Jump

"Take a deep breath and jump," the old man said.

What if I don't love him? What if I don't want to marry him? I look Drake in the eye, hike up my sundress, kick off my sandals and take a leap. Not into his arms as Drake hoped, but out of the boat.

I plunge under the cold river water and begin swimming. I don't look back until I roll onto my stomach, gasp for breath on the shore and realize I love him. It is the worst moment of my life. People say hindsight is 20/20 but for me hindsight is nothing but a blurry mess of tears. I love him more than I have ever loved a soul, but why didn't I see it until now?

I walk the side of the river for a while, not really sure where I am and hoping I will come around the next bend and see his boat docked and beg him to forgive me. But as much as I hoped he would be there, I know I have broken his heart.

It's dark before I reach a road. The boat is long gone. The world, the moon, the stars are all a haze. My eyes are swollen from crying, and refuse to run dry. An old woman is out watering her lawn and sees me coming up the street. Thinking I am a poor victim of some domestic abuser, she drags me inside for some milk and cookies.

That's how I meet Pearl. Her eyes are blue, her hair silver and her words are golden. "This painting is from Germany when my husband and I travelled in college. The rug is from Bombay, the vases from France and the elephant on the table is from and antique shop in Nova Scotia."

The joy in the way she walks, the way she speaks; her life is full. She has experienced every adventure she set out to accomplish and I am inspired by her.

"I have no idea how to get back to the dorms," I say. "Can I borrow your phone and call my roommate?"

She shakes her head, and shows me the phone cord that her cat, Magpie, has eaten in half. "I don't have another phone but I have a couch. You can sleep here tonight. It's too dark to go wandering and it's about three miles into town."

I take the offer. Pearl goes and pulls out a stack of comforters and sheets and a pillow, then goes into the kitchen to bring out Danish cookies and another glass of milk. I tell her all about jumping and use up half her box of Kleenex tissues.

"Don't worry sweetheart, if he really loves you, he'll forgive you." She pats my arm and asks, "Brenda, why did you jump out of that boat if you love him?"

"Because I don't know if I am good enough. He is handsome, and smart and I'm just this country girl with a bad sense of direction and mediocre grades. My family is poor, my. . ." Her hand flies up to stop me and she rests her fingertips on my mouth.

She shakes her head, "I didn't ask why you don't like yourself. I asked you why you jumped." The words are like a sock to the stomach. I want to argue, but the more I struggle for the words, the more I realize she's right.

Long after she leaves the room and turns out the light, I lie there in tormented contemplation.

When I was a little girl, my daddy brought home a girlfriend and told my mom to move out. When she complied, I moved out too. No one had been more important to me than my dad. But he didn't ask me to stay. He didn't write me or call me. He didn't send me birthday cards or visit me on Christmas. Instead, he gambled away the savings account and my mother and I moved in with my grandparents in Baltimore.

It was the coldest winter I have ever endured. Mom and I shared a bedroom and tried to get over dad. She got a job as a waitress and went back to college to become an architect.

After she finished her degree, she got a job designing homes for a local builder. Pete was a nice man, but I was a struggling teenager and thwarted his attempts to get close to my mother. I didn't want her to get hurt again. Not by Peter or by anyone.