Short Story Contest 2020 — Student Winner

Catiyana Adam

“Still Water”

Under the beaming July sun, we clambered up mossy rocks and pine-covered earth. The steep incline left us gasping for breath, as with each step, we climbed farther up the peninsula. The water glittered below us, laughing at our plight and tantalising us with the prospect of its cool embrace.

As we reached the summit, the sun crested the trees, blinding us for the briefest second. The view below was breathtaking. Swaths of deep blue water, like ultramarine velvet, rippled out before us. Small islands dotted the lake, sprouts of green and brown in an otherwise cerulean desert.

Taking deep breaths, I centred myself with the cool scent of the lake breeze. The height of the cliff was disarming, making me almost dizzy as I watched leaves break free from trees and twirl blithely to their death.

It had been a quiet summer. The threat of coronavirus hung over our heads like rain clouds dampening a hilly landscape. Shouts from children playing in splash pads were stifled by restrictions. Parks, barbeques, and community centres all lay vacant, and adventure seemed far from our grasp. There was a stillness to the world; a sense of unease, mistrust, and waiting.

I was brought back to the present by the scraping of rock against rock. Finn was dragging a cement block across the rocky terrain towards the edge of the cliff. “I just want to see how long it takes to hit the water,” he said.

Lifting it just above his chest, he hurled the block over the side of the cliff. It remained in the air for 2… 3… 4 seconds before we heard the splash of it hitting the water. “Woah,” the two of us whispered in unison. “That was a long time.”

“Well, I’m certainly not jumping,” declared Ariana with her arms crossed. Finn and I looked apprehensively at each other. “You can go first,” I offered

I felt Fear grip in my chest as I watched him peer over the cliff face. My shoulders were clenched and my fingers tight. With my knuckles white and lips pursed closed, I knew there was no way I was going over that cliff.

Suddenly, the breeze kicked up and extended her touch to my face and hair. I felt my clothes ripple under her caress and strands of my hair danced around my face. Hints of pine and moss reached my senses and I felt my fingers unfurl ever so slightly. When the breeze stopped, the stillness of its absence steadied me.

As I watched Finn carefully consider his jump, I pondered the nature of my fear. It wasn’t an unknown Fear, that which had gripped me so tightly before, but it was still a fear of the Unknown. I had known this Fear many times in my life; in the waiting for my parents to come home at the age of 10, in the anxiety of leaving home to go to university, and most recently, in the coronavirus crisis. Each time, a vast possibility of alternate endings had lain before me. Would my parents come home? Would they get into a car crash and never return? Would I find friends, a degree, a job? Would life ever return to normal?

Then, Fear had held me triumphantly in its grasp, sending questions racing through my head, and visions of alternate realities parading through my mind. Now, it went to work again, with thoughts pouring relentlessly from the recesses of my mind. What if the cliff was too tall and I made a weird landing? What if the water wasn’t deep enough and Finn and I ended up splattered against the surface? What if sharp rocks awaited us in the murky waters, hungry for a bitter end to an innocent summer expedition?

Soon, Fear had my stomach in knots and my feet firmly planted in the silty earth. I glanced over at Finn and saw Fear’s shadow in his eyes too. The water, before so sparkling and welcoming, now seemed a sharp, sapphire treachery. The breeze had left us, and silence had engulfed our group. We were wrapped in stillness once more.

“Okay… I’m gonna do it,” Finn said, with resolve.

He inched closer to the cliff. I saw his feet shuffling back and forth, and body rocking as he bargained with himself. Fears no doubt screamed at him with unrelenting intensity, while Resolve, ever patient, firmly rebutted. I watched this internal debate apprehensively, my own inner voices jumping in at times. As the seconds passed, it seemed to be a hopeless battle, when suddenly, Resolve took over, and Finn leapt into the air.

I watched his still body fly through the air, his expression, no doubt, terrified. The moments seemed like hours as I watched his body grow closer to the water. 1…2…3… He hit the water with a splash and disappeared for a second or two before resurfacing.

“Whew,” he said, “it’s cold.”

The Joy and relief at seeing my friend, 1) not dead, and 2) genuinely happy, overcame my apprehension for a second. Refreshed and revitalised, Finn seemed changed by the water’s cool touch. He laughed and began to swim back towards shore.

It was my turn now. In the excitement of watching Finn jump, I had let my guard down, and Fear had grown. Once, a black ball in the pit of my stomach, it now writhed and spread, taking over my arms, legs, and mind. A dark dread filled my entire body, coercing me slowly away from the edge.

I wanted to be anywhere else. Through my racing thoughts, I was reminded of our plans this summer. Our favourite band was playing an outdoor concert right here in Hamilton. We had been excited to cheer along thousands of others, but it had been called off months before. There, deep in our hearts, lay songs we knew wouldn’t see the light.

