My foot slips off the log and I hesitantly look down to see which one.
I am off balance and shaking like crazy. "Go get help" I calmly cry out, hoping my quieting voice tempers my footing which is 20 feet above the creek below.
At first I panicked and screamed "GET MOM!", and to think just minutes before my feet had confidence when they decided to cross the higher log.
The first steps were easy as I began my crossing. I can do this. The other kids would never attempt this, opting for the regular route just steps away. Slipping off the regular log just gets you a few bumps and bruises, possibly wet runners, but slipping off the higher log you surely will die. And this is what I am thinking as I stand dead still in the middle of it, untouched and untravelled, as I suddenly discover.
My feet death grip the rotten pine that has toppled and landed in the middle of the ravine, suspended only by dead roots on one side and languished tree tops on the other. In between a worn and smooth pathway has been gilded by seasons, allowing my renegade foot to firmly reattach itself to it's spine.
Most of the other kids have run off, leaving me stranded and the contest winner. My sister, at first, teases me to get a move on, but I can't. I drop my eyes briefly towards the depth, but my knees remain locked, my arms waver and flop in the air as if conducting orchestra, trying to maintain harmony and even calm.
I am alone and the wind is heavier in the emptiness. I feel it's weight bending me. Pushing me. The sunlight is also being pushed away into shadows of tree trunks and caverns combining into one big patch of black. I twist my head and my sister has now straddled the log and is shimmering herself towards the sunset, towards me.
Richard's mom is calling him in for dinner. Their backyard is close to the ravine and I can smell what they're having. Corinne inches her way closer to me, yelling "SIT DOWN. SIT DOWN". I am frozen stiff and can't move a muscle. All around me is lush evergreen. And bacon. She is telling me to sit my bum down and bump my way backwards to the edge. "I will be right here", she promises.
I close my eyes, realizing no one, not even my sister, has run off to get my mom. I keep my eyes shut and can hear the creek below. I actually believe I can hear salmon spawning and currents jostling amongst the boulders for the best path to the river. Then I heard the river burst into the ocean, then the ocean burst into the horizon fading away.
My eyes opened just long enough to fall down.
We shimmied our way back to the edge, together. It's dark now and we're late and will probably be "grounded" for a week with no T.V. At least, Corinne concludes, our shoes are dry.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Saturday, March 08, 2014
Suddenly
I felt safe. That's the last thing I remember. Being safe, secure and in control. When I opened my eyes I realized I was floating horizontal and just inches away from rock bottom. My knees banged against the rocks, the branches and twigs. It was a sunny, hot day and I felt safe in the gentleness of it's summer.
We purchased two huge inner tubes, huge. Not baby floaty type toys you take to the neighbourhood swimming pool. No. We tied those mean action drifters from an army surplus store with water ski rope lines, a case of beer and our two young kids.
We cast away into the middle of the river like everyone else. Our cars neatly parked in the middle of no where, in the dusty heat of forest fire embers. Daniel tied the lines, and we would float in pairs along the other pairs of families holidaying in the wilderness. Our agenda is to drift downstream, maybe catch white foam, an eagle, possibly a bear. All I want is calm and to get drunk. Maybe a tan.
Suddenly.
As I was pushed downstream the salmon drifted with me, eye to eye, watching me tumble in the river's current. I gasped for air left and right and he followed me. His gills kept pace with my heartbeat, swallowing air until I reached the beaver dam, when my foot caught in twisted branches and caged me in the soup of mountain's thaw. The water is transparent and I can see the sky and clouds outline dead trees floating above me.
By now I haven't breathed in 20 seconds, possibly more. My head spins and jerks in the watery turmoil, and I gain 10 seconds of air here, another 5 seconds there. I am wearing a life jacket that keeps my torso afloat, my shoulders, my arms, but it doesn't save my airway. I fight to keep my head up high in only inches of angry river. I am searching for the salmon.
I am pulled down deeper. How deep can this river go. How deep before I drown and am lost forever. My hands catch rock but they are slippery and I can't hold on. They are so fucking slippery! Branches. I catch branches and they are so slippery. How deep do I have to go before I am forgiven and remember to jump up.
