THE CLIFF

                                                            TheCliff

            Ryanstrolled past the bench he of usual occupied as a rest during his afternoonwalk, not liking the old gentleman, whom with a scruffy, salt colored beard,sat reading the morning paper.  Hecontinued on through the park, his feet crunching the gravel under his shoes ashe passed a row of maple trees, which lined the path to the northernentrance.  He rarely walked so far on hislunch hour, preferring to sit for some time upon the bench, letting his mindclear of work anxieties as he ate his lunch.

            Hecame into the opening, which spread wide and green before him, an ocean ofspace in contrast with the maple trees of the park.  The field sloped downwards and he saw in thedistance a cliff, whose rocks leap upwards at their end, protecting one fromfalling into the lake below.  Wide sunshinelit the grass and rocks, leaving him silent. His eyes ran over the field, dark brown following verdant lush greenwhich kissed blue in the distant field.

            Helooked at his watch and frowned, creases appearing round his eyes. He lookedover his shoulder towards the park, a pained expression on his face, thethought of returning to work no doubt upon his mind.  He looked once more out at the cliff,marveling at the way the sun danced star shaped kisses upon the jutting rocks.

            “Ishall return.”  He murmured, turninground to leave.

            “Itis beautiful.”  He heard, or rather felt,from beside him, a voice, tender and feminine, filled with quiet mirth andsecrets.

            Heturned to face her, seeing her hair first, dark and long brown.  She stood smiling, looking towards the cliff,and her hair moving across her face as the wind played.  She wore a white sun dress, simple and plain,her breasts small and visible through the cloth.  She did not look at him, which gave him amoment to look at her, taking in her wide hips and thin bare legs.  In her hands she held sandals, her fingerslooped through the straps.

            Hefelt waves of desire pass through his body, the urge to reach for her, touchher quite strong.  He looked behind him,at the park’s entrance, which led the way back to work.  He decided to stay a few minutes longer.  Her skin reflected golden in the afternoonsunlight and held him where he stood.  Heattempted to speak, but words failed him.

            “Willyou walk with me?”  She asked.  Her voice whispered light and pleasantagainst his ear, a delicate sound.

            “Mylunch hour is over.  I must return towork.”  His voice struggled to sound thewords clearly.

            “Takea chance.”

            Sheheld out her hand towards him.  He lookeddown at her hand, as if it were a foreign object.  Her fingers, thin and pretty, seemedtranslucent to him, seeming to blend with the grass beneath her feet.  He reached his hand forward and put it inhers.

            “Idon’t even know your name.”  He said.

            Shesmiled at him, which combined with the feeling of her skin being pressedagainst his own, made his head swim with pleasure.

            “Namesare not important.”  She said softly, yethe heard her easily over the wind, which blew the smell of the lake towardshim.  She led him by the hand, walkingslow and sure.

            “Tellme about yourself.”  She said.  Her eyes still focused on the cliff.

            “Iam a writer.”  He answered.  He intended to say more, but somehow he felthis statement to be sufficient.

            “Cute.  The salesman writer.”  She clapped her hands together, taking herhand from his for a moment.  She turnedto him, smiling.

            “Yes,I am in sales.  How did you know?”  He asked.

            “Thesuit gives you away.” 

            “Icould be a banker.”

            Shenodded in agreement.

            “However,you are not.”  Her statement made senseto him.

            Shereturned her hand to him and kept walking. Ryan stayed silent, looking into the sky, which cloudless and beautifulblue, hurt his eyes.

            “Tellme about your writing.”  She asked.

            Helooked at her and sighed.

            “Iprefer not to talk about my writing.”  Heanswered.  They walked a few moments asshe pondered, getting closer to the cliff.

            “Thisis serious with you.”

            “Yes.”

            Shesqueezed his hand and smiled at him, understanding.  They came at last to the cliff, walking rightto the edge of the rocks, affording them a view of the lake below.  The wind blew in their faces and brought withit the smells of the lake, of the summer burned grass around them.

