question “Did you hear about Maya?”
When you hear a question like that, your mind plays endless scenarios in a milisecond in preparation for good or bad news. But nothing prepares you for the news of your highschool friend committing suicide by jumping through the fifth floor living room window.
We were huge friends then. Inseparable. We shared secrets and cigarettes. We knew everything about each other. I didn’t see this coming.
Maya stayed in my Belgrade life. I don’t want to describe her because it is difficult to go back to our joint history now that she’s gone. I was hoping we were going to be meeting into our old age to talk about our escapades over decaf (as doctors would prohibit two geriatrics to have real coffee).
She broke to pieces. She was a judge who lost her job in the restructuring of Serbian justice system. She was jobless for six years. She used up all her resources and in the process, she lost her health. Her son, a fifteen year old, stopped her from jumping a couple of times before.
Not this time.
Her long blond hair must have waved the world that one last goodbye.
She died in the ER a couple of hours later. Thus flied away life.