The Jump by Bob Johnson

It was supposed to be a day of fun. The kind of day where a person could just be free to enjoy everything about it. An innocent day. One, just like many others that summer, where friends got together with a plan of adventure and exploring. It didn’t turn out that way. That day changed the lives of four young boys, four pals, forever.

March 1978

I sat in the cruiser writing out my report. I was disgusted, but was trying to be objective with my input. This was the third time this month I had to visit the McClellan residence. Alan and his buddies from the bar were again having a late night, or, I guess, early morning party. The music, as usual, was cranked up to an ear-splitting level. The neighbors once more complained about the shouting and sounds of glass breakage in the back patio. The elderly next door neighbors were almost apologetic in their call that rousted me out of my nice warm bed, but I reassured them they were doing the right thing.

My appearance at the door was all that was necessary to move the partiers quickly out the back door. I walked in a few steps and found the off button for the sound system The music was thankfully shut down and the scene was quiet.

“Dammit Alan, why don’t you cut this crap out. I’ll bet you don’t even know the names of the people who were tearing your place apart.” I said in a reasonably loud voice.

Alan McClellan, my close childhood friend, stood a few feet away swaying back and forth until he caught himself with one arm against the door jam. His eyes were not tracking or focusing, and I wondered if he even heard what I had said.

“Jack, why don’t you come in and have a drink?” was his slurred answer to my pointed question.

“I think there’s still a little bit of Jim Beam around here somewhere.” He added and began to look around the living room mess, tossing cups and empties as he went.

“Most of those kids weren’t even twenty-one. Look, you big dumb son of a bitch, you’d better start getting it together. I’d just as soon throw your sorry ass in jail as look at you.” I remarked.

“Ah, here it is.” He said as he reached under a pillow on the couch and held the almost empty bottle up in the air.

He hadn’t even heard me.

The big man, at least six feet five and close to three hundred pounds, fell back onto an easy chair with no grace or control. He looked up at me through rheumy eyes. He took a swig from the bottle, recapped the thing and tucked it between his legs.

“I’m sorry man. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He begged.

So, he had heard me.

“I was only going to have one drink at the tavern but I saw a face in the mirror behind me that looked like, like, oh, you know. It scared me.” He continued then started crying. The tears began to stream down his face.

“I thought he came back.” Alan said in a slow methodical cadence, but now quite a slur.

“Buddy, all that alcohol you’ve been drinking lately is messing with your mind. You need to take a break from the booze, I know it and you know it too.” I said as a friend.

“I know, I know, but.” Was all that came out of his mouth as his head lolled to the side.

Alan had never finished high school, in fact he had zero interest in education, or anything else. He became a trouble maker in grade school, always fighting or getting into arguments with teachers. He began working at his dad’s salvage business right after his freshman year then took it over after his father’s death last year. He was a haunted man.

The big man had passed out. I found a blanket, threw it over him, checked the back door lock, did a walk through to make sure nobody was still at the house, shut off the lights, twisted the lock button on the doorknob and walked out. I stood on the porch for a moment, breathing in the cool spring night air, thought briefly about what Alan had said, then headed for the patrol car.

I finished writing the situation, wondering if it was even worth the bother, but decided to follow protocol and have record of the home visit. I’d type it up later at the office.

 I sat back in the car seat and looked down the quiet street, my mind drifting back to what Alan had said.

June 1958

“Hey, Jack, what do want to do Saturday.” The shouted question came from Bertus Butler or just Bert to us kids.

 He was behind me as we coasted down the only paved street in Prouty on our bicycles. The noise produced by playing cards hitting the spokes caused quite a racket. Our imagination expanded by the sound; we saw ourselves as speeding bikers tearing through town on big motorcycles.

“I don’t know, what do you want to do, Alan.” I asked, as I looked to my right and saw the big, chubby red-haired kid crouched down in a racers posture to become more aerodynamic.

“Let’s do something different, he answered, I’m tired of fishing at the city reservoir.”

“We can play some baseball or basketball over at the school?” suggested yet another voice not wanting to be left out.

Charlie Wardwell, probably my best friend ever, sped up to be right next to me.

“They just put up some new backboards, and nets too.” He added in a loud enough voice to be heard above the cards clicking.

“Yah, Hannity, what do you want to do.” Came another request from Bert.

“How about a bike tour.” I suggested.

