The cool, crisp February morning air filled my lungs.
I sat alone as an every morning ritual on the same hickory bench on my
porch as I guzzled down my second cup of tea, overlooking the beautiful
vastness of the Pacific, it’s a cloudy day, nothing unusual in
Australia, the fog even was coming up over the cliff which gave it sort of an eerie feeling. A forty-five minute drive from Sydney is the way I like it. Away from it all. I don’t bother no one, no one bothers me. I had a wife, married happily for forty-six years. She died about twelve years back because of lung cancer. I quit smoking because of that. Being eighty-three, there’s no time for finding a wife, so I try to be happy with what I have. I spent fifteen years in the Navy and it’s nothing like you see on television, we got drunk, played pranks on each other and sat around with too much down time. I’ve spent a quarter of my life on the water, so being surrounded by it is where I find my peace of mind and it’s all I need to live out the rest of my days. I have no neighbors, but I get the occasional car passing through to get to the next town. Maybe they’ll even stop to check out the view, but it don’t bug me. I go into the city about once a week for groceries, but I go to Martha’s Café every morning, it’s local and not many people eat there.





“The usual, Donnie?” asked Martha, I gave a nod and buried my face into the paper like a mole, reading an article about a new construction project in Sydney. What a waste of money. Three sunny-sides up eggs, two pieces of rye toast, four strips of bacon, hash browns with a little hot sauce and black tea was my usual. She waddled over with my food, and I thanked her. Martha was fat, a big obese pig, I’m not going to sugar coat it, but a nice lady. Her accent is so thick; it’s even hard for me to understand her sometimes. She probably knows me better than anyone, which don’t mean much, since I don’t know many people. I’ve been coming here for the past twelve years, ever since Karen died. I stared at the yellow yolk of my eggs, like three little suns. I drank my first cup of tea before even poking at my food. I stabbed at the yolk, watching it ooze out like popping a pimple and scooped it onto my toast. I looked out the window, watching two black crows fight over a tiny piece of trash in the parking lot. For my enjoyment, I wanted to keep the battle royal going, so I tossed a fork full of hash browns at the birds, they didn’t even fight over it, just took as much as both their mouths could hold, and flew away, I was disappointed to say the least. I paid for my meal, gave Martha a kiss on the cheek and drove home at about 11:25 in the morning.



I don’t do much around the house. I like tending to my garden in the back yard to kill time; I’m in pretty decent shape for an eighty-three year old. I used to be able to carry two kegs of beer down three flights of stairs back in the Navy, when we were finished with them I’d carry the empties up the stairs drunk. Hell, maybe I still can, I just haven’t tried in a while. Today was a gloomy day and you couldn’t see the sky at all, just a bunch of big grey clouds. The wind had to be blowing 20 miles an hour off of the cliff side. I went back into the house and plopped on the couch, watching the News drinking what had to be my tenth cup of tea of the day. I drink a lot of tea. I sat watching television for a good two hours and slowly dozed off.



A loud noise startled me awake, what seemed like a car’s horn, but it certainly wasn’t mine. I shuffled over to the window by my front door to see a navy blue Monte Carlo parked across my house next to the tree twenty yards from the cliff. People drive on my road all the time, and I assumed the view of the cliff side caught their attention. I curiously watched this car for about twenty-five minutes, convinced there was nobody in it, until the door cracked open, I could see an arm and a black dress. It had to be a woman. At this point it was about 5 or 6 in the evening, she was still sitting in the driver seat with the door open. I walked outside on my porch and sat on my old hickory bench with a glass of tea, but she didn’t notice me. She got up out of her car, and stood there. She was gorgeous, black-hair and about late twenties or early thirties and very short. She walked closer to the cliff and stopped about ten feet from it, and sat down, at this point I was very curious. Making note of everything she was doing, wearing and holding. I could see her shoulders bouncing up and down, as if she was laughing, but I couldn’t tell. All I had on was a bath robe and slippers. After mustering up the courage, I walked over to her.



