Young Writers Society

My fondest childhood memories were of my dad. He’d sit me on his lap and pull the heavy leather family photo album up with us. My grandfather made it for my grandmother, including an adjustable binding so we could always add to it. On rainy days, Dad and I would look through it and he’d tell me stories of his parents. My grandmother dove from planes, hiked across mountains, and even went through spiritual enlightenment, all for the sake of adventure. She taught my dad and he taught me. “Fear is what the mind makes it.”

Wish I’d remembered that before jumping off a cliff.

Delphi, the island’s second tallest cliff, held us above the bay. The water went at least sixty feet deep, more than enough for a little recreational cliff diving—at least Kyle, my local guide, claimed. He’d spent the past couple days preparing us for our daredevil antics. Cliff diving was popular among the Maori villagers, both locals and others taking the short boat ride from the Cook Islands to la Isla de Vida to partake in the sport. I’d never heard of it until a week ago.

I didn’t know what drove me to do it. When the letter came from Dad with a round-trip ticket to a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific, I wasn’t sure what to think. He couldn’t go, confined to a wheel chair after a severe heart attack two years back. His friend had offered the ticket in return for a former favor and in turn, Dad gave it to me. Maybe my aunt’s constant nagging, “Do something with your life,” drove me to take it, her presence in my life only to care for her brother and pay as little attention to me as possible. Maybe it was my own need to be more than a cashier at The Pet Palace.

My grandmother toured the world. My dad traveled across the country in a beat-up station wagon with nothing but a bag of clothes and a picture of my mom and me. My own life revolved around recommending squeaky toys and tennis bowls. I wasn’t sure how cliff diving fit into my own life plan but at least I’d be able to say I did it when I’m older. The Stone legacy had to go on.

We stood atop Delphi, listening to Kyle’s final reminders. My bare feet dug into the rough rock, curling around the contours. Kyle motioned for us to move back from the edge. “Don’t tense up when you jump, and make sure to keep your legs together, arms against your side,” he said, demonstrating. “Like this. As thin as possible. You’re not jumping from the Widowmaker so there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve done this jump more times than I can count.”

The Widowmaker.

* * *

Two days ago, Kyle showed us the skyscraping cliff after dinner at Lucy’s Diner, a quaint place right on the beach front. I enjoyed fresh mahi-mahi, grilled to a light crisp and smothered with hot butter and herbs. Fishy enough to remind me it was fish but not enough to make me order the chicken. The drinks contained chunks of fresh pineapple and strawberries, natural juices mixing with enough alcohol to give me a buzz. I lounged on the diner’s patio, taking in la Isla de Vida. Frothy waves lapped at white beaches, carrying the land away. Bright colored flowers released their perfume into the warm air, their scent smothered by the array of food being served.

I’d received a message at the hotel to come here and meet my diving instructor. While relaxing at my table, feet propped on the chair beside me, I watched a couple work their way through the crowd. The woman wore a lei of pink flowers around her neck. Her companion took her hand with a slight bow before spinning her in a circle. She draped the lei over his head and kissed his cheek. I turned back to my meal, eyes roaming away long enough to watch Maori dancers on stage. Their staffs flamed on either end, turning into a spinning fiery circle. Girls stood on either side, grass skirts rustling with each hip shake.

“Excuse me? Are you Roxanne?”

I looked up into a pair of bright green eyes. The woman I’d seen before stood in front of me, her arm looped through the man’s. “Yeah. I’m sorry, do I know you two?” I asked.

“We were told to find a Roxanne Stone, something about diving. I’m Haven, by the way, and this is Tucker.”

We exchanged pleasantries and I offered them seats. Their chairs had barely scratched the floor when a tall man snagged the last place at the table, sitting backwards. His hat read Yankees and he wore loose shorts, no shirt, and worn sandals. Scratching his head with one hand, he extended his other to each of us. “Kyle Halloran. I’ll be your cliff diving instructor.” Cliff diving. If Dad could see me now. “So where are you all from?” he asked.

“New York,” said Haven and Tucker simultaneously.

