A Walk Along the Edge

Ross shuffled towards the edge with leaden feet, knowing he wouldn’t jump, but just as sure he could fall. It was possible. Crisp air cut into his face, burning his skin, penetrating his beanie with its violence. He shivered, took a deep breath, stepped a little closer.

The vista before him was breathtaking and frightening. A deep, green valley thick with eucalypts spread to the base of the opposite peak, climbed its formidable slope. To the left, the lush carpet snaked its way to the distance, while to the right it was imprisoned by a sheer basalt wall. Down in amongst the trees, invisible bushwalkers laboured along well-worn tracks, exploring the imposing solitude of the Jamison Valley.

Trembling, Ross stepped a little closer to the edge. Aware of his feet, their weight and their reluctance, he stood and wondered. Weak willed sunshine bathed him but was unable to overcome the biting cold. His body likewise struggled to obey the directive of Ross’ troubled mind. One step closer from being further away.

He’d been here many times before, holidaying at Katoomba, Leura, Blackheath, and further still into the wilderness of Oberon. Growing up and living on the coast, the majesty of the Great Dividing Range was mysterious and alien. He visited again and again, compelled, seduced by the landscape, but never wanting to stay. Perhaps it was the sense of otherness. Maybe it was the unwelcoming chill of winter or it might simply have been too far away from his life, too distant from the familiarity of people and place.

The wind picked up, growing spiteful, buffeting Ross as he stood staring at the emptiness, feeling its despair, hearing its desperately lonely cry.

‘Be careful,’ called a mother’s voice from behind him.

He didn’t want to turn, to show the half-frozen tears on his cheeks or to see the other’s caring eyes. He was disconnecting; pulling away from belonging, from community because it hurt, and he needed it to stop. Choosing to ignore her warning, Ross took another small step toward the edge. He looked down briefly, saw that he was still three metres from the precipice, felt perfectly safe and strangely calm.

‘Wanna take a walk along the edge with me,’ she said, persisting through his determined deafness. ‘It might be less dangerous.’

It might be less dangerous. Was that a good thing? Was that what he wanted? His right foot moved forward, but not enough to be called a step. His legs were tree trunks.

‘My name’s Billie,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’

The magic of Ross’ long moment of painful contemplation, of reaching for the courage to allow the abyss to heal his pain, was dispelled by his dogged would-be interlocutor. Would she leave if he continued to ignore her?

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Walk with me. It won’t hurt.’

It won’t hurt. That’s what the nurse said before stabbing him with the needle. What the dentist said before forcing his hands inside his mouth. What his stepfather said when he entered Ross’s room after everyone else had gone to sleep. It always hurt though, and he was sick of it. Sick of saying yes, then suffering for it. Sick of the lie. Disgusted by it.

He started when she touched his arm, but his feet being nailed to the floor saved him from a premature leap into oblivion. He pulled his arm free of her gentle grip.

‘It’s okay,’ said Billie. ‘I’ll leave you alone if you want, but it’s not going to hurt you to talk to me for a while. I get it you know. I understand the pain.’

I understand the pain. That’s what the counsellor kept saying every time Ross sat in her room, trying to express his feelings, succeeding only in excruciating increments of honesty. No one really understood. Finally, Ross looked at the girl, saw that despite her maternal tone, she was a young woman, probably not much older than himself. There was something in her eyes, a hard to define quality of light, which thawed his resolve to have nothing to do with her. He’d decided on this trip that he would no longer have anything to do with anyone. He was done. But Billie’s confident serenity began to erode his determination.

‘You’ve decided to give up,’ she said, taking hold of his arm again. She pulled it slightly, almost accidentally. ‘It’s not worth it, is it? It’s just too hard.’

Ross held his tongue, although Billie’s words resonated, stirred something within his soul. While he wondered what to say to her, he allowed her to lead him away. It happened without his permission or knowledge. One minute he was rooted to the spot, fixed in his intention to ignore her, the next he was walking along the edge with her.

‘Tell me your name,’ she said, as she put her arm through his and they walked as lovers do, with Ross closest to the rim of the valley.

When he tried to tell Billie his name, his tongue stuck to the bottom of his mouth, produced an indecipherable sound. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and tried again.

‘Ross.’

‘Do you know the story of the Three Sisters?’ said Billie, as though she was a tour guide and he a tourist.

Ross shook his head, although of course he knew it. Every visitor to the Blue Mountain’s most iconic natural feature had read or been told the Gundungurra legend.

‘When Tyawan the witch doctor went hunting with his three daughters, Meenhi, Wimlah and Gunnedoo, they had to pass by a deep, dark hole where a fearsome bunyip lived. To protect his daughters, he always left them behind a rock wall on a cliff. One day a huge centipede crawled near, frightening them. Meenhi threw a rock at it, but the rock went down the hole and hit the bunyip, making him very angry. Tyawan saw the bunyip emerging from the hole to attack his daughters, so he used his magic bone to turn them into stones. The enraged bunyip then went after Tyawan who turned himself into a lyrebird to escape. Sadly, Tyawan lost his wishbone and therefore couldn’t turn himself or his daughters back to human form.’

