The Voice

Give in. Just jump. All I need is your hand for you to fall.

The voice is loud. The voice is strong. But the voice doesn’t know the one memory that pushes me forward every single day. I wasn’t very old, maybe 8 or so. Each summer my family would cram into our small station wagon and drive twelve hours in sweltering, humid, Midwest heat. The long-stretched agony was forgotten, as we drove over the final hill, Lake Superior spread out before us. Any argument, sweat, frustration, or hate built up from the entire ride would disappear in the collective sigh wafting through our tiny vehicle.

One of my favorite places to visit in Minnesota was Gooseberry Falls. There, Papa and I would become the lovers of nature, my mom and brother the tag-along complainers. There, Papa and I faced our demons and learned we were stronger than them. Gooseberry Falls. To a child of 8, the waterfalls were immense, never-ending, massive structures of power. One particular memory is seared in my brain.

Papa had coaxed our entire family to the top ledge leaning out over the highest falls. I remember watching Papa walk to the tiny, crumbling overhang that stretched cautiously over the top of the tumultuous water. Without realizing it, my tiny feet began to follow. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. My heart pounded in my ears and my palms sweat with anxiety. I could hear my fear of heights screaming in my head. No! Turn back! Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. As I inched closer, I began to crouch, then crawl. Closer. I could feel the mist spraying on my face, the wind tousling my hair, coaxing me forward.

Finally, my tiny shoes were even with Papa’s large ones, big shoes to fill. Silently, he took my hand and we both carefully stood, peering over the edge. I could hear the water. Give in. Just jump. All I need is your hand for you to fall. The few seconds Papa and I stood resisting the wild call of the water seemed like hours to me. Eventually, something broke the enchantment. Papa looked at me, eyes wild with power, lips curved in a defiant smile. I returned the gaze. We walked away.

That day, I beat the voice. Today, my look is the same. I can resist. I can walk away. I can live.