Kyle looked at me until I said, “Florida. You?”

“Washington born, Ora’omai raised,” his a’s and o’s rolling low in his throat. Our scrunched brows prompted an explanation. “La Isla, the locals call it Ora’omai, the Life Giver. My mom moved here to study the marine life.”

A waitress appeared with drinks and we settled into silence. The couple rested against each other, leaving Kyle and I to watch the stage. The fire dancers finished their routine and a group of tattooed musicians took their place, echoing traditional music with animal skin drums and wood flutes. As it lulled me into a half-conscious state, Kyle announced he was going to show us the island’s cliffs before we jumped off them on Saturday.

I carried my glass—it resembled a coconut in all but flavor—with me on our trek across the white sand. The bay provided enough room for a couple of larger yachts but most of the boats docked were local fishing vessels, resembling curved log rafts. Waves beat against their hulls, sloshing over the rims. I went to examine one, Belladonna written in curved letters on the side, but Kyle beckoned for us to stay close.

We stopped at the dock's edge, directly across from the cliffs. Salty spray dotted our legs, and a cool breeze blew over the water. The Pacific sparkled beneath the setting sun, rippling colors a mirror of the golden star. I pulled my eyes away long enough to see the cliff Kyle pointed to.

“That, friends, is the Widowmaker. Many a man has tried his luck on her,” slipping into a faint island accent, the vowels throaty and r’s purring, “but don't be trying yourself. All rock beneath her. You'll be dead on impact.”

I swallowed hard.

As if sensing my apprehension, Kyle put a hand on my shoulder. “Don't worry about it. It's all perfectly safe. Trust me.”

Trust a complete stranger? Yeah, I'd get right on that.

I stayed the night in the Paradise Flower hotel, Kyle walking me back while the couple departed for their lodging. He remained silent until we reached the hotel. I started to turn toward the Flower but his hand grabbed my arm. “What’s your excuse?”

“What?”

“Your excuse. Everyone has one. You don’t just wake up and decide ‘I’m going to dive off a forty-foot cliff.’ So what’s your excuse?”

Figures he’d ask that. “I don’t know. I just…I want to have done something with my life.”

“And this is the answer?”

“Yes…no…I don’t know.”

Kyle backed away and said, “Just make sure you’re sure on Saturday.”

I waved and followed the gravel path to the hotel. A handful of maids bustled about with stacks of towels and cleaning carts. Bypassing the elevator with the OUT OF ORDER sign taped to it, I climbed three stories to my floor.

The room contained a twin-sized bed, small dresser, and nightstand. A bathroom down the hall served for the whole floor. I tossed my duffel bag in the corner, flopping on the lumpy mattress. My eyes closed and I felt tickling on my bare leg. Go away, go away, I willed it, guessing at the culprit. It didn't go away and I forced a lid open. The biggest, blackest spider I had ever seen crawled on my left leg, inching closer by the second. So I did what anyone in their right mind would do.

The spider flew into the sea foam green wall. I promptly threw everything in sight at it: shoes, the tiny clock on the nightstand, the phone book in the drawer, the drawer. Only after I confirmed there were spider guts smeared down the wall did I change into an oversized tee and ducked under the covers—thoroughly shaking them out first. No matter what Dad said, my fear of spiders was completely rationalized. They were big and hairy and downright creepy.

In my dreams, a giant black spider chased me over the Widowmaker.

Friday morning dawned hot, humid, and miserable. I showered and found the thinnest tank and shorts I could, packing my swimsuit and towel in a small drawstring bag. By the time I'd reached the hotel doors, I was soaked. Should have splurged on a hotel with AC.

I met up with the couple on the beach. Haven gave me a smile and slung an arm around Tucker. He nodded in greeting, eyeing the redhead beside him with one eyebrow quirked. A ring sparkled on Haven’s left hand. I felt compelled to ask, “So how'd you meet?”

“Taxi,” said Tucker.

“I invited him to my sister's wedding,” added Haven.

“You married…Roxy?” racking his head for my name.

“No, I'm not.”

