November42011
Into the deep.
All too often I dive from the bridge into the depths of the river, head first. Sometimes, I fail to even look before I leap high into the air before falling into the black nothingness below.
The cold water knocks all the air from my lungs and for a moment, it seems like my legs refuse to move. For what is only moment, but feels like minutes, I sink into the dark but suddenly my body comes back to life and my legs listen to my desperate thoughts, propelling me back upwards and into the light.
No one ever warns me. No one tells me the risks I’m taking. Sometimes I stay under the water a little too long, holiding my breath until the very last second. It’s only when I finally break the calm surface, gasping for air and sending droplets flying in every direction, do those lazing around the edge show a hint of interest.
“That was close,” one of them remarks, raising an eyebrow in disapproval.
“You were under for ages,” another one comments, flicking a quick glance in my direction.
I wonder sometimes, late at night while I’m lying alone in bed, searching for the sleep that rarely comes; would they ever save me? Would any of them jump in after me? Would any of them even notice?
One day I challenge those thoughts. I sink a little lower, and wait a little longer. My lungs feel like they are about to burst and heat sears through my chest, replacing the chill of the icy cold water.
Suddenly a hand reaches down and as if made from steel, grasps firmly around the scuff of my neck, jerking me upwards and into the fresh air. The hand dumps me, roughly, on the bank of the river, leaving me a soaking mess and gulping for breath.
“Don’t be stupid,” the hand’s owner barks at me. I glance up quickly, but I’m still too late and only catch the back of a head already metres away and in the shadows of the bridge.
“Am I the stupid one?” I wonder to myself. Those sitting around have barely noticed the past few minutes. If they were concerned at all, they’ve hidden it well, already back flicking through pages of magazines and chatting among themselves.
I stand up slowly, throwing my towel over my shoulder and turn my back. The sun is already beginning to hide behind the familiar silhouette of the mountains and dusk has settled in for yet another night.
Behind me there is silence; no echoes of questions, no farewells. They assume they’ll see me tomorrow. Same time, same place. Nothing ever changes. I squint into the last ray of sun as it peeks over the mountain tops.
They are all wrong; I won’t be back. They may question my whereabouts for a day or two, but none of them will really care. Soon, I will be nothing but a memory, the seldom topic of a ’remember when’ conversation.
But it’s ok. That ever lingering fear of change suddently seems less daunting. I glance over my shoulder, for one last time, before stepping forward into the final light of day.
Within seconds, it is gone and together, we disappear.
