The first time it looked impossible. A few loose boards held together, if they were held together at all, by rusted nails. You could see the boardwalk wobble as the wave churned against the pilings, the boards moving up and down their nails like horses in a merry go round.
There were handrails, but they appeared even less stable than the boards, if that was possible. I fully expected to see the whole structure collapse like a Jenga Tower at any moment. After staring at the structure for several minutes, I decided that most likely, the fall wouldn't kill me. Break a leg or an arm, possibly, but I would probably survive.
At least, I would survive if I could find something to grab. But given the dilapidated condition of the handrails, that was unlikely. And given that my arms and back were fully loaded with 200 pounds of dead weight added considerably to an already precarious situation.
I had no real option