Haven winked at me. “Haven't found the one.” I shook my head, a small smile slapped on my face. My current man, Oliver, couldn't remember where he put his socks half the time and needed constant reminding to feed our goldfish. Definitely husband material.

“Glad to see you all getting to know each other.” Kyle approached our triangle from the docks, one of the raft boats bobbing from recent use. He wore the same Yankees hat from the night before and had added a open shirt

“Alright, folks, now we're gonna take things easy today and do some diving safety exercises. Tucker, Haven, partner up and Roxanne, you can go with me. Go get changed and meet me by Lady Luck.”

The changing rooms by the surfing kiosk stunk of board wax, tanning lotion, and a flowery plant I couldn't name left to dry over the doorway. I'd bought a one-piece yesterday morning, plain black compared to my colorful neon bikini back at the hotel. The new suit fit well enough, accenting my dark hair and eyes, the result of a mixed heritage. Dad's face always lit up when he saw me, the remnants of his late wife in my face. Seven years she'd been buried with her people, beneath a large oak tree on the reservation. Dad kept the picture of her and me in his shirt pocket, the folds creasing the image but not the memory. I never understood how they fell in love, with Dad’s adventurous, thrill-seeking nature and Mom’s heritage as the chief’s daughter. I only knew she loved me. I was her hushi, her little bird. She said my spirit was strong and I would one day fly. I didn’t believe in the spirit world like her but sometimes I imagined she watched over me. I wondered what she’d think of my little adventure.

I looked in the mirror, tugging the suit this way and that but nothing would make it flattering. Sliding shorts overtop, I stuffed my clothes in the bag and emerged at the same time as Haven. Tucker waited patiently next to Kyle.

“Great minds think alike,” she said, motioning to herself. Haven’s was a size or two larger to accommodate her bustier chest but our suits otherwise matched, right down to the circle cut in the back.

Tucker draped an arm over his wife, her smile beaming up at him. I looked out over the bay, listening to seagulls cry from rocks jutting above the surface. A few raided the beach for abandoned hot dog rolls and French fries.

“Roxanne, ready to go?”

The couple laughed in the boat, splashing each other. Kyle waited to help me in, my unsteadiness rocking the boat. The Guys and Dolls song popped in my head and I found myself mumbling, “Sit down, sit down, sit down, you’re rockin’ the boat.” Three heads turned my way and Tucker stifled a laugh, the first I’d heard since I’d met him. Pulling a large bag in with them, Kyle signaled for us to depart.

We sailed across the bay, water blue but too cloudy to see far underneath. Kyle and Tucker paddled, giving us girls a chance to soak in the island's beauty. Fish swam just below the waves, much larger than Frankie back home. Vines dipped into the ocean, curtaining the cliffs with green leaves and bright flowers. White rock composed the cliffs themselves and tropical trees covered their tops. We were jumping from Delphi, the smaller, friendlier cliff, according to Kyle. Then there was the Widowmaker.

It towered over the bay to the right of Delphi, reaching out over the water. There, the vines hung reaching for the sea. One dipped into the bay, sending ripples with each gust of wind. The air felt good on my hot skin, taking the edge off the midday sun.

I stared at the Widowmaker, its natural beauty sharp against the blended canvas of the island and sky. The edge struck out into midair, leaving just enough room for one person to stand on the tip. Compared to the Widowmaker, Delphi was child’s play. I wasn’t looking for safety here. La Isla de Vida was over six thousand miles away from my town of Plum Creek. No one would know whether I jumped off the bank of a stream or off a cliff—no one but me. I closed my eyes, picturing myself atop the cliff, arms spread wide and embracing the wind as a brother, leaping off to embrace the sea as a sister.

Kyle caught my gaze and glanced over his shoulder at the Widowmaker. “She’s sacred to the Maori people. They believe she rose from the sea to protect the island from harm,” he said, adding in a more serious tone, “We won’t be going that high. Delphi’s about as tall as you’ll see for a recreational diving cliff. Too high and you’ll kill yourself. Best to leave the Widowmaker to her duties as protector.”