“Sounds good, said Alan, we haven’t taken one of those since last fall when we ended up at the old Johnson farm and got stung by all those wasps. Remember?”

Everyone started to chime in about that adventure. We each, of course, lied about how many stings we had endured.

“My Mom wasn’t too happy with that adventure.” Said Charlie.

“We need to do something different.” Bert chimed in.

“How about riding out to the jump, we’ve never actually been there on our bicycles.” I suggested.

“Cool, I’m in.,” said Alan.

“Me, too.” Quickly chimed in an animated Bert, but we’ll have to ride at least five miles!”

“I’ll have to check with my parents first.” Charlie moaned.

“Heck, they don’t need to know where we’re going, just tell them we are going to be riding bikes most of the day, that’s all. Cause that’s what we really will be doing.” Alan prompted.

“Okay then, let’s plan on it. But only if it’s nice weather.” Charlie agreed.

“I’ve got fifty cents to buy everyone an ice cream cone. I’ll race all of you to the Tastee Freeze. Last one there is a rotten egg!” I said as I was already pedaling hard down the street.

March 1978

 I was one of two deputies covering the sparsely populated Lincoln County. There were three communities in the entire boundary, the county seat of Sentry, and two smaller outlying towns. The country was entirely suited for agriculture. The soil was a deep loamy texture and quality small grain crops seem to thrive in the fairly dry environment.

We put a lot of miles on the road to make our presence known, but overall, crime was at a minimum and mostly minor. An occasional car accident in a town, a property dispute, or bar fight would bring us running but mostly we did a lot of patrolling and visiting with people. I wasn’t much of a stranger to the locals as I was born and raised in Prouty, one of the three towns in the county. Except for a stint in the armed forces, I had been spent my entire life in this country. My entire life, I thought and shook my head.

I pulled away from the curb and took a route through the quiet streets of the community. I, for some reason, thought about past crime in the county. In the past twenty years, there had been one failed attempt of robbery by a couple of young guys who had rolled into town and saw our bank as easy pickings, and a late-night break-in at a hardware store. That was about the total of anything major.

A few youthful keggers, burning violations, and street sign shootings was just enough to be aggravating but it was something to keep the tongues wagging of the locals who congregated at the coffee shops or post office.

 Criminal activity, other than that, was almost nonexistent. Just the way I like it, I thought. I had seen plenty of guns, and shooting, and suffering and dying In Viet Nam. The glazed eyes of the dead were something that had haunted me since childhood, and wartime casualties made it even worse.

June 1958

“You guys ready?” Charlie asked as we parked our bikes by the train depot unloading dock.

We checked all the gear we were carrying to make sure nothing was missing.

“I brought my BB pistol just in case we see some gophers or something!” Bert said enthusiastically.

“Big deal, but you gotta pump that thing at least ten times to get any power behind your shot.” Alan snorted.

Bert whirled the gun around to the big kid.

“Okay, smarty, lets see if you feel this.” And fired a BB toward his fellow traveler.

The shot missed but a few minutes of yelling ensued.

Bert just stood and smiled. The short and scrawny kid with almost white hair, thick glasses, and ears that looked like Dumbo just glared at Alan as he climbed on his bicycle.

“Okay, we all have full canteens, snacks, jackets, hats, good shoes, and what else?” I asked in a take charge voice.

“I brought a patch kit for any flat tires. It’s a good thing my dad taught me how to fix them.” Charlie said.

“I remember, you complained the whole time you were doing it.” I laughed.

My best friend started to laugh with me.

“And I got a giant pack of Double Bubble.” I announced.

“Did anyone tell their parents where we were headed?” I asked the one important question.

“No way, Alan said. Or else we would be playing checkers all afternoon in the backyard or something boring.”

I looked at our group and everyone else was shaking their head in a back-and-forth manner.

“Okay, gang, time for a new adventure.” I said and signaled the group to move out, much in the same way I had seen a calvary leader do it on the television.

We took off with whoops of enthusiasm and excitement.

“Last one to the jump is a dirty lowdown sidewinder.” Someone hollered.

We were out of town and on our way in minutes.

March 1978

I drove through town before heading to Brower, the other county town. It was even smaller than Prouty and only one business, Duffy’s Bar, was open in the evening. I imagined not even the neighborhood dogs were making noise this time of the morning. I passed the home of Charlie’s parents. I had spent many a night camping out in a backyard tent with him. We did a lot of things together. School events, church events, scouting, and even chasing the same girls kept us in a competition. We also had a bond that was not understood by anyone but us. A time in our life we wanted to forget. Leaning on each other during emotional times as a saving grace for both of us.

