Log in

No account? Create an account
Another tale of the fountain - The Fucking Bluebird of Goddamn Happiness [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

Another tale of the fountain [Jul. 17th, 2004|11:55 am]
[Current Mood |nostalgicnostalgic]

On another occasion I visited the Ira Keller Fountain (previous entry - I'm sick of linking) with my brother, my dad, and my stepmom Carol. It was a breezy spring day, and Carol didn't feel like hiking about, so she and dad sat in the car while Bill and I went exploring. At one end of the fountain, a long concrete wall thrusts out into the the fountain like an escarpment. We approached the fountain from the back side, and Bill leapt up on this wall, striding out toward the end I jumped up as well, but a few steps out on this narrow, 3-foot wide wall, with dizzying drops on either side, and I decided that I had gone far enough.

Not Bill, though. He strode out to the very end toes hanging over a drop at least 30 feet. My heart pounded as I watched him, and I tried to call to him over the sound of the fountain, "I don't think you should be out there!"

He didn't even turn around. Instead, he squatted down to sit on the very edge. I bit my lip, frozen in place.

When he lost his balance, it was in Matrix time. His feet wobbled on the edge of the wall and his free arm circled above his head. My hands flew up over my mouth, stifling a scream, as he disappeared over the lip of the wall.

I felt my heart miss a beat.

I looked toward the car. My parents hadn't seen. I would have to run get them, tell them that Bill had fallen, three stories, to concrete. Call an ambulance. He could be dead.

Red hair appeared over the edge of the wall as Bill levitated back into view. "What the hell are you doing?" I screamed. He was completely baffled.

What I couldn't see from my position was that the wall stair-stepped down three teirs, each about a five foot from the one below. He had indeed lost his balance, but only jumped down onto the next tier.

I punched him anyway. You do that when you're a kid.

[User Picture]From: apostate_96
2004-07-17 08:15 pm (UTC)
Isn't love interesting? That kind of impulse or reaction to thinking someone's just been maimed or killed, only to find they're OK and you were wrong, brings on mixed impulses of relief, hysteria, and violence. As adults, I think we modulate them a bit better, but they're still there. Sometimes, I think the way we did it as kids is still viable...depending on who you hit, how, and with what.

I know I'd understand if it'd been me 'n' me darlin' wife there, she'd seen me go over and then pop up, and rushed up to me and hit me a couple of times while screaming "Don't EVER do that to me again!!!" I'd know she cared...
(Reply) (Thread)