She was crying that much I could figure out. Oh, how I hated the sound of a woman crying, it made me feel uneasy. I was still unnoticed, “What are you doing?” I startled her, and she about jumped out of her skin. I wasn’t too good at initiating conversation. She was silent, but I knew she heard me, I asked again anyway. She looked at me. Her eyes were big and deep brown, glossy and bloodshot from crying, she had mascara or something dripping down her chin. But still remained silent. A note was on her lap, from what I saw it said, “To whom it may concern…” A jumper, second one this year. I knew she knew I saw it, I saw her follow my eyes. She threw it under her thigh in a sad attempt to hide it. I could tell she wasn’t sold on the whole idea of jumping, if she were she wouldn’t have hid the note.

I played it off like I didn’t see it, and took a seat beside her, crushing the grass beneath my robe. “Pretty, huh?” I asked looking into the abyss of cliff.

“Mmhmm…” She sounded like a church mouse, hugging her knees and choking back the tears, “It’s beautiful”. I just ignored the crying and continued with my bluff, “So, you’re a writer?” I asked pointing to a corner of the note under her thigh. She looked down at it and fell silent again and continued for about ten minutes. The silence was so loud; I could almost feel it pounding on my chest. I looked back at the house debating whether or not to brew some tea for her, but there ain’t no way in hell I’d let her leave my sight, I wasn’t losing another person off my cliff, not today. “How old are you, sweetheart?” I asked her, shattering the silence. She looked at me with her big brown eyes as if she were peering into my soul. I quickly broke eye contact. Something was troubling this young girl; I could tell by the way she looked at me, I had no interest figuring out what it was though. “Twenty-nine”, she told me. I offered my handkerchief but she refused. “You know, if you’re going to jump...” I paused, and watched her hair get blown around by a big gust of wind, “I ain’t stoppin’ you.” I continued, “You ain’t the first.” She shifted the way she was sitting, so she was now facing me. “And what’s it matter to you?” she asked powerfully.

“Not s***,” I told her, “I’ve seen people jump; I even tried my best to make them change their mind. But some people are just so fed up with life, love or their jobs that nothin’ could possibly change their mind, and they jump. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

It went quiet again. She cleared her throat. “What makes you think I wouldn’t jump?”

“Well, the fact that you’re actually talking makes it obvious.” I answered, “I used to tackle and hold down the jumpers, yell to my wife to call the police, but I’m an old man. I can’t do that anymore.” She turned back toward the cliff, looking off into the distance. The wind was picking up, and it was getting cold.

“I’ve never really had anyone to talk to.” She told me, holding back tears. It was exactly as I predicted, she was a troubled young girl who had nobody to fall back on. Similar story of the suicidal people I’ve came across.

“That ain’t a reason to end it, darlin’,” I replied, “You’re twenty-nine. You’re just getting started.” She probably didn’t want to hear this from an old man she’s never met before, but I had to rely on my words to keep her from jumping.

“Why not let me jump, mister?” She questioned me. I put my hand on her shoulder, after a moment of thinking I responded, “I’m not going to be here for much longer, for me to save a life to take place of mine would let me die happy.” I answered. She mumbled something quietly, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

“Huh?” I asked. She cleared her throat and repeated, “Are you an angel?” I wasn’t expecting that one, not at all. I’m not religious by any means. I’ve done some things I’m not too proud of in my life, I’ve sinned more than done any good. I’m the go-to-church-once-a-year type for Christmas and Easter. I just changed the subject as fast as I could, “It’s getting cold, let’s go in and have some tea, eh?” I stood up, and reached out the help her up. She looked at the paper, and let the wind sweep it off the cliff, into the Pacific. We walked back to my house, and brewed some tea.

She walked out of my house and toward her car, she looked back and blew me a kiss and waved as she climbed into her car, and drove off into Sydney. I watched her drive off as long as I could until the fog consumed the taillights and walked back inside, and brewed some more tea.