Page 71 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
Was this how Mikey hurt himself before? Those cuts had faded, but he still had scars.
Hoodie number four executed a sort of forward back flip.
“Nice gainer,” one of them yelled out, taking me out of my thoughts.
“That’s so crazy,” I whispered. “But it’s beautiful.”
Focused, careful, and yet completely reckless, they quickly leapt into the air, showing off for each other, doing trick moves. The charismatic smiles were like “Look ma, no hands,” made for YouTube.
“Jessica, you gonna try it girl?” asked Dean.
“No. I’d get hurt.”
He smiled. “Of course you’d get hurt. We all get hurt.”
“Just jumping off of a planter would stress out my ankles.”
“No worries, girl.” Then he set down the camera and did a backflip, ass over teakettle, landing like a prowling animal about to pounce, knees bent. I thought he was going to do a front flip, but he just smiled at me and said, “Maybe you’ll learn to get your feet off the ground, soon, though. Mikey is good at that.”
“You called?” Mikey loped over.
“Your girl wants to try parkour.”
“No, I don’t,” I protested, while I loved being called Mikey’s girl.
Mikey smiled. “I wanna show you something. C’mon, baby.”
He pulled me by the hand over to one of the squared-off concrete buildings, and opened up a backdoor that led to a stairwell.
After we climbed up five flights of stairs, we came to a door marked “Roof Access.” While my fitness had improved, I still wondered whether I’d ever be able to go up stairs without having a heart attack.
We pressed open the door and stepped out to the flat roof. Our cars sat snug below in little pools of light in the parking lot. His friends were visible, teetering on stair rails, laughing, cheering for each other.
With a nimble move, he climbed up a waist-high wall that lined the entire rooftop. Then he reached down and gestured to help me up.
I shook my head.
“C’mon baby. I want you to see what it’s like.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not gonna make you, but I think you should feel my world. After this, I want you to show me your world. We’re gonna have to hang out with your friends on State Street sometime.”
“Yeah, we’ll do that.”
With a deep breath, knowing that I was absolutely insane, I accepted his hand as he helped me scramble up on the narrow ledge of the building. We had enough room to walk past each other, but because it was so high, my heart beat faster than it had during the five-story journey up the stairs.
“It’s about balance. Life on the edge.” And while my heart rate accelerated into my eardrums, he carefully placed his hands on the concrete ledge and executed a perfect handstand.
It was scary enough for me to just stand on the edge.
Suspended like that, with one error, he could topple over the side and fall down. His muscles counteracted each other, reacting to keep him balanced, poised. On the cusp.
Then, with a graceful bend, he let his feet come back to the ground, and came over to me.
Standing behind me, with his arms wrapped around my waist and his chin on my shoulder, we looked out at the dark night together.
I passed eucalyptus trees on my way to the therapist. They’re not native to California, they’re from Australia. But they’re part of the landscape. They’re new. But they belong now.