I tore my eyes away and focused on the water sloshing over the edge of the boat. Its swaying movements calmed any lingering nerves I had. Trailing a finger through the water, I leaned back and watched the birds flock to their nests along the cliff-side. They danced in flashes of white wings and red beaks, gliding on the hot air thermals scattered over the water.

I wonder what it’d be like, to see the world from above.

“We’re gonna go a little farther down than usual,” said Kyle, interrupting my thoughts. “Tide’s coming in pretty strong where I usually go.” A few strong strokes and the boat hit the sand. I jumped out and helped push it up the beach. Picking up the bag, Kyle directed us toward a worn trail into the jungle.

The humidity increased tenfold, air thick and heavy. Large biting flies buzzed around our heads, landing on any exposed skin. Birds fluttered in the canopy, shedding feathers of reddish hues. Rainwater dripped from large leaves on my head. The trail curved, flattening so we weren’t very high up until it opened on a small overhang no more than ten feet above the bay. Kyle unzipped the bag and passed out wetsuits.

I grabbed the remaining one, slipping off my shoes and placing them on a flat rock. The wetsuit was skintight, damp, and retaining heat. I pulled my hair off my neck, containing it in a messy bun with a couple hair bands. With everyone covered and sweltering, Kyle took his cue.

“We’re gonna start with practicing how to enter. Now you need to keep your legs and feet together. Point your toes the whole way down. It’ll help lessen the sting.” He sat down and showed us what he meant. “Make sure your arms are tight against your side and there’s nothing on you that’ll catch. Now I want you to all show me before we practice here.”

I clamped my palms to my thighs, calves squished together as I stood on my toes. Kyle walked a circle around each of us and nodded. “Okay, now we’re gonna do this in pairs so you can get used to it. We do this in case someone gets hurt during the fall. Always know where your partner is.” He held a hand out to me and I stared at it, tight-lipped. Eyes soft, he said quieter, “You’ll be okay. I’ve done this before. Trust me.”

He led me a few paces forward and released me, stepping to the edge of the precipice. I inched forward until my toes wiggled in thin air. “On the count of three…two…one.” Kyle jumped, making a clean entrance into the water. I watched.

His head bobbed up, a hand wiping water from his face. “See? Easy as peach pie.”

“Go on. We’ll be right behind you,” said Haven.

Fear is what the mind makes it.

I stepped off the rocky edge.

Free-fall was like flying—nothing but air rushing past my body. I cut through it in one swift stroke. My toes remained pointed, slicing through the water just as easily as the air. It stung for a moment before the bay consumed me. I floundered before the adrenaline kicked in. A hand gripped my wrist, helping my feet push me to the surface.

My lungs burned, my skin tingled, and my head spun. I’d never felt more exhilarated in my life. I knew why my grandmother did all the crazy stunts she recorded in the photo album. It wasn’t just about breaking free of the monotony of small-town life. The thrill itself was enough to drive a person, quite literally, over the edge.

Long minutes passed before Haven and Tucker joined us, graceful in their drop. We swam to the beach, removing our wetsuits while Kyle retrieved our shoes and bags from the small bluff. The rest of us continued to recover.

Kyle returned with sweat dripping off his brow, breathing easy. “Everyone alright?” We nodded in unison, glancing at each other with secret smiles. This time when the boat rocked, I remained stable and shoved Kyle’s hand aside. Haven spoke a mile a minute, her excitement gushing out in rushed phrases. It was a wonder her husband understood a word she said. Sitting in front of them, I smiled at his confusion and ran a hand through the frothy water. My eyes were drawn away from the couple to the black sky looming on the horizon.

The storm moved with supernatural speed, overtaking the island in under an hour. Kyle and Tucker made quick work of the trip back to the docks. Promising to return bright and early tomorrow, we went our separate ways and I found myself back in the Paradise Flower with a tall glass of spiked lemonade and a couple bruises. From what I could tell, none were worth worrying about. I checked the bed for spiders, noticing the maids had cleaned the guts off the wall, and propped my feet up. Thoughts of free-fall drifted across closed eyelids.