Charlie went on to college, got his teaching degree, then a masters in psychology. He was now a high school counselor, and according to him, the work was quite fulfilling. I missed him on occasion when an event in the area triggered old memories of our friendship.

We talked on a regular basis, and even more so as he and his fiancé began planning their wedding. I was asked to be his best man.

“I’ll have Mandy invite some single and available women to check you out. Lord knows you need someone to get you straightened away.” He said with a laugh.

He was right in a way; I had never found someone to connect with. I wasn’t without physical trysts, but my work and hours just didn’t work out to develop any high levels of commitment.

“You just take care of your own woman; I find her highly attractive and she gave me a pretty suggestive hug the last time you guys left my place.” I joked.

“Yes, she said something about you forgetting to take off your police accessory belt the whole time we visited. She said she had to keep moving around to keep a flashlight from digging into her. Then she said to her horror that she certainly hoped to God it was a flashlight.” was his comeback.

Then added, “I told Mandy it probably was a flashlight, one of those miniature jobs.”

“All right, enough of that crap you overeducated mind bender. Just tell me when and where I have to be for this event. That is, if she doesn’t dump your sorry ass before the date.” I finished.

We had been through much together. He was moving on, and I was still stuck in this country.

“By the way, I saw Alan the other day.” I added.

There was a brief silence from Charlie then, “How’s he getting along?”

“No change, he’s still majorly screwed up, and putting away the booze big time.” I answered

“If only we had done things differently.” He sighed.

“Yes, I know. I told myself that many times. Anyway, later, gator.” I said and hung up.

June 1958

The dusty road was nothing more that two paths of dirt that led the car tires in an orderly direction.  Weeds and tall grass grew between the pathways so we just rode single file. Farmland bordered one side of the road and the Burlington Northern Santa Fe railroad right of way captured the other side. Barbed wire fences were strung to keep any wayward cattle of the tracks. The faint scent of creosote filled the air. That oily chemical was used to soak railroad track ties and prolong their usefulness. I never thought it was a pleasant smell.

We sang a few bars from our favorite television shows like Have Gun Will Travel, Wagon Train, Davy Crockett, and even the Paul Parrot shoe commercial. The trail was fairly flat and easy but it seemed to stretch on forever.

“Hey, I saw that someone drew a heart with your initials and L.W. on the school sidewalk, Charlie chided me. It looked like your writing, too!

L.W. was Linda Wallace, a girl that kind of liked me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it herself.

“Don’t think so, besides, who cares.” I said, a little miffed at his discovery.

“Hold up.” Yelled Bert.

I looked back to see the little guy was working hard to catch up. We all stopped for a swig of water.

“How about a piece of Double Bubble gum, Jack.” Alan asked.

I dug the pack out and handed one to each adventurer who in turn checked out the inside wrapper for any good jokes or information.

“I’m glad we aren’t doing this ride later on this summer. I would be way too hot.” Charlie said as he loosened the bolo tie, removed his brown cowboy hat and wiped his brow.

“Hey, it’s not so bad.”  commented Alan, who face was beet red from exertion.

“Let’s keep going then.” I suggested.

“Hey, do you want to get up and walk across the trestle before we ride over to the jump?” Bert asked.

“We could, I guess, you guys want to do that?” I asked the others.

Alan shook his head no but the majority ruled so we headed out.

The railroad trestle carried freight and passenger trains across the Tilton River valley. The length of about one-half mile made it one of the longest in the state. It stood over one hundred feet from waters level. There was a catwalk along the entire thing so that workers could do repairs. Every so often then was a jut out for the workers could safely stand back and away from a crossing train.

It took over two hours to reach our destination. We dropped our bikes and walked up the incline to the trestle mouth.

“If you put your ear down on the track, you’re supposed to be able to hear if a train is less than a mile off. suggested Charlie, I read about it in a comic book.”

We each tried our luck and decided it was safe. We stood and looked at the length of the crossing. It was the first time any of us had tried this.

“Remember to hurry from one safety jut out to the next just in case.” I suggested.

The group dropped all of their gear near the entrance and started across.

“I’m going to just stay here and watch all our stuff; I need to take a break.” Alan offered.

