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I’m sure I don’t want him to.
*
He looks over to the cliff where people, mostly teenagers, are leaping into the ocean.
“Want to jump from a big rock?” he asks, eyes sparkling.
“I can’t swim,” I remind him.
“A little drowning never hurt anybody,” says the boy who once warned me that the sea
was merciless and unforgiving.
He grabs my hand and we run toward the cliff together. Up close the rocks look like
hard black sponge. They’re sharp against my feet and it takes me a while to find foot holes
for each step, but eventually we make it to the top.
Olly’s eager to jump. He doesn’t even stop to admire the view.
“Together?” he asks, looking down at the sparkling water.
“Next time,” I say.
He nods. “I’ll go first. I won’t let you drown.” He jumps up and out and does a full
somersault before arrowing into the water. A few seconds later he resurfaces and waves
up to me. I wave back and then close my eyes to take stock of my situation, because
jumping off a cliff seems like a pivotal moment where a little stock-taking should be
done. Strangely, though, I find I don’t really want to think too much. Like Olly, I just want
to jump. I search out Olly’s face in the water and find him waiting for me. Considering
what the future may hold, jumping off this cliff doesn’t seem so scary at all.