Thunder boomed in a continuous pattern and lightning sliced the sky in half. Tears of the gods chased tourists and islanders alike to shelter. The wind whipped the trees, snagging on flags decorating homes and businesses. In the midst of the chaos, the Widowmaker stood strong.

Grabbing a book from my bags, I settled into the sound of pounding rain. The words became out of focus, the last of the adrenaline wearing off. Exhaustion took its place in heady waves, lowering my eyelids bit by bit until I passed into oblivion.

I dreamed of diving off the Widowmaker.

* * *

I stood on the Widowmaker, my previous night’s dream drawing me toward the edge. This was it, my last chance to prove I wasn’t a nobody. I was a Stone, not a passive watcher of life. My mom’s people believed they were one with nature. Throwing my head back, I listened to the world around me, to the clashing of waves and rock, to the whisper of wind through the trees, and to the spirits nudging me closer to the edge. I was a bird, I was her hushi, and I could fly.

“I never pegged you for the suicidal type.”

Kyle stood where the ledge met the cliff base. I turned toward the edge, looking down on the bay. Rocks poked through the surface, smooth from years of battering under the sea. A small patch of deeper water sat between them. I took another step and said, “I have to do this.”

“Why?”

My feet paused. How would jumping off the Widowmaker make a difference? Falling to my likely death wouldn’t change my life—at least, not in the way I’d intended. I came to the island for an adventure, taking the chance to escape my life. Throwing myself over the edge wouldn’t change fate. My home was in Plum Creek, caring for my dad. He needed me.

Mom said I would fly. Was this flying? That first jump off the small cliff was exhilarating and frightening, a complete separation of soul and body. For a moment, I’d flown. I’d become one with the wind, the sea—nature. For that moment, she was back, standing beside my grandmother. Both strong women, determined to not let their lives end before leaving their marks on the world. Grandma filled the photo album with her story and Mom left the reservation for my dad, for us.

This won’t bring her back, I reminded myself, a lone tear trailing down my cheek.

Without answering Kyle, I crumbled to the ground, fists clenching and unclenching. His hand settled on my shoulder and pulled me up, directing us down a thin jungle path to Delphi. Slipping my shoes back on, I trudged behind Kyle, eyes glued to the back of his head. We reached the smaller cliff and Haven patted my shoulder, she and Tucker giving me four thumbs up. I checked my wetsuit, the zipper firmly locked in place. My shoes came off easily, smacking a rounded stone when I threw them. The cliff-top rock scratched my bare feet, digging in with a grounding pressure. My eyes scanned the sky. Another storm was headed our way, already hovering above the island. Waves crashed harder against the rocky base, smashing against each other. It waited for a trigger to release its anger. I knew what the storm wanted, what it had been denied minutes before. It was time to fly.

I always questioned why I came to la Isla de Vida. I wasn’t in search of a whirlwind romance or even a relaxing getaway. I didn’t care about lying in the sun for hours, perfecting the tan I didn’t need. My world at home would be waiting for me when I returned, ready for me to pick up where I left off. And Dad’s photo album would be ready on the coffee table, filled with new pages where his glory days ended and mine began.

Kyle ran through a list of reminders about diving before putting a hand on my shoulder. “So, Roxanne, what’s your excuse?”

Fear is what the mind makes it.

I felt my mom’s spirit leap within me, phantom wings appearing on my arms. Grandma’s smile lingered in my mind. Dad watched from the corner of my eye, the album pressed against his lap. They urged me forward, forcing me to see that I needed to live life. I couldn’t sit on the sidelines. I couldn’t let my fear of growing old and never doing anything get in the way of being who I wanted to be. I couldn’t let life pass me by anymore. I needed to live. Feet balanced on the very edge, waiting for the slightest shift of weight, I glanced over my shoulder at Kyle.

“It’s Roxy, and I don’t need one.”

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This was a piece I wrote for a class last summer. It has been workshopped twice (by that class) and edited three times. Any feedback or improvement ideas would be great. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the piece, and I hope you enjoyed reading it!