Perspective

Brink had tried listening to the words she didn’t say. From experience, he knew that’s where the real meat of the matter could be found, but those invisible sounds, which normally would hastily flutter around the back of his ears and into his body, were unexpectedly quiet.

Had she smiled? Brink tried to remember. Life had taught him the importance of body language, and while her marbled, angular face was usually easy to recall, he could only picture a silhouette, her long, perfect hair resting on her thin brown shoulders, framing a blur.

She had said she loved him, but her decision was made. But that couldn’t have been what she really said. Brink knew most of her expression and meaning came from the tilt of her chin, the compression of her eyelids, and the angle of her lips, so he hadn’t given her words much weight.

Also, in theory, he knew he should respect her choice, but in practice, his mind and his past refused to obey and move past it, which her words had said she wanted. He always felt that there was age when this was unacceptable, an age he had passed a few years ago and one she had just barely eclipsed.

The cold was adding to his inability to remember. It was too cold. He knew it would be unpleasant, wanted it and felt he deserved it. But again, life is much harder in practice than it is in theory. It was also pitch black, a world he thought he had visited, but now realized he had never actually experienced. With the light of his phone off, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. There were a few distant blips of yellow and white, but his immediate bubble was cold, dark, and alone.

The ancient rocks below his feet were hard and cold, a chill piercing through his Jordan Ones, and instinct kept subconsciously inching him backwards, away from the edge. The water, meters below, would be cold and hard as well.

It was true he was older than her, but that point could only be reflected by their dates of birth on their IDs. Her career was set and deserved, a path that was drawn with an intricate, long fingered hand that accepted little to no deviations, except for Brink himself. While he did finish high school, college lasted roughly a month and half before it became unarguably evident to his parents that paying for Brink’s further education was about as useful as handing a drowning man a bag of cement. Due to a charming smile, firm handshake, and calm speaking tone, he had little trouble finding jobs, but keeping them was a challenge he had yet to master. No number of alarms could make his feet cross the threshold of work before the designated starting time, and he still could not understand how anyone could eat lunch in under an hour. And that was perhaps why they worked. He was the antithesis of strategy, and acted as a beacon of sorts. A beacon that instead of showing her the way, told her exactly where not to go. And for reasons not fully known, he was added to her plan.

The conversation had happened only a few hours ago, but the words and smells were retreating from his memory faster than they should. This was one of the reasons he had come here. Maybe he needed memory to help him decode her true feelings. He could not forget this one.

They had come to the lakeside beach on a weekday, hoping to avoid the crowds. She had taken a hard earned personal day. Brink had nothing else to do. The grains of sand were so small and fine that the entire beach looked like a lumpy, dull white sheet. She had brought many items; water, snacks, sunscreen, bug spray, blankets, and a beach umbrella tucked neatly into a foldable wagon, which he was tasked with ferrying.

The place had once been a quarry, and finding recreation more financially rewarding than rock creation, the owners had turned the place into a beautiful beach with clear blue water, paddleboard rentals, and beach volleyball tournaments. The entire lake was surrounded by towering rock formations of various heights. It felt beautiful and suffocating at the same time.

“Are there any natural beaches?” Brink had asked her.

Blinking behind her light brown sunglasses that covered almost a third of her face, she said, “What?”

“Like, is every beach in the world manmade?” He asked, regretting his question.

“Of course not, beaches just happen, from nature,” She responded. She had always worked to limit signs of superiority, but Brink could make this feat difficult to accomplish.

“No, I get that waves make sand, but beaches just always seem so…so perfect,” he said, squinting off across the water. He had forgotten his sunglasses.

“Nature is beautiful,’ she smiled, leaned over to kiss his cheek. She leaned back to her spot, rooted around in her beach bag for a second, and emerged with a pair of men’s sunglasses. “Here,” she said, handing them to Brink.

“Thank you,” he replied, a phrase that had become the mantra of their relationship. The peace of the beach was split with a series of anxious murmurs.

“Oh my god, look!” she shouted.

Brink followed her thin finger to a sight about 50 yards or so away. At the top of a section of the steep wall at the edge of the quarry, a bikini-clad girl wearing water shoes stood at the end of a steep cliff. He couldn’t make out her face, but her twitching feet and clenched arms told Brink that she was terrified.

A few teenagers were treading water below, shouting encouragement to the last member of their group to complete a previously spoken pact. Brink’s eyes were fixed. He wasn't afraid of heights, but he knew the angst of peer pressure well.

“That’s so high!” She had said, “I could never do that!”

The sounds of chattering onlookers and youthful cheers of hope were interrupted.

“Get down!” The voice was booming and echoing. Brink looked to his left to see a woman in tan pants, a black baseball hat, a tan button up shirt, and a black vest with the words “Security” printed across the front and back. She held a large megaphone that matched her tan outfit up to her mouth.

The kids already in the water panicked and swam away in different directions. The girl stood, frozen in fear.

“Could you do that?” She asked him. She knew Brink was impulsive, but she also knew that he wasn’t stupid. His age helped him better understand risks and potential rewards.

“I don’t know,” he said, thinking out loud. There was a time when he would have leapt from the highest cliff without thought, but now, he wasn’t sure. “Like, what’s the point?”

“Hmm,” she said thinking. They continued their conversation for a few moments as the hubbub died down.

On the drive home, her head shot up as she emerged from her thoughts. “Hey! Did she jump!? We started talking and I forgot all about it!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brink thought. It was strange not to know.

This memory stayed with him, and despite it being late and closed for the season, he thought that if he could see it again, it might help him understand.

He had climbed the metal fence, and while his initial thought was to return to the beach, he somehow found himself walking to the quarry walls. He had started to climb. He didn’t know why. Maybe height equaled clarity? He thought about mountain top monasteries and mountaineers' claims of feeling close to god from the apex of Mount Everest.

The wind wasn’t just cold. It hurt, tearing through the sides of his thin cotton hoodie as if he was wearing nothing at all. He reached the top of a place he never intended to be, looking out at the water.

Their afternoon conversation was brief and she did everything to make her voice sound finite and unmovable. He was an acceptable deviation, but this was not, and his words would have no weight. Perhaps that was where the shock lay. He was allowed to join her journey, but he wasn’t allowed to see the map, let alone move a pin. He had heard that these things can give someone purpose and strengthen bonds. His life had little purpose, and while there were no overt signs of relationship strain, he always felt that alone, she couldn’t be his forever.

It was too cold. He thought of her face when she had asked him if he could jump. It wasn’t about the jump. Her eyes told him she was looking past the cliff and the water. The way she brushed her hair behind one ear said that his answer would be important. Her still lips said that she would say no more, dedicating her efforts towards listening.

He didn’t know at the time. But now, with the decision made for him, he wanted to know, for himself and for them. He looked out, the water black and with the faintest ripple painting the surface. He inched closer to the edge, his legs steady, arms out by his sides, chin high, pointed to the moon. He took a breath, filling his lungs with realization, and stepped forward.