‘And it is said that when you hear the lyre bird around the rocks, it is Tyawan still searching for the wishbone,’ said Ross, completing the story.

‘You do know it!’ said Billie. She laughed, the sound striking Ross’ ears like the chuckle of water through a small rapid of stones.

‘I’m amazed you remember the names of the daughters,’ said Ross.

‘I am Gundungurra people.’

Ross smiled. ‘That explains it.’

‘What are you doing here, Ross? Were you really going to jump off the edge?’

Was he? He’d been thinking about killing himself for months, obsessing, planning his death inside his shrinking world. He’d mentioned it to the counsellor who encouraged him to talk about it. That’s how they worked. Tell me about that. What do you mean? Why do you feel that way? Ross left every session with his counsellor disappointed that she gave him nothing but the opportunity to talk. He did all the hard work. She got paid to ask him questions he couldn’t answer, while he became increasingly depressed. Eventually, he couldn’t find the energy to even get out of bed most days, let alone get himself any more alleged assistance.

Billie waited patiently for his answer, as they walked toward the Three Sisters. To continue they had to climb back over the safety barrier, head towards the visitor information centre and pick up the path which led to the lookout and the intimidating staircase which wound around the Three Sisters down to the floor of the valley.

‘I was getting there,’ said Ross finally.

‘I know. I was watching you.’

‘For how long?’ said Ross as he helped Billie over the railing. She was willowy and light, yet Ross could feel strength in her grip, and focus in her mind.

‘Long enough to see that a snail could have beaten you to the edge.’

Ross laughed, accepting the good-natured ridicule. ‘I thought if I inched closer, I might accidentally fall.’

‘Right,’ said Billie.

They passed the visitor centre, started down the path toward the Sisters with Billie taking hold of Ross’ hand. She gave it a soft squeeze. He looked at her. She smiled at him.

‘Do you live around here Billie?’

‘Something like that.’

Ross frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

A wistful look fell across Billie’s countenance. ‘I’m Gundungurra people. I’m from around here.’

It was an evasive answer, but Ross didn’t want to push her. The clouds in his mind had lifted with her arrival at the edge: her words, her soothing, compassionate tone brought sunshine into his life. Although she was a stranger, he felt as though he knew her and that she knew him. There was a connection between them, a sense of belonging, a mutual need fulfilled. He didn’t want to rock the boat and risk losing her.

‘Who hurt you Ross?’

‘My stepfather,’ he said, feeling Billie squeeze his hand again, harder this time. Encouraged to say more, Ross opened his mouth but could only muster a word. ‘He…’

‘You don’t need to tell me the details Ross.’

‘I want to.’

Billie stopped walking, turned to face him. ‘I don’t want you to. I don’t need to hear that.’

He looked into her large brown eyes, saw some shadows, watched them change slowly, with difficulty, into tears. She wiped her eyes with her free hand, tried to smile, but she looked sad now. He understood. Billie understood him.

‘Sorry Billie,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

The sudden embrace took him off guard, so he wasn’t immediately able to respond. As she pressed her face into his chest, his arms found their way around her, holding her tight, feeling her tremors of grief. ‘It’s okay,’ she mumbled into his shirt. ‘It’s okay.’

Time stood still and Ross wanted it to. He wanted to stay frozen in the beautiful moment, being needed, being understood, being accepted. Billie felt fragile in his arms, thinner and somehow less substantial as the minutes passed. Eventually, she broke away from the embrace, wiped her face furiously with her shirt sleeve.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said softly.

Ross reached out to place his hand against her cheek, felt the wet sorrow. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Your stepfather hurt you,’ said Billie. ‘Hurt your body, but worse than that he betrayed you. Broke your trust. That’s a deep wound.’ She touched her chest, drumming her fingers over her heart, mimicking its beat. ‘But you’re still alive, Ross. You’re still alive.’

They began walking again, hand in hand as before. Ross pondered Billie’s words to which she added no more.

‘Will you do me a favour, Ross?’

He nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘Come back and see me again. It’s been great hanging out. Promise me you’ll come back.’

Was she asking him to go? Was she saying goodbye? The bubble in which he and Billie had existed since she touched him at the edge of the cliff had protected him, saved him. Billie had saved him, at least from an accidental death. Where had she come from? Why was she there? These rude questions threatened the sanctity of the bubble.

‘Promise me,’ she said. ‘Okay?’

‘I promise.’

Billie smiled, seemingly recovered, but a strange vacancy appeared in her eyes. ‘Go home now Ross,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you next time. Remember your promise.’ She let go of his hand, gestured for him to leave, with a slight uplift of her chin.

On impulse, although it struck him as quite natural in the circumstances, he kissed her lips. ‘See you next time Billie of the Gundungurra people.’

She smiled, waved to Ross as he turned. His feet shod in concrete shoes, heavy and reluctant once more, he trudged away. After a few steps, he turned back, but Billie was gone.