            Thelake extended out from the cliff’s base, narrow at its beginning, shaded bytrees on either side before opening wide and bathed with sunlight some hundredyards from where they stood.  Ryan lookeddown and thought to himself that the dark water leading up to the rocks must becold, very cold.  During prior visits tothe cliff, he wished to jump, to fall to the water below.

            “I’vealways wanted to leap from the peak.”

            “Whyhaven’t you?”  She asked.  The question caught him unprepared to answer.

            “Lunchbreak.”  He answered.

            “Ofcourse.” 

            Shenodded in agreement.  She squeezed hishand once more and let go, letting her arms fall by her sides.

            “Ididn’t expect to hear that from you.” She said.

            “Expectwhat?” 

            “Doyou like your job?”

            Heshook his head in the negative.  He knewthe point she hinted at and waited for her to finish.

            “Whydo it then?”

            “Itpays the bills.”

            Sheshook her head from side to side, visibly disappointed with his answer.  She brushed hair from her eyes and looked athim.

            “No.  You must work to pay for those things you donot need:  a nice car, your suit, cabletelevision, and all the other things you have that are not necessary.”

            “Imust pay rent, utilities.  Even withoutextras, I need a job.”

            “Youcould work a job you find more appealing.”

            Helaughed and shook his head in disagreement.

            “Iam a writer.  Having to work at all isthe source of my frustration, the job matters not at all.”

            “Workless hours at a job that doesn’t force the corporate slave mentality on you.” 

            Ryansmiled.

            “Yousound much like I did a few years ago.”

            Shesighed and looked out at the lake.

            “Youhave given up your fight.”  She saidsoftly, the words hard to hear over the wind.

            “Ithink that is a harsh assessment.  I am realistic;it does not mean I’ve given up hope.”

            “No,but you have just the same.  I can hearit in your voice.”

            “Ihave not.”  He answered, firmer.

            “Thenjump.”  She said.  She extended her arm towards the lake, as ifinviting him.

            “Whatdoes that prove?”

            Sheturned to him, her eyes intent upon his own. She reached up and placed a finger on his lips.

            “Oneday you must decide to dedicate yourself, to give all, to sacrifice thosethings in life that take time and energy away from what you need to do, which isto write.”

            Hetried to answer, but she held her hand over his mouth, silencing him and hisobjections.    

            “Youmust throw off society and its rules, become free of all else but looking atwhat you see around you.  You must removeyourself from the world to see it clearly, to able to write without bias.”

            Shestood in front of him, giving him time to think about her words. 

            “Youare a slave and only you can free yourself. I can only offer you my hand and show you the way.”

            Sheremoved her hand from his mouth and took a step in the direction of the forest.  She turned to him, for the last time, andwith tears in her eyes, spoke to him.

            “Ihave hope for you, Ryan.”

            Hefelt tightness in his throat as she walked away from him.  He wanted to speak, to run after her, but heremained still and silent.  Sheapproached the forest and seemed to disappear as she reached the first row ofoak trees.  Ryan remained motionless forsome time, staring into the forest, hoping to see her again.  He heard her last words to him, heard thesoft delicate voice in his mind.  Hesmiled and took a tentative step towards the park, his legs unsure and unsteadybeneath him.

            “Ihave hope for you, Ryan.”  He heard againin his mind.  He spun round, but wasalone.  There was not a soul to beseen.  He stopped walking some twentyfeet from the cliff.  He felt sure now ofwhat he must do and with a smile on his face, turned his body around, lookingonce again out over the lake.

            Withthe smile still on his face, wide and youthful, he began to run, joy surgingwithin him as he took the few strides needed to reach the edge.  His insides pulled him downward and thedizzying rush of air brought tears to his eyes. He saw the blur of the sky blending with the lake, which remained calmand still below him.

            “Iam free.”  He whispered to himself amoment before he plunged into the cold darkness of the lake.