Notes on Memory: Jumping off a cliff

In the summers of my past, the colors of the leaves and the blades of grass appear more vibrate in hue in my memory. A fault in memories is over time, your mind will often highlight and romanticize every detail, no matter how mundane. Words, actions, stories, and images blend into a working memory. The result is that our past is neither true, nor false, retaining only a matter of perspective from our experiences. One day as I was sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen, one memory returned.

The memory starts in the beginning of summer, fifteen years in the past. My close friend at the time recently moved to the west end of town, near Greene-Sullivan State Forest. After school was let out for summer, I would often ride my bike across town to his house. During this summer we would spend many afternoons exploring the different coves and lakes of the state forest. We knew little of the forest, and every day was a new adventure.

One day after returning to my friend's house, we found his older brother upstairs in the kitchen. He was sitting alone, eating lunch.

"Where have you been?"

"Just out."

After finishing his sandwich he looked up at us with a thought rife on his face, "Have you ever jumped off the ridge at T Lake?"

We shook our heads.

"You know," he breathed out a laugh, "you are not a man until you do it. I did it when I was your age."

Most people throughout their lives will experience a right of passage, whether in ceremony or in action. I was thirteen years old and retained the arrogant notion that I was indestructible.

"We're not scared," I replied.

"Good," and with a grin he grabbed the keys to his car.

We rode with the windows down as we drove to the lake. I felt the sun on my arm as I made waves with my hand against the wind. The road wound through the woods and the trees loomed at every crossroad. As we drove, the sound of dying bugs pounded against the windshield. My friend and I sat in the backseat, not saying a word. As I glanced his direction I noticed his face was slated white as he stared lost, looking at nothing.

T Lake is located on the western end of the state forest, and is moderately obscured by a wall of maple trees surrounding the entrance from the highway. Between the trees a paved road cuts a path to the lake. As we turned in the drive, my friend raised his head. He looked at me, and no words were said, but it was understood that the decision was made and we were to jump.

"Here we are," said his brother as he forced the car into park.

Outside, the humidity weighed against my shoulders and the buzz of insects reigned louder than any voice. The waves of the lake rippled against the breeze blowing from the east. A huge ridge rose over the lake on the western bank and the roots from the trees jutted from the dirt. Looking up, the ridge appeared every inch of 30 feet.

"Follow me," said my friend's brother as he headed towards the ridge.

A barren path was carved at the base of the ridge and wove through the trees and the weeds, as it climbed. My friend went before me, trudging through the dirt with heaved steps. Almost halfway up the rise, I stopped and leaned my back against a tree.

Below, the lake expanded into the horizon of my vision. Even at this height I was fearful of jumping.

"Come on!" a voice shouted from ahead, and my steps forward complimented as a reply.

At the summit of the ridge, the ground leveled to a plateau. From the edge of the cliff, the water below appeared as a dimmed visage, no more attainable than a thought. My palms began to sweat and my breathing labored under the weight of humidity. I glanced up to the leaves of the maple trees, appearing perfectly green against the a pallet of blue which only a summer can hold.

There was a path stomped through the woods that extended from a tree in the middle of plateau to the edge of the ridge. The path was lined with rusted cans on each side. I met my friend's brother by the tree where he explained the procedure.

"It's simple. You run as fast as you can and jump. You have to run fast, because if you don't, you will not make it into deep enough water and you will break your legs. When you jump, put your arms against your body and extended outwards in the shape of pencil."

"Has anyone died doing this?" my friend asked.

"A couple. Yeah, at least two."

"How many people have jumped off?"

"More than two."

Once more silence descended between us. I looked over to my friend and his eyes met with mine with both contempt and fear. Even though no words were spoken, I heard a voice clearly, "It was your mouth that got us into this. There is no way I am jumping first."

The wind still bored from the east, pushing against the littered cans next to the path. My heart beat heavy in my chest and rippled throughout my body. I caught the stare of my friend and his brother and the weight of their stares beckoned me off the ridge. I set my right foot at the base of the tree and pushed off.

I don't remember how many steps I took, but I remember the edge as it disappeared from beneath my feet. Being unburdened from the ground I became light. For a moment everything appeared in focus as my body fell towards the lake. I saw the clouds as though they were painted on the sky in abstract shapes and the sun as it hung tightly at its midday cycle. I forced my arms tightly against my body, taking the advice I was given. I felt the wind rush against the frame of my body as I neared the ground. Before my feet touched the water I closed my eyes.

When I opened my eyes, I am staring a computer screen with the weight of fifteen years past. As I type this last sentence, I find my memory is no more tangible than the words on this page.

Grant is a staff writer for the Greene County Daily World. He can be reached by telephone at (812) 847-4487, ext. 19. He can also be reached via email at gkarazsia@gmail.com.