Falling

“Stop messing around. Get up here!”

“I can’t… reach… help me…”

My best friend’s strained voice trailed off as he dangled. The tree limb looked sturdy, but now that he was hanging there, it was obviously far too flimsy to hold a 17-year-old boy. The tendons in his right forearm stood out with the strain of holding his frame for the last several minutes. He swayed back and forth in the breeze that played with the leaves hiding us high in the treetop.

“You’re scaring me, damn it! I said stop!”

His left arm flailed as he tried to reach for the limb and haul himself up, and I could hear the abbreviated breaths of effort he was putting into reaching for safety. There was a sharp grunt of surprise when his last attempt fell short. Genuine fear blossomed in my chest and slicked my palms with moisture. I realized he may not be kidding this time. My heart pounded so hard that black swirls and bright spots danced across the panicked face below me.

I stretched out and braced my feet, preparing to make a grab for him. The rough bark of the oak cut into the bare stretch of skin on the undersides of my arms. A knot poked into my stomach and my breath puffed out of my lungs in time with my pounding heart. I wrapped my arm around the branch and moved my right hand out to catch his left. My foot slipped and for one dreadful moment I saw myself tumbling down, but the image of him falling was worse. Catching my balance, I refocused on the fingers straining to reach mine. I glanced into his green eyes once more before I stretched out again, but the panic I expected wasn’t there. I froze mid-movement. It was too late.

I watched with consternation as he grasped the branch with his left hand and swung his feet up with little effort. In mere moments, he was more secure in the tree than I. My terror from seconds before gave way to confusion. What had just happened? Wait, he was kidding? This was a joke? Did he see my slip? What…?

He leaned close and clasped my shoulder, “Are you okay?”

I stared at him with bewilderment for a heartbeat before a wave of fury overtook my profound relief at seeing him safe. Nothing could stop the torrent of feelings tightening my throat and constricting my chest. A long minute passed as I spluttered nonsense at him. His expression went from worried to amused and back again in the time it took for me to form a sentence.

“You. Are. An. Asshole!”

I punctuated each word with a sharp jab of my index finger into his shoulder. He grabbed my hand to avoid further assault and tried to quell his laughter.

“It’s why you love me!”

I made a sound somewhere between agreement and outrage and aborted the attack. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. It took a few seconds before I noticed his warm hand still grasping mine. Self-consciously, I stuck my tongue out at him and pulled away.

“Whatever. What now? I’m way too wound up for Great Expectations.”

We were quiet for a few minutes while our tumbling thoughts relaxed. I was securely wedged in between two thick branches, and he was sprawled out on the thickest he could find. I considered how we might spend the next few hours until he broke the silence with a chuckle.

“I have an idea.”

He didn’t continue, just looked at me in a manner that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Well?” I prompted. “What is it?”

He grinned, and with a wicked look in his eye, asked, “Truth, or dare?”

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