“Bock, bock, bock.” mocked Bert as he flapped his arms by his sides.

“Shut up you little goofball, or I’ll come over there and sit on your head. I’ll squish your tiny brain out of your ears.” Alan said.

“Come one out here and get me then.” Bert jeered at the big kid.

“Aw, you’re not worth the effort.” Alan said and sat on a track.

“Whatever you want to do is fine.” I said.

“I double dog dare you to go first.” I taunted Charlie.

“No big deal, Howdy Doody.” He said, then shrugged, turned and stepped onto the catwalk.

March 1978

I sped down highway 89 after I had checked in with our night dispatch. Sally Slocomb, the newbie on the job, acknowledged my call and signed off. She had actually transferred in from Reno, Nevada, where she had a similar job. She offered her services to the county at minimum wage, suggesting she needed something to do as she assisted her aunt to transition into a nursing home. There was no evening person manning the phones before she arrived, so she was a welcome addition.

I thought about asking her out for a cup of coffee one day just to get to know her. She was quite pretty in my eyes, and seemed to be a no-nonsense type of person. Sweet talk and flowers just wouldn’t cut it with her, I was pretty sure. Maybe some tough times in her past molded the way she was. I could certainly understand that concept.

“Screw it.” I said and picked up his transmitter.

I got hold of the office dispatch again.

“I’m off at eight this morning, I’m buying coffee and pie. Interested?” I said then waited for what I thought was a long pause.

“See you at the Log Cabin at eight.” Came a cheery voice over the radio.

The rest of the shift went by quickly.

June 1958

Walking on the trestle was a little scary at first but since the catwalk was at least four feet wide and there was a rail on one side, we picked up the pace, determined to go to the end and make a return trip. The sound found us before we saw it. A train was making its way toward us.

“Maybe we’d better run back where we started.” Charlie said as he turned to me with concern.

“Let’s just stay in a jut out and see what its like to have a train come so close to us.” Bert suggested.

“No way, I said, I heard you can get sucked under the train because of the vacuum pressure it causes.”

“Well, I’m headed back, let’s go.” I hollered.

“I’m staying.” Bert announced.

“You’re crazy, come on.” Charlie pleaded with his stubborn friend.

“Nope. Take off and run like girls.” Bert chided.

And we did. The train was about the length of a city block from the trestle when we jumped over the side of the track bed. The noise from the whistle was deafening. I looked to see Bert locking his arms and legs on the railing but lost sight of him as the train engine lumbered past.

Just as fast as the thing arrived, it was gone. We frantically looked out on the trestle. Bert was dancing a little jig just to show us he was just fine.

He took his time to reach the rest of us.

“No big deal.” He said and walked past us to the bicycles.

I began to wonder if maybe my idea of him being weak and afraid just because of his size and looks was all wrong. He was either very brave or really stupid.

We bombarded him with questions. We were all still excited about what had happened.

I looked over to the right and could see the jump. The Indians called it a pishkun, a place where buffalo were funneled and fooled into running over a high ledge. They landed below, usually injured or killed. Elders and women finished them off with knives or spears, and proceeded to skin and cut up the carcasses. They would make clothing from the hides and process the meat by smoking, a source of food for many days to come.

Locals had been visiting the jump for years, hoping to find arrowheads and spear heads among the rubble at the bottom.

We all had visited the site with our third-grade class on a field trip and again with my parents, but had never been on my own at the jump.

“There is our destination.” I yelled and pointed down river.

“Let’s ride as far as we can then we’ll hike in, so grab your gear.” I suggested.

We all picked up our bikes and jumped on.

“I don’t think I want to ride over there, there’s a lot of prickly pear and foxtail cactus. We’ll all get flat tires then really be in trouble.” Alan whined.

“Oh, come one.” Charlie said. “You’ll probably never get another chance.”

We four explorers headed south above the river breaks.

March 1978

I had a great visit with Sally, and two pieces of the cafe’s world-famous apple pie, or so they purported.

I found out that she was divorced, apparently a victim in an abusive relationship. She talked about her attitude toward others because of that experience. She also mentioned that she had taken many classes to become quite proficient in self-defense.

“Whoa, I said holding my arms up in the air, I’ll try not to do anything that requires you to go into attack mode.”

I talked about my life in the county, the stint in the army that led into law enforcement, and my outlook to the future.

“I experienced quite a traumatic experience when I was a kid, and for some reason letting go of the memory has seemed impossible.” I explained.