We also had planned a rousing, roaring road trip to the West Coast. Days of driving through endless expanses, greeted by mountains, forests, and ocean was supposed to be our reality. So different from the monotony of summers previous, It was a move forward, a leap of faith, an act of Courage. I had been so ready to throw my caution to the wind and embark on an adventure unlike any before. Instead, here I found myself at the edge of a precipice, engulfed by Fear and unbelievably still.

And yet I was drawn to the sparkling water below. Like me, it was still, and yet ripples brushed its surface, reminders of its ambulant nature. The ripples intrigued me, stirring up a small dose of Courage. I found ripples of strength within myself, hints of Bravery, of Daring, and Excitement. Soon the ripples turned to waves and I found myself careening towards the edge.

With a cautious leap, I left the cliff. 1… I glanced below and nearly gasped… 2… I felt the wind rush past my ears… 3… a thousand Fears swirled in my head…4… I close my eyes tightly and then…

CRASH. I felt the cool touch of the water. She took me into her arms and for a second I wanted to fall into her embrace. Only then did I realise I was lost in the dark waters, unsure of which way was up. In the indigo-yellow waters, I saw bubbles struggling to reach the surface. I followed their lead into the gleaming sun.

I broke the surface, gasping for air, and looked up. My friends were cheering from the top of the cliff. I smiled and took a breath.

It was as if the world smiled at me. Welcome back, it said. The water giggled below my shoulders, giving me cool kisses and warm hugs. The sun shone brightly on my face, adorning my hair with a golden tint.

Suddenly, the road trips, thrills, and concerts I had planned for the summer, came back to me. The long trek I’d planned out West was no different from the drive, canoe ride, and hike to where I was now. The whistle of the wind on a rollercoaster could be found here, at the cliffs on a friend’s lake. The songs I had wanted so desperately to sing in a crowd were still deep in my heart. Music began in my head, and found its way to my throat. For a quiet moment, I hummed my favourite song.

Then the wind, so peaceful before, sent tiny shivers down my back, and shook me from my reverie. It reminded me I was still here, and still had an adventure to finish.

I kicked my way back to the edge of the cliff. The rocks were covered in green and slippery algae, so I took my time exiting the water. I trekked back up the rocky terrain, and reached the top out of breath. Ariana greeted me and pointed to a red trail on my leg, where I must have nicked myself getting out of the water.

I sat on the mossy rocks littered with pine needles and tried to catch my breath. As I did, I reflected on my jump. The stillness before my jump, the Fear that held me back. The stillness in the air on the way down, and the stillness of the water below.

I often of Fear is the poison that keeps you stuck, paralysed. Stillness is the antidote to that, the quiet contemplation of the present. It enriches you; calms the stormy mess of your mind, and propels you into the Unknown.

In an unbelievably quiet summer, it seemed impossible that the adventures I had planned out would ever come to anything. The world was still, adventure had to wait. Only it didn’t. Adventure found me in the stillness, in the quiet: cliff jumping at a friend’s house, gazing out at the rocky terrain, and in the depths of the water. Adventure would not pause, even when the world did.

As the sun began to sink towards the lake, we made our way back to the canoes who had lain patiently waiting (and secretly laughing) as we cliff jumped. We brushed away the light blanket of pine needles and began our commute home. It was a different kind of commute than the one I was used to; less mindless and more mindful, full of reflections on the day and plans for the future. As we paddled, I thought of the stillness that has marked our world these past few months. We don’t know how long this stillness will last. The world is indeed re-opening, in parts at a time. It’s a far cry from the hustle and bustle of pre-Covid times, but the quiet of quarantine is making way for the white noise of before.

As we approach the shore, we are greeted by warm sounds and friendly faces. The dock is filled with our friends and family, eagerly awaiting our tales of escapade. As a retell our story, I am struck by the chords of otherworldliness that lay hidden in my seemingly small adventure.

I still have a scar from that day. A small, white crescent moon lies permanently below my right knee, where I cut myself getting out of the water. It’s the small price for leaping into the Unknown, for discovering that courage that had lain dormant for so long. As the scar fades, so does my memory of that July day. A few years from now, I’m sure the details of the lake and cliffs will erode into a summer haze. And yet, the lessons I learned will remain with me for years to come. Bravery, courage, and excitement await me no matter where I am. In the meantime, I will have a permanent reminder of the day I learned to find Adventure in the Stillness.

Thank you to our judges of this writing contest:
Blair Hurley, writer and sessional instructor in our English department
Terri Favro, writer and alumna
Robyn Sidhu, poet and student