Member-only story
I Write About Dark Shit but I’m Secretly an Optimist
…who believes in kindness.
I climb the wet concrete stairs, forcing myself to look straight ahead. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. My hands are clamping onto the metal railing tightly, my teeth are shattering, my swimsuit clinging to me. I’m hoping there will be more stairs and more stairs but too soon I’m on the top platform, inching my way out onto the diving board. I get a peek of the light blue water beneath and forget to breathe. It’s too far. How is this possible? It doesn’t look that bad from down below. I mean, it looks bad, sure, but not like it does from up here. I’m definitely going to die if I jump.
I want to turn around but there are kids lining up behind me. I hear them climb up the stairs. They’re joking, bragging, egging each other on. They’re mostly teenage boys, older than me. I’m stuck on the board. Too scared to jump, too embarrassed to climb back down the stairs in shame, while everyone is laughing at me. I look down at the water again, scared that I will lose my balance and just tumble down, crashing into the water belly first. I’ve seen that happen to other kids. It’s not pretty. They say it feels like landing on glass shards.
I can’t do it. I turn back, but someone is blocking my way.