“I’m right with you. If I see a couple arguing on the street or in a store, I immediately feel a panic that comes from the past and it takes a minute to let it go.” Sally said.

I didn’t want to let our time together end as I was thoroughly enjoying the visit, but I needed to head out and get some shuteye.

I said goodbye, but not before inviting Sally to my place for a homemade spaghetti dinner, my specialty. Actually, it was only whole meal I could be together that tasted half decent. She agreed and we went our separate ways.

Over the next month we saw a lot of each other, talked on the telephone daily, and grew quite close. We both seemed to put the skids on being emotionally available for any intimacy, and I accepted that.

May 1978

Charlie’s wedding was to be held in two weeks. He called.

“All right, before you say anything, I’ll have you know I’m bringing a date.” I announced.

“Yah, right!” came the expected retort.

“Honest, she’s running dispatch for the sheriff ‘s office, and I heard she was in the Miss American contest. She also has a PhD in mathematics, physics, and a masters in developing interpersonal relationships with intelligent, good looking, and charming law enforcement officers.” I explained.

“So, what she doing with you?” came the question.

“I told her that we could dress down for the red neck wedding and that the reception would probably be held in your eight by forty trailer.” I said.

“And I told her that she couldn’t snicker when she met the groom, that he couldn’t help that he was born with such an ugly face.” I added and smiled into the phone.

“Just show up, you moron, when you’re supposed to, and no you can’t wear those Converse Allstar tennis shoes, so don’t bother asking.” Charlie said trying to get in the last word.

“I’ll try.” I said and hung up.

June 1958

We got to the lip of the jump quickly. The view from the top of the ledge was wonderful. We could see the entire expanse of the trestle, the slowly meandering river, and some cattle off in the distance. The sky was a light blue and a few fluffy clouds floated above. We spent some time checking the layout.

“Hey, Charlie said, I think we can go over here and jump to that landing below.”

He and I checked out the spot he was talking about and found a small shelf about six feet down. We decided to give it a try.  We backed up slowly trotted to the edge. We both stopped and looked at each other then laughed. It was doable.

The trip down wasn’t much but the landing was a little rough. We whooped to each other and scrambled up on our feet, anxious to walk around the side, climb the hill and give it another try.

We heard some shouting above us but I couldn’t make out who was saying what. Suddenly I watched in horror as Bert flew off the ledge, floated through mid-air then landed at the bottom of the hillside. I remember screaming and raced to the edge to look down. Bert was laying among the rocks. His legs and arms were a funny angle and he wasn’t moving.

Charlie and I jumped, tumbled and ran to the bottom. Bert was staring up at us with sightless open eyes.

I was trying to process what had happened when Alan came barreling down the hillside.

“He, he was just looking over the edge and he must have slipped.” cried an excited Alan.

“I wasn’t close enough to catch him.” He continued.

“What do we do now?” Charlie screamed.

“He’s dead, Alan screamed even louder, I just know it!”

“One of us has to ride back into town.” I yelled in a panic.

“I will.” Charlie announced and with that ran to where the bikes lay, and took off. He was pedaling crazily and disappeared from sight.

After a few minutes the shock was wearing off and I was drained.

“What were you two yelling about just before Bert fell?” I asked Alan.

“We weren’t arguing, we didn’t really say anything to each other.” He said and left it at that.

We sat for over two hours in the hot sun until finally help arrived. There was at least a dozen cars and trucks, led by a sheriff’s department cruiser.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. The three of us had to tell the sheriff about our day and misadventure. We included the trestle walk and everything else we could think of.

The only witness to Bert’s tumble was Alan, so Charlie and I couldn’t answer any questions concerning that. We had to recount reaching Bert’s body, his position, and questions on whether we had moved anything when we got there.

I wanted to talk about the stare of the eyes of a dead person but nobody asked me about it.

Our parents loaded up the bicycles and we rode home in silence. That night my mother hugged me and I cried for what seemed hours.

I rarely saw Alan or Charlie the rest of the summer as I was grounded to stay only in our yard. It was a tough summer.  I had a lot of time to think about what had happened, but mostly about Alan lying to me about the argument I had heard just above Charlie and I were standing.

I developed a sick feeling that Bert had been pushed to his death, but didn’t want to believe it.

There was a funeral for Bert, but I never went. Bert’s family moved away a year later and I never saw them again.

