“Hey, haole, at least you'll die in paradise,” are the reassuring words of one of my sister's local friends. They are laughing off this terrifying situation that I am facing since they had made this very leap about 20 times already.
“Yeah, just give me a minute,” I say slightly disconnected, since my focus is distracted by the drop in front of me. “As a matter of fact, why don't you go first?” I challenge Brandon.
“Shoots, brah,” he replies with a smirk, meaning “of course I'll jump.” He is entirely too ready for this. I watch Brandon Benson slip back a couple steps to prepare. Before I have a chance to look over the cliff again, I hear him charging his way to the edge of the lava rock. This way, when I do look over the edge again, two entities, one being the 75 foot fall and the other being the jump off of it, connect themselves in a completely different perspective for me.
With a hop that suspends Brandon above the drop for a split second, he starts to descend with a “Whoooo!...”
I watch laying on my belly with my fingers gripping the edge, my eyes wide as if to compensate for my poor asian aperture. I begin to count.
“1 Mississippi, 2...” His slender figure is getting ever smaller. Those boney arms are doing a great job of keeping him vertical over the crystal clear water. It's poetic in a way, his dark, Hawaiian tan over the turquoise is indescribable.
“3 Mississippi, 4...” I crack a smile. I must be damaged.
“5 Mississippi, 6...” The hooting subsides with a beautiful crest of white that seemed to swallow Brandon whole until he reemerges with a smile that could cure cancer.
I count to 6 Mississippi.
I can't help but feel a slight tickle in my cognitive process despite the butterflies, because Brandon is right. At least I'll die in paradise. It is a gorgeous day in Lahaina. The sun is beaming on the beach, and from up here, you can see right through the water that stretches for miles, I swear it. However sadistic they seem to me at the moment, the people here are so friendly. How gorgeous the women are! Hawaii's features from this spot, simply called Black Rock, are accented nicely from the beach all the way up to the volcano crater at Haleakala that is surrounded by puffy, snowy white, harmless clouds.
“Mitch!” my sister bellows out, snapping me out of my path to enlightenment.
“Huh, what?”
“Are you going to be a baby all day? I'm hungry.”
“I mean, it's not like I'm going to climb all the way back down. You go, I'll go after you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I did it already, butt hole. I want to see you jump from up here.”
I can't argue with that. Stephanie's always had a way of pushing me past any insecurities or fears I might have. Although she's three years younger than me, she is the accomplishing one. She's a natural athlete, and beats me at just about every sport. I remember teaching her to roll around on a skateboard one year, and the next year that I went to Hawaii to visit her and our mom, she was airing out of vert ramps while giving me a high five and drinking a Coke. Even though she is a tom boy, she really is adorable. That's how she gets away with causing mischief all the time I suppose. Regardless, her and I compliment each other so nicely. She carries the bravery while I carry the compassion. In short, if she wasn't there with me, I would've walked all the way back to the beach where all those beautiful ladies were and never turned back.
So I approach the edge of the world once more to get a final look down. After deciding that it was a terrible idea to do that, I take a couple steps back and recollect myself. I breathe in with my eyes closed. I feel so good. Then, almost involuntarily, I take off. I run at the drop, and with every step, it feels like my heart beats 3 times. My right foot lands right before the depression and I bend my knees a little to launch myself up.
Up I go.
I don't go up very far before gravity reminds me how much control it actually possesses.
Down I go.
Oh, jesus, I insist that you exist! This sensation is much too much. I won't stop falling! I won't ever stop falling! Where is the ground? Shit. I hate you, Stephanie! When you die I swear you will burn in Satan's left hand forever, he's going to poke you with spears and make fun of your stupid hair and I'll be able to come around and laugh about it whenever I want, and...
Splash!
I feel the security of something other than air brushing against my flesh. I leave my eyes open to soak up everything. From somewhere in my soul, I feel another tickle. A chuckle comes out in the shape of bubbles that float to sea level. I start to laugh hysterically floating about 10 feet under water. As I surface, I hear another splash. I see Steph cut through the ocean at a million miles an hour. She floats up to me and we practically scream with laughter. Brandon leads us back to shore. Steph gets a plate of Kahlua Pork and we spend the evening with friends on the beach.
We watch the sun dive into the same ocean that we did. When it submerges, there is a beautiful green flash that races through the sky, almost like the anxiety that left me once I hit the water. Given the current situation, meaning my discerning free fall and now the beautiful sunset, I start to think to myself. So, I say, “Self, I'm really glad you decided to jump. Promise to freeze moments like this for the rest of your life. Don't be old and lose your luster. Keep taking chances and scaring your mother half to death, but hold your head above water.” I smile. Now I lay back in the sand and stare at the sky to ponder perpetual motion.
At least I'll die in paradise.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
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