Cliff Jumping

I sit alone on a lawn chair, facing a broken wood dock. The dock has a beginning, and an end, but the middle is a wreck. Center planks teeter into the water or are missing. The dock extends over a small, brackish pond.   My chair rests under a tall, shady pine tree.  I absorb the humming of a distant tractor engine and the soothing symphony of crickets. I am finding peace on the hottest day of the year. 

I feel sweat trickle down my face. A tiny little ant bites my ankle, and the pain brings back the memory of the hottest day of the year, four years ago.

I have arrived at the edge of a long unbroken dock extending over a lake. I am ready to meet a man for a blind date. He has a houseboat there and has promised me a ride on his bass boat. I have no idea what to expect.

I am NOT expecting this tiny man, buzzing with energy across the dock like a water bug.  He skitters to and fro. I try hard to follow what he is saying.

 “What kind of bevs do you want?” 

“Bevs?”

“Yeah, I’m bringing bud light. What can I get for you?”

“Um, Truly’s?”

 “I’ve already eaten. Are you hungry? I can feed you.”

I can NOT help but chuckle.

“You invited me for lunch and you already ate?”

His face turns red and he stammers.

“Are you hungry? There’s a restaurant right here I can feed you.”

I double over laughing. I have decided I’m not hungry, and damn, this is going to be the most hilarious first date ever. I have already dropped ALL expectations.

This man is still flitting, driving across the lake. He admits he is terrible at navigation, but somehow finds the diving cliff he was looking for. He stays in the boat, afraid of heights, and watches as I climb up the cliff and launch myself into the water. I’m having a marvelous time!  He crows at my bravery.  We are having so much fun.  I am mildly alarmed by the number of “bevs” in his cooler. But it’s a lake day. He makes his own choices, and I own mine.  He tells me he is going through a rough divorce.  I notice he is still wearing his wedding ring.

“I didn’t know what to do with it.” 

He pries it off and puts it in a tackle box. I will never see it again. 

“Wait until you see where I’ll be in a year.”

In a year we are sharing his houseboat. We are sharing my house. I help him navigate his divorce. He is unable to navigate drama. He is unable to stop drinking but is trying to cut back. He sleepwalks. He is unable to stop his slide into depression. He sees a doctor and gets medication but refuses therapy. He no longer wants to go back to the lake. He refuses to fish.   He is unable to smile. He doesn’t get off the couch except to go out to eat. I realize this means he is unable to help with the cooking but feels bad about it. He says he loves to touch me but never does. 

It’s been three years. My water bug no longer skitters. I only see his shadow. 

I go on vacation with my sister. 

She says, “Do you hear how you talk about him? You can’t enjoy yourself. All you are doing is worrying about him. I’m worried about you.” 

I make a choice. I tell him, “You need to move home near your family. I’m really scared for you. You need a bigger support system than just me.”

 He sleepwalks through the move. He begs me to help him set up and furnish his rental house. 

“I hate buying furniture and you love it.”

I tamp down resentment. Never again. He needs to navigate his own life.

I withdraw, but his relentless texting is still demanding. Still wanting of me.  

“Tell me you love me.” 

“I love you.”

I join Al-anon. My story of “Us” wobbles, cracks, and finally breaks. I realize that I need to fix myself. I can’t hold on to my own health while assuming responsibility for his. I will navigate solo.  

I go to the lake and we meet to give him his things. We are on the dock again. The dock is whole. The man is broken—not a water bug. Not its shadow. Barely a spark. We hug. We both cling. Our bodies sink into the comfort of each other once last time. But I feel now like a parent comforting a child.   He can’t meet my eyes.  He turns and lets his brother drive him away.  I am at the lake, on the dock. I am jumping off another cliff with only myself as witness.

Months pass. He goes to rehab. He doesn’t go to follow up meetings. 

I hear from him weekly, but I keep a platonic distance. Any hint of intimate conversation makes my insides vibrate with pain and I stop him cold, telling him “I can’t.” I hang up the phone, and cry. 

He begs me to stay in touch. I tell him it hurts too much. He begs again, promising “Just as a friend. Just be my friend.”

I’m still hurting. I tell him I will think about it. Weeks pass before I can accept another call. 

He tells me, “I’m going off my meds.” 

I shudder with fear. His choices are his. He gets to navigate his own life.

But he is a very bad navigator.  

And I worry.

I tell him, "I’m going on vacation."

He calls. He calls again.

 “You were the love of my life and I blew it.” 

“Yes, you did.”  

He texts me he loves me. He texts again and again.  I ask him to stop. I text his brother. 

“I think he is manic again.”

Something is wrong. But I’m going on vacation. And I need peace.

“I’m going to have to block your number.” And I do.

The second day of my vacation, his sister calls.

“My brother is dead. He hung himself. He had been drinking.” 

“But he is afraid of heights,” I think.

I don’t know why that sticks in my head. How scared and determined he must have been to climb up high. To knot the rope. To jump off the “cliff.” 

I come back to my present moment. My face is still dripping but now so are my eyes.  I am under a tree, and I look up and see no ropes. I look in front of me and see a broken dock, not a broken man.   

I am older. I am wiser. I am sadder. I will not walk on a broken dock. I will not walk with a broken man. 

I get off my lawn chair. I walk up to the pond. Three bullfrogs shriek like old ladies, startling both of us. They plop into the pond.  I recover my wits. Then I laugh.

The water has little trails of concentric circles rippling across it. The frogs have disappeared. The circles look like the ripples my father and I used to make while skipping stones when I was young. I smile at this memory and watch the water smooth back over.  I continue my walk around the pond.

It is the hottest day of the year. And I have found a way to smile.