After a Cliff, a Chasm
F AYE STANDS at the edge of the cliff, looking into the fast-rushing current of the Cosumnes River. Water speeds past, rippling blue with occasional whitecaps. She contemplates jumping.
“Well,” says the boy behind her, “do it or don’t.”
The boy is sandy-blond. He might be twelve. The kids that stand behind him, shuffling feet and crackling fallen leaves, are waiting for her to take flight so they can fill the space she currently occupies with their own concerns and then leap away. The boy’s face has a circular construction that makes Faye think of whorls on the tip of a finger. He is thick-chested but slim, hips cocked in the way of boys who’ve never met opposition. There are eight kids in line, including him. It doesn’t take any great leap to imagine that curling twist of a face will grow gorgeous by fifteen, smiling from some field playing quarterback or point guard, on the ski team or running track. He’s shirtless, and the young muscles on his chest are already defined, rolling smoothly from shoulder to hip. It is raining. It has been raining for a while, long enough to make this a viable swimming spot again as it hasn’t been through most of the year and far into last winter, deep enough for diving even if the sign
