On The Edge

John Spencer (2003)

1st Place Winner in the 2003 Lisbeth Phillips Competition

I had seen the look of disappointment in my parents' eyes and it had hurt. "Everyone else does it, why can't you?" "It's not natural to be so afraid of heights." And so on. They were running short of clichés to cajole me with; threats would follow soon.

I looked again over the cliff edge that I was standing on, and again I felt that woozy, giddy swirling that made me feel like I wanted to step back and have nothing to do with the whole thing. And step back I did. I was going to try to make my parents proud - but perhaps not this time.

I understood their feelings. It's never easy to have the only child that's different. The only one that can't do what everyone else's little one's can. I tried to tell them: 'I am what I am'. They just couldn't hear it.
I looked at the dozen or so young people lined up on the cliff-edge near me, going through their strange rituals and making one hell of a noise doing it.

"Set the B-line there. And make sure the main support lines are well anchored."

"Check the harnesses are okay. Straps all secure. Buckles tight."

"Mike and Susie are at the base."

"We'll be ready for the first abseilers in about half an hour."

I watched while they donned their ungainly harnesses and equipment and for an instant I hated my parents for putting me into this situation.

I looked around from my vantage point on the cliff-edge. An azure sea stretched away to a dark blue horizon, a line separating it from an equally deep blue cloudless sky. Gulls wheeled under the bright sun, squawking and crying to each other, playful and joyful. How I envied their ease with themselves.

Below, a line of sand stretched away in both directions like a pretty ribbon. I could see friends of mine down there at play on the sand, some in groups together, others with their parents eating or playing games. They had all done it of course so they were free to relax.

Done it.

It.

Such a simple thing my parents wanted and yet I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But I resolved then and there to do it. Now. Now. I would do it now. I walked towards the group of people and the harnesses and the lines that trailed over the cliff. But they ignored me, just carried on amongst themselves.

After a while of standing alone there I went back to my little niche on the cliff-edge and looked over again. A new feeling was replacing the wooziness. An emptiness in my stomach, a hot spiky feeling in my chest. Panic. It was panic. I'd felt it before.

It had been just the same with the swimming. Not so long ago I had gone down to the pool with my parents and loads of friends and their parents and I knew that it was going to be another one of those 'learning' days. Of course Mum assured me that it was just going to be a fun day out with lots of food to eat and games to play but I knew. I knew! I went of course, what choice did I have? All the others just jumped straight in the pool and started splashing and sploshing around and swimming up and down. It seemed to come to them so easily, and I could see all their Mums and Dads were proud. I could see my Mum and Dad too. They were watching me like they do sometimes, with their heads cocked over to one side. I've come to know that expression. I just didn't like the water. So what - that's the way it is for some, we can't all be the same. I tried. I really tried. I stood on the poolside, and I waded into the shallows but I just couldn't bring myself to go deeper. When everyone else realised I was having a rough time they started cackling and laughing and shouting at me. Suddenly it seemed like the air all round was full of my so-called friends flapping around and cackling at me. If I could have jumped in and swam like them believe me I would have. It just wouldn't come. No matter how hard I tried.

Oh, it did come eventually. I went down to the pool on my own and I took a few deep breaths and after what seemed like ages I got into the water. Once I was in it seemed okay, I bobbed around on the water for a while and got the hang of it. Soon I could swim up and down as good as any of the others but when I tried to show them that next time we were all together at the seaside they weren't impressed. Everyone was now just doing it so naturally no-one understood what a big achievement it had been for me. So not only did I never get any praise for my efforts, but I'm still thought of as a non-swimmer. It's become almost a nick-name, particularly amongst the more bullying of my so-called friends.

And that leads me right back to here on the cliff edge amongst these abseilers where I'm supposed to be doing this for my 'personal' and natural development. And feeling just as afraid, just as lonely. And trying yet again to keep up with my friends and make my Mum and Dad proud.

"Now that is one sad looking little git."

Two of the people were looking at me, one pointing rudely directly at me, as he said such an unkind thing. They laughed with each other, and at me. I understood the meaning just from the contemptuous look in their eyes and the mocking expression on their faces.

I turned away, ashamed to have inspired such emotion in them.

So I looked again over the edge of the cliff and again felt that nausea and light-headedness that just would not go away. And I looked again at the noisy gaggle of young people who were now using this strange equipment to climb off the edge of the cliff and lower themselves down to the beach below. How ashamed I felt again that I could not beat my fear.

I held my breath. I would make this fear I had been suffering all my life end right here. I would beat my fear in my own way. I stepped right up to the edge of the cliff.

And I leapt off.

It seemed that I was falling for ages, then I got control of the air and swooped up - right over the heads of the abseilers who were still lowering themselves down. I thanked them for their inspiration in the traditional way - by shitting on their heads. After all if these ungainly people, who didn't even know how to fly, could leap off the cliff then I had realised that I had to be able to.

After all I was a healthy young seagull - and in fine plumage too.