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Jump!
a short-short story
by Steve Anderson
(c) 1992-2005,
Steve Anderson, www.Writer.SGAcreative.com
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The steel is cold in my hand as I hold onto the railing behind me and stare out into the abyss.
Far away, a car horn sounds, but the bridge is quiet, closed for repairs. I close my eyes and drift
away from this place, from what I am about to do, reliving all the reasons, the thousand little things
that have driven me to jump.
The office party. Strength and daring seemed to be themes this
year. They gave Bill a set of weights, Judy a new motorcycle helmet, and Chris a set of flying lessons.
And me? Me, they gave a philodendron.
The promotion. It should have, could have, would have
been mine, if I had dared to fight for it. But I was weak, and humble, and it went to an ambitious youngster
instead. "Hey, I'm sorry," my boss told me when I worked up the nerve to ask about it, "you just didn't
seem to want it enough."
And then my friends, the ones who called me at all hours, looking for
sympathy, looking for support, never mind if I had the time or the energy to handle my own problems,
let alone theirs on top of it. "Which choice should I make?" "Which way should I go?" "I think I'm
burned out," "my brother is sick," "my goldfish is dead," can you help?
My friends, who leaned
on me, who used me, who vanished when I needed some support in return. "I'm late for a meeting," "I
have to pick up my son," "I have to let in my cat." Maybe next time, maybe next year, get lost.
And I, wanting to scream, wanting to yell, wanting to tell them that it's not fair, that I'm a human
being, too, that I have needs and wants and fears just as much as they do.
And never having the
nerve, never having the courage, always seeming the weak one, always being the coward, always being the
one more willing to risk being walked all over than to take a stand, to take a chance, to live.
No more. I clench my fists, set my jaw, and lean forward, out over the drop, the blue of the sky and
the green of the valley below tilting upwards as I lean out over the hundred foot drop to the rocky ground
below.
For a moment, I totter on the balance point, emotionally as well as physically. Contentment
and dissatisfaction, courage and fear, momentum and gravity pull at me, and for a long moment, I really
think I may just rock back onto my feet, and climb down, and not look back.
And then I pass the
balance point, and it's too late for second thoughts. The world pivots about me, my legs jerk once,
and I leave the solid steel of the bridge. The bungee cord trails out behind me, and I begin the long,
long fall toward the rocks begins.
And suddenly, I know, I know in my heart that this is wrong,
this is stupid, this is absolutely the single most idiotic thing I've ever done in my life. There are
other ways of making my point, other ways of making them see; I could have bought a sports car, or a
motorcycle, or a simple leather jacket, I didn't have to come out here all alone and put my life where
my mouth has never had the nerve to be.
But it's too late for that. The bridge walkway is above
and behind me now, the world has turned upside-down, and I have begun my long, terrifying, exhilarating
rush towards the ground.
And it really is exhilarating. The risk, the danger, the blatant disregard
for life and limb that seemed so stupid less than a second ago is the stuff of excitement now, the adrenalin-pumping
heart of life itself. A smile actually plays at the edges of my mouth.
I relax, body and mind,
and actually enjoy the ride for a few moments. The wind howls in my ears, the rush of wind is pulling
at my hair and bringing tears to my eyes, I'm racing towards the solid, deadly ground at a terrifying
speed and yet, filled with exhilaration, I laugh out loud: a sound of joy instead of terror. If only
my friends could see me now.
My friends. Suddenly, my mind snaps back to reality, and my calm
and joy evaporate as suddenly as they formed. I'm not just falling, I'm plummeting; the ground is rushing
towards me, quite close now. And the ground is not grass and dirt and rocks, no, the ground is, quite
simply and uncomplicatedly, Death.
My entire body convulses once in a wave of pure terror, and
then, like a purifying flame, the terror is gone, and the simpler fear is gone with it.
I watch
the ground approach, and my mind is at peace: no fears, no excitement, no thoughts or feelings at all.
I'm not even really a participant, only an observer, watching the events unfolding as if they were projected
on a movie screen for me to watch alone in safety.
And as the calm spreads across my body and
soul, time spins out: I'm moving more slowly now, and more slowly still. My heart slows to a crawl,
my breathing stops, time slows.
I am hardly moving. I can feel the breeze of the valley ruffle
the edges of my clothing; the sensation is peaceful and pleasant, and another smile, this time one of
calm and tranquility, flows over me.
I am safe.
And then, without warning, the bungee
cord breaks.
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