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Precipice
“You take life way too seriously.” Larry said things like that often enough.
“We can’t all be rolling stones,” I answered back.
Larry took a swig of his beer, and I did too, as we sat on the rock by the edge of the quarry. We’ve been coming here since we were kids, off and on. There used to be a bunch of us, now it’s usually just Larry and me. The trees have slowly gotten taller over the years, but the old quarry is mostly unchanged. There is a tranquility to it, an immortality to it, as if we can come here at any time and undo the changes that pursue us elsewhere. It is, almost, like going home again.
“If you do everything the same, every day, then you’ve really only lived one day, over and over,” Larry mused.
I laughed. I tapped my bottle against his. “If you drink beer every day, you’ve really only drunk it once, over and over”
Larry liked that one. “Over and over. Yeah, you make a point. Some things bear repeating.”
This is about as deep as our thoughts ever get. We were momentarily silent, drinking our beer and gazing out over the landscape of the old quarry, as we have so often done. Well, when we were kids, it was soft drinks.
“Linda and I broke up last night,” he said. He could have as easily said, “It rained last night.” He conveyed information only, not feelings. Not surprising. Sure, Larry has feelings. But feelings seem superfluous to him. The quicker he can disregard them and move on, the better.
We gazed out over the quarry, as if it might provide some answers. “Linda is a good woman, Larry. You should learn how to appreciate what you’ve got. You just aren’t able stay in one place. You always think there’s something better around the corner. You lose women. You lose jobs. Where’s it get you?” Friends can say things like that, but I sensed that this time Larry didn’t want to hear it.
“You know me. Linda started taking it all a little too serious. She knows me. She should know better. I never lied, never came on with the usual BS that you do so well. It was good times, that’s all I ever promised.”
I smiled a little. “Maybe someday you’re going to need to make a bigger promise. Look at me and Brenda. I was afraid to make that promise, but then I did. It’s a whole different life, now. You should try it.”
Larry was silent, pondering. Unusual thing for Larry to do, pondering. I’ve never seen him be anything but impulsive. Live for the moment, and move on. But Larry was pondering.
We both sat silently, contemplating the inscrutable expanse of the quarry. He turned to me, regarded me for a moment, then he turned back to the view.
“Yeah, you and Brenda. And the kids.” He laughed. “Your home is a nice place to visit, but I’m not sure I’d want to live there.” I laughed with him, but said nothing. “I don’t know,” he continued. “Maybe I’m missing out. Maybe I should invest myself more. I think about it. Sometimes. I see in myself, now that I’m older and just a little bit wiser, that I don’t want to take those risks. Maybe I’m afraid. As soon as I see that there’s something to lose, I get out. It’s safer that way. Easier.” He’d emptied his bottle, and flung it into the quarry. We heard it splash below.
We’ve grown a lot, I think, yet here we were, sitting on the same rock we’ve been sitting on for twenty years. I married the girl that I’ve known that whole time. Day after day, over and over. Larry had a point. Still, it works for me. Would Larry come around? Should he come around? What is there to say, when it’s the same conversation, over and over? “Well,” I said, “You’ve got what you want, and I’ve got what I want… And we’ve both got this rock.”
I finished my beer and threw the bottle, letting it join with Larry’s in the infinite clutter of beer bottles beneath the water in the quarry.
Larry looked down, over the edge to the water at the bottom. It’s at least a thirty foot drop. We used to swim down there, but nobody knew for sure how deep it was. No, we didn’t jump; we walked a snake-like path through the woods to the level of the water. There were sometimes ten or fifteen of us messing around as kids. We’d dare each other to jump, but none had the guts to do it. Today, I would call that a rare case of good judgment among adolescent boys. I’ve barely stayed in touch with those kids, but somehow, Larry and I find reason to keep coming back here.
“We should have jumped,” Larry said. “What the hell. You only live once.”
“And that once should last awhile. Jumping off cliffs tends to shorten lifespans.”
“Turtles live for centuries. Would you like to be a turtle?”
“Well, no. They don’t have beer.”
We were silent for a minute. I can’t even remember what I was thinking.
“I’m jumping!” Larry suddenly declared.
“Don’t be an idiot. If you make it, what does it get you? If you don’t, you lose it all. Just sit your ass down and we can talk about it just like old times.”
Larry was stripping down to his shorts. “Old times my ass. These are new times. This is a brand new day! Day one of the new Larry!”
Larry’s impulsiveness generally had few serious consequences, but now I was concerned. “I said don’t be an idiot! Just once, don’t be an idiot! Tell you what. Put your clothes back on and we’ll just tell everyone that you did it. I can live that lie.”
Larry walked to the edge, looked down, looked back at me, smiled that strange smile of his, turned back and dove. I didn’t want to have to go look, but of course I had to. I walked the few steps to the edge and looked. There were the ripples where he had gone in, but Larry was gone. For a moment. But then he boobed back up. He looked up at me, laughing his ass off.
“Nothing to it. All you have to do is jump. Come on in, the water’s fine!”
I contemplated for a moment, processing thoughts. But I knew I wouldn’t do it.
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This really highlights a difference in personalities. I think both men are basically happy with their chosen path but perhaps a bit envious of the other.
Liked this one a lot, Chip.