Someone put up a fence on the edge of the jump and signs were erected announcing caution.

When school finally started, I reached out to Charlie immediately and asked him bluntly, “Do you think Bert fell accidently?”

Charlie looked at me through suddenly sad eyes and nodded his head back and forth.

We never spoke about it again. But we forever would be tied to the death of our friend.

June 1978

The big day had finally arrived. Sally and I met up early so that we would arrive for the wedding in a timely manner.

She had been introduced to Charlie and his bride-to-be the weekend before and they seemed to hit it off just fine. That was a relief to us guys.

Charlie, myself, and his future brother-in-law were in a motel room just down the road from the church. Last minute shoe shining, looking for lost cufflinks, and trying to tame the unruly cowlicks was the order of business.

Someone knocked on the door. Charlie opened it and Alan stood at the threshold. He had been drinking, it was obvious, but was in fairly good shape.

“Well, I just stopped by to offer you congratulations on your big day.” The huge man said quietly.

“Thanks, Alan, its appreciated.” Charlie said.

“Ah, there’s something else we need to talk about, in private if that’s alright.” Alan continued.

“Mick, can you head down and see how our fathers are faring for a few minutes.” Charlie said to the youngest member of the groom’s entourage.

As soon as the door shut Alan started talking.

“I need to get something off my chest. I need to talk about the jump.” He began.

“Hey, big man, you don’t need to bring that up if you don’t want to.” I said with a bit of a cringe.

“Jesus Alan, all of that was a long time ago, we’ve all moved on, and I’ve got to get ready for my wedding.” Charlie pleaded and tried to herd Alan out of the room.

That wasn’t going to happen. Alan stood in front of the closed door and braced himself. He wasn’t going to move until he was ready to.

“I’m going to talk, and you guys are going to listen. I can’t let you continue to think what I know you think about me.” He started.

Alan stared at his two childhood friends pointedly, we didn’t say anything.

“I am, and have always been afraid of heights. I can’t even get on the roof of the salvage shed. You remember, I’m sure, when we decided to take that bike trip to the jump but sidetracked to the trestle? There was no way I could have gotten on those tracks. I made up some lame excuse and Bert was giving me a bad time about being chicken. I was alright with that. Following me so far?” Alan asked.

We both nodded our heads and remained quiet.

“Well, you two decided to do the short distance jump off the ledge and were down below when Bert started to berate me and really got mean. I had never seen him like that. I told him I wasn’t ready to jump and to cool it. I was standing quite a way away from the edge to stay in my comfort zone, when all of a sudden, I felt a push in my back. Bert wasn’t big enough to move me but he tried. I yelled at him to quit and started in about how I was afraid of high places. I stood there staring at him. He backed up and raced toward me again. He was really trying to push me over the edge. I didn’t know what to think but I just sidestepped him and he want flying past me and out of view.” Alan said as the words tumbled out.

“I couldn’t even make myself look over the cliff’s edge to see if he was alright.” Alan said and started to cry.

“I didn’t want you guys to know I suffered from acrophobia, or that Bert was pushing all the right buttons, so I just shut up about everything.” He said and started to calm down.

“I knew nobody would believe that that scrawny little kid was getting the best of me, but he had.” He continued.

“He went over on his own, I didn’t have anything to do with it, and so now you know. That’s the truth. Believe it or not but I had to get it off of my chest. Not telling the truth has been killing me for years.” He finished.

I stood up and walked over to the man who had finally unburdened his soul. I gave him a hug.

“Thanks, Alan, you don’t know how much that has helped me.” I said quietly.

“Hey, big man, Charlie said lightly, welcome to stay for the ceremony and party.”

“No thanks, my party days are over. I got some living to do.” He said and simply walked out the door.

Charlie and I just looked at each other for a moment, letting years and years of doubt drain out of us.

“Come on, it’s time for you to get hitched. I give it about a year before she finds someone more interesting.” I suggested.

Oh, yeah, and I give you less than a year before we are doing this same thing for you and Sally.” Charlie retorted.

The wedding was special.  There was one instance of concern, however, when I feigned searching for a lost ring. The bride was in a panic, the groom just shook his head at me and smiled. Sally and I danced, laughed, and kissed. And kissed some more. The yoke of guilt had been lifted off of my shoulders. It was time for another day of adventure and exploring.

I never went back to the jump, never wanted to, and never will. It was just four young boys who were looking for excitement and fun.