Please Help!
You can’t really see the bolts when you’re on the ground, which isn’t surprising if you consider how far up I am—at least half way, meaning roughly five meters. What is that in feet? Unfortunately, I can’t ask Ms. Snyder. There she is, about five meters down and 30 feet away, buying an orange cream ice pop, and if I could remember that theorem named after the Greek guy, I could probably calculate exactly how far away Ms. Snyder and her orange cream ice pops are. Man, I should pay more attention in Ms. Snyder’s geometry class.
Anyhow, you can’t see the bolts in this diving platform from the ground, which is good if your objective is to get more people to scale this crazy tower because those bolts are pockmarked and look wounded, like they’re bleeding rust, which doesn’t inspire copious amounts of confidence. I can’t see Ms. Snyder anymore because we’ve rounded the central column of the platform, and now all I see are the feet of the people above me on the stairs. It’s like they’re inching along a malfunctioning assembly line that’s churning out mismatched pairs of feet: here comes a pair with mauve nail polish on the toes, and now a couple with aqua socks, now some with hairy toes, now an ankle with a tattoo, now a bandaged heel. I’ll bet you one orange cream ice pop that bandage comes off upon impact with the water.
Honestly, why do places always seem higher when you’re looking down from them than when you’re looking up at them? I can’t turn around now, though, because if I did, I’d force 25 people to go down with me. I mean, I could try to just squeeze past them, but the stairway is too narrow for that, and I’d likely send several of them plunging into the roiling abyss. Right now I can see a boy who looks like he’s about 10, with spindly legs like a colt’s, whom I’d almost certainly take out, which would be horrible…and embarrassing. Who are all of these people who want to leap off of a 10-meter diving board, anyway, and what’s wrong with them? Don’t they know how far 10 meters is? It’s like 30 feet or something! What did they do, just start indiscriminately following each other?
I’ve come to the final step, but I still haven’t reached the board—the three people ahead of me are waiting to make their final ascent up a stainless steel ladder, which is covered in little rust freckles. Apparently, you’ve got to walk the lonesome diving board by yourself. Nobody here can traverse it for you. I just heard the elastic, reverberating clack of the board and got a partial view of someone hurtling toward the water, and although I couldn’t tell exactly, since he was sort of a blur, I think it was the guy with the bandage, which is a pity. I guess I won’t be able to cash in on my orange cream ice pop bet.
Things are moving a little faster than I’d like at the moment. Doesn’t anyone want to stop and enjoy the view? No? Okay. It’s my turn to scale the ladder. I’m already slower than the few people who were ahead of me, and I’m not sure my arms and legs have gotten the message yet that they’re supposed to be climbing. I can feel the people behind me boring with their eyes into the back of my neck, so come on now, arms: one, two, three, start climbing! Are they climbing? Yeah, I think they are; although, now I’m just going to pause for a moment to try to scrape off one of these rust freckles. Nope, they’re permanent. I’d better get back to climbing.
I’ve reached the top, and I guess I wasn’t as slow as I thought I was, since the girl ahead of me is still on the board. She’s wearing a sleek one-piece suit and a swim cap, which I somehow haven’t noticed until now. She’s turning around. Is she surrendering? You can’t go back now, girl. Wait, she isn’t coming my way—she’s walking—and now inching—backwards, and only the balls of her feet and her toes are touching the board. She can’t be serious; she looks serious, though. Her eyes are penetrating and unblinking, and I swear I detect a smirk on her lips as she bends her legs 90 degrees and then springs backwards in a perfect arc. The last things I see of her are her feet, clasped like the petals of a rosebud. I’m waiting to hear the splash, but it’s taking forever to come. There it is: It’s not so much a splash as a plop, followed by a few dainty droplets.
It’s just you and me now, diving board. I’ve reached your brink, eddies swirling in the void beneath you, and all I can hear is a piercing ring. You’re just staring at me, maybe through me. As stand at the edge of the board, I ask myself, what was I thinking?