The girl who took the plunge

I LEAN into his solid hug for the last time before he turns and saunters off down the departures lane, giving a cheery wave with one hand without a backwards glance. There's a spring in his step as he anticipates the prospect of new friends, new dreams and new ambitions at university. He doesn't concern himself with sentimental goodbyes, or fretting about homesickness; at least, that's how it seems to those left behind.

In the security of the dark car I squeeze my eyes shut and press my head miserably against the window. "No more being teased," I think, "no more joking around the dinner table, being taught how to juggle, and no more days like that day at Dickies Flat."

It was the beginning of the summer holidays, and we felt the headiness that comes from exams and school work being over for the year. David was introducing us to a waterhole he'd just discovered, excitedly taking me to a point high up the cliff where he and his mates liked to jump from. I scrambled up behind him, keen to impress him by rising to this challenge. After all, as he'd told me earlier, "No girl has ever jumped off this cliff."

Eventually we make it and I boldly stride forward to peer over the edge where, to my horror, I get my first, dizzying look over the side. "Cool, eh?" David grins, "reckon you'll do it?"

"Yeah, course! But, ah, why don't you show me how it's done," I reply.

"Well, the thing you've got to remember is you have to jump out far enough to clear those trees and so you don't hit the rocks at the bottom."

"Easy," I say, leaning back against the sheer cliff for support. He takes a great leap and is gone. I hear a distant splash. "Easy," I mutter to myself.

Summoning up my courage, I peer over the edge again and recoil, squeezing my eyes shut. Whatever was I thinking? A scrambling sound signals David's return. "C'mon, Erika, think how great you'll feel after you've done it. I'll be so proud of you."

After another interminable five minutes of this, I inwardly acknowledge that David is the master of persuasion. I briefly shut my eyes.

Taking a few quick steps, my body prepares itself for my imminent death, but at the last minute my mind refuses to co-operate and I hesitate, then stagger back and flatten myself against the cliff, my knees almost giving out.

"Don't worry about it," David sympathises, "but next time you can't think about it, you just have to do it." He jumps off the cliff, posing in midair as he falls, and although I'm impressed, I'm disgusted at my own inability to follow his example.

I lean back against the rock and close my eyes. If David wasn't so annoyingly enthusiastic about me doing this, I could have given up long ago. I muse that this is the first time in my life where I want and ache to do something, but my mind won't let me.

I don't think of strength as only a physical quality. I've always thought of strong people as those who resist peer pressure, stand up for what they believe in and who don't care about how the world views them. But at that moment, I added one more criterion to my list: those that can face an impossible-seeming task and triumph over it.

My eyes snap open. I take a deep breath to steel myself, then fling my body into the oblivion beyond. I'm falling, falling for an impossibly long time before the world is suddenly snuffed out as I plunge under the water.

A blanket of silence drapes heavily around my body before I kick out furiously and break the surface. David is cheering wildly and I can't help but grin in response. "I thought you'd never do it," Dad says, but David slaps me on the back and I get the impression he never entertained such an idea.

His high praise only serves to elate me further. And I am elated. I feel as though I can overcome any hurdle life throws my way.

As I watch the passing scenery from the security of our car, I realise that, although he is gone, David taught me something before he left, something that I hope will stay with me forever. To triumph over adversity, your mind and character must be strong, and you must have the courage to confront your challenges head on.

But you must never be too proud to allow someone else to help you take the first step. As for me, I'm reminded of this lesson every time I meet one of my brother's friends. David always introduces me as "the girl who jumped Dickies Flat".

Erika Burton, Year 12, Waikato Diocesan