"MOM". Over and over again. "Mom, jump!". I hear faint sounds. I look up for one more breath towards the picnic sky and birthday party bubbles, I look up and she is blowing me kisses. I grasp her last kiss and return to summer.
We purchased two huge inner tubes, huge. Not baby floaty type toys you take to the neighbourhood swimming pool. No. We tied those mean action drifters from an army surplus store with water ski rope lines, a case of beer and our two young kids.
We cast away into the middle of the river like everyone else. Our cars neatly parked in the middle of no where, in the dusty heat of forest fire embers. Daniel tied the lines, and we would float in pairs along the other pairs of families holidaying in the wilderness. Our agenda is to drift downstream, maybe catch white foam, an eagle, possibly a bear. All I want is calm and to get drunk. Maybe a tan.
Suddenly.
As I was pushed downstream the salmon drifted with me, eye to eye, watching me tumble in the river's current. I gasped for air left and right and he followed me. His gills kept pace with my heartbeat, swallowing air until I reached the beaver dam, when my foot caught in twisted branches and caged me in the soup of mountain's thaw. The water is transparent and I can see the sky and clouds outline dead trees floating above me.
By now I haven't breathed in 20 seconds, possibly more. My head spins and jerks in the watery turmoil, and I gain 10 seconds of air here, another 5 seconds there. I am wearing a life jacket that keeps my torso afloat, my shoulders, my arms, but it doesn't save my airway. I fight to keep my head up high in only inches of angry river. I am searching for the salmon.
I am pulled down deeper. How deep can this river go. How deep before I drown and am lost forever. My hands catch rock but they are slippery and I can't hold on. They are so fucking slippery! Branches. I catch branches and they are so slippery. How deep do I have to go before I am forgiven and remember to jump up.
"MOM". Over and over again. "Mom, jump!". I hear faint sounds. I look up for one more breath towards the picnic sky and birthday party bubbles, I look up and she is blowing me kisses. I grasp her last kiss and return to summer.
Sunday, March 02, 2014
Yellow Smiley Face
I picked up my husband's mobile phone and scanned through his text messages. I just learned how to do that recently. Everyone around me has an inbred mentality about this stuff, except me. Where was I when all this technology trampled on my old school smarts.
I read messages such as "love you, drive safely" or "miss you lots", and yellow circles that smile. There are heart shapes and more yellow circles, love you, miss you, xxx. They weren't from a secret lover. No. They're from our son. To his dad.
Brandon doesn't text me that sort of stuff. I have a home phone, a land line only, which is as useless as teats and spring lamb to slaughter. Both my kids communicate with their thumbs on tiny keyboards. I use to get car rides home from teen skate using my thumbs.
If my kids had to choose who to live with, they would pick their dad. I probably would, too.
They have long forgotten me. The one who brought them to work, let them use my computer to play games. Let them drink hot chocolate, make hot chocolate. Bought them train sets just because. Came back to get them from daycare because they banged fists over and over again on the window, crying for mommy. I came back.
But if I couldn't go back, I called at least 10 times a day. I still call at least 10 times a day, every single day, which is probably why they hate me so much. Dad text messages instead.
And he also bought all the useless crap. The memorable stuff.
Yellow smiley face. Yellow smiley face. Yellow smiley face.
I read messages such as "love you, drive safely" or "miss you lots", and yellow circles that smile. There are heart shapes and more yellow circles, love you, miss you, xxx. They weren't from a secret lover. No. They're from our son. To his dad.
Brandon doesn't text me that sort of stuff. I have a home phone, a land line only, which is as useless as teats and spring lamb to slaughter. Both my kids communicate with their thumbs on tiny keyboards. I use to get car rides home from teen skate using my thumbs.
If my kids had to choose who to live with, they would pick their dad. I probably would, too.
They have long forgotten me. The one who brought them to work, let them use my computer to play games. Let them drink hot chocolate, make hot chocolate. Bought them train sets just because. Came back to get them from daycare because they banged fists over and over again on the window, crying for mommy. I came back.
But if I couldn't go back, I called at least 10 times a day. I still call at least 10 times a day, every single day, which is probably why they hate me so much. Dad text messages instead.
And he also bought all the useless crap. The memorable stuff.
Yellow smiley face. Yellow smiley face. Yellow smiley face.
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