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Iron and Nickle
I
Allison stood on the ledge and stared out at the abyss. More than three thousand feet below her, the
trickling remains of a once great river flowed. As dirt and dust swirled about her, she wondered how
long it would take to reach the bottom. How soon until she reached terminal velocity? Would she black
out before impact? Will she feel the crush of her organs against her snapping spine? Could the fall
be euphoric?
She leaned forward, but just for a moment. Not yet. She thought, soon. She wiped the sweat from her
face and turned her gaze skyward. Against a sheet of endless blue, a pair of hawks rode the thermals.
Behind her, distant voices murmured. Allison was unsure whether they were present, perhaps hikers in
the woods, or worse, the lost life-songs of her sister Theresa. Allison sighed. The relentless memory
stalked her. With particle wave certainty, Allison knew this was the answer. She had always known,
but only now she had come to the ledge.
Allison closed her eyes. She thought it would be easier to take the last step: “It is fitting. I
end it here, Theresa,” she whispered. “Come on Allie. One tiny step forward. Just take one deep
breath…”
Instead, she lingered on the ledge for more than an hour. As the seconds merged into unbearable
minutes, her resolve weakened: Why can’t I do this? She considered her favorite Shakespeare line:
‘There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.’
*
She finally jumped, but not out of courage or a final act of defiance to all she had suffered.
She jumped after she discovered a group of teenage boys had been watching her. She realized
she could not suffer the embarrassment of walking away in front of these strangers. So,
she silently acknowledged the absurdity of her rational, smiled and waved at the boys
and dropped over the edge.
*
The weightlessness surprised her, and the silence. She thought she would hear the rushing wind
or her own screams. She heard nothing. She fell slowly, watching with amazement as the ground
receded from her and a sprawling array of clouds formed, their edges painted with transparent
images; each illuminated by a light from an internal source. Each image, familiar and haunting,
embraced her like a gentle spray. She fell through the softness of her first kiss; the despair
of her first heartbreak; the pain of giving birth; the terror of watching her parent’s marriage
crumble. She fell through the sadness of growing older and more alone as her son drifted away.
As she passed through each memory, she reached out to touch those she had loved, but each time
her hand slipped through them, catching only the emptiness the passing of time creates.
*
She fell until it seemed as if she were going to fall forever. When is it going to end? She wondered.
She had grown restless falling, even bored as each memory became less meaningful and more trivial.
At times she wondered if she had hit the earth and this was her brain fighting the inevitable death
of her physical self; but without the proverbial white light, only memories.
II
Finally the ground emerged, distant but certain. At last she could get on with the task of dying.
She stretched out her arms like a majestic swan and searched for the river; however, instead of the
river, she saw stark brown hills bleeding out to the horizons and a massive hole in the earth.
III
Allison stood at the crater’s rim holding her sister’s hand. Allison felt the long missed warmth
of Theresa’s unconditional love and never-ending need for companionship. Allison breathed a sigh
of despair: She had fallen to the memory she had spent the past 52 years escaping.
Theresa pulled her hand: “Wait here with me, Ali. Look at how far down it is.”
Allison looked out over the crater and herself. Unlike previous memories, she was both
a participant and observer. Allison recalled how she and her family had visited Meteor
Crater National Landmark on a six-week car trip out West when she was 14 and Theresa was nine.
They had spent the morning inside the visitor center touring exhibits, attending lectures
and watching videos. Allison remembered begging her parents to take the one-mile tour of the rim.
Her parents hesitated, always protective of Theresa’s fragile health. “I’ll watch Theresa,”
Allison told her parents.
Allison, her family, and a group of 30 tourists followed the young guide, a student from
Northern Arizona University, around the 600 feet deep crater. The guide explained how
50,000 years ago a meteorite had smashed into the earth—leaving deposits of iron and
nickel. Allison had noticed the guide in the center. He was tall and blonde with beautiful
blue eyes. “We can’t stop, Theresa. Mom will worry or make us go back.” Allison said, remembering
she had said the same a half century ago. Still, she tightened her grip on Theresa’s hand and pulled
her sister along.
Thin and asthmatic, Theresa struggled to keep up with Allie. With every step, Theresa’s breathing sounded
like a ship whose hull was breaking apart from stress. Theresa followed faithfully. She never left Allison’s
side. Little sisters are such a pain. Allison thought, just as she had so long ago. Allison slowed the pace and
glanced back at her sister. Is it possible to change a memory? Is this the reason I have fallen to this timeless place?
Theresa tugged hard and stopped. “Please, Allie. I’m tired. Let’s wait for everyone to come back.”
“Come on. I told mom I’d watch you.”
“Just stay, for a minute. One minute.”
“Christ,” Allison said and tore her hand away from Theresa’s.
Theresa stumbled back a step, and then fell.
Allison stepped toward her sister, but Theresa crossed her arms and faced downward.
“I know why you’re in such in hurry, Allie. You’re so obvious.”
Allison looked toward her parents who were near the front of the group. “Fine, Theresa,
just fine. Stay here for all I care. But, you better not let mom see you sitting like
a toad on a stump.”
Allison watched her young self sprint past her parents to the front of the group. She
recalled the desperation in her gait as she ran to catch up with the handsome guide and
the exhilaration of seeing the young man notice her approach. Her mother turned around
and looked to where Allison was supposed to be watching Theresa. Suddenly Allison felt
a familiar chill rising deep within her gut. She spun toward the rim.
Arms waving, eyes wide, Theresa teetered at the edge: her balance gone, gravity betraying her.
Allison reached out to grab her; perhaps, she had come to this forsaken place for a reason.
Perhaps she could transcend the boundaries of time and memory and save her sister; but her
hands passed through Theresa. Allison watched Theresa slip off the edge. Theresa plummeted
hundreds of feet and then crashed onto a small rocky outcrop, her slender body clearly breaking
as it tumbled to a stop.
Allison turned to see the group rushing toward the edge, her father and mother leading the way.
Behind the crowd, Allison stood, arms out, alone, and confused. Allison watched herself slowly
walk back to the ledge. With each step a shattering awareness crept into her face. “It was an
accident,” Allison shouted, but the young girl did not hear her.
Then the earth slipped away, and Allison resumed her fall. She fell into the starkness of a
vast empty sky, save for one memory. She fell toward a desert floor where a crater more than
600 feet deep and a half-mile wide awaited her.
Frank Sikora is a graphic artist and writer for an
aerospace company in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Email: Frank Sikora
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