Alone at 90 Foot Read Free Page A

And after I’m gone the other desks shift, like in some kind of dream sequence, to cover my spot. And no one is the wiser. No one even notices I’m gone. Particularly the head still talking at the front.
    I grab my backpack, jump the rocks and start up the path leading to the canyon parking lot. It’s straight uphill all the way. The earth forms tall steps where it is trapped by roots and compacted by feet and time. It’s quite a stretch, but soon I’m looking down on a part of the gorge where water pours into a smooth tank, much like a granite toilet bowl. It looks very tropical. The water so green and ivy dripping from the rock shelves above — you’d almost expect to see parrots fly by. But you have to be real confident to jump into that pool. And I’m not. It’sway too dangerous. Which is why this whole area is restricted. Besides, it’s directly below the suspension bridge. I never look up. It gives me the creeps.
    I have been studying this area very closely for the last year, noticing this bunch of ferns and that burst of buds. I wish I’d paid more attention in the past. You know, stopped and smelled the roses. Maybe taken a few pictures. That way I’d know what was new growth and what had been here before. I wouldn’t have to wonder about that huckleberry bush next to the chain-link fence. Like, was it there a year ago last Tuesday when Mom jumped off the bridge, or has it grown there since? Just a warning for future reference. Never be like me and take things for granted. All this forest around me and I’ve never really paid attention to it. I doubt there are forests like this anywhere you go in the world. I know for a fact there are no forests like this on Sanibel Island. Or in Medicine Hat. Could I describe it to someone in those places? Yeah, it’s green, the trees are tall and there are slugs ten feet long on the paths. Big deal. That doesn’t say anything about the way the tree trunks are so thick, your whole class could stand in a ring around them and still not be able to hold hands. Or about the way the rain rolls from the big floppy leaves onto your head after a storm until you’re soaked through to the skin. Or howthe smell of cedar warms you as the sun stretches its long rays through the Douglas fir to dry out the ground. My point is, it’s important to remember details. Of course, if I were Emily Carr, I could just paint it. No words would be needed then.
    I know what you’re thinking. Why are you going on like that when your mother jumped off the suspension bridge? Sometimes I wonder that myself. But I don’t really have a choice, do I? And of course, more importantly to you, you’re wondering why she did it. Can’t answer that one either. My dad tried to explain that it had something to do with the way she felt after we lost April. I’ve always wanted to ask him more, but every time I try to, I can see he might just about fall apart. I know he tries real hard to be strong for me. So I don’t want to be the one to push and make him crack. He’s got to feel he’s a support to someone in his life. The school counselor, Mrs. Dalrymple, told me basically the same thing about Mom. She was very, very depressed. But I, for one, can only think that for some reason her common sense didn’t kick in that day. She must have felt good, invincible up on that bridge, hundreds of feet above the pool. Like she could fly with the peregrine falcons. And I guess that old flight of fancy just won out.

TWO
    This is just so unreal I can’t believe it. Guess who’s teaching us social dance? Mr. Bartell! Ms. Turner, our regular gym teacher, says he puts her to shame. That next to him, she looks like Mr. Bean on the dance floor. So, lucky us, he’s offered to take the dance unit. Well, I know I, for one, am ecstatic.
    The man is multitalented. He can quote Robert Frost one minute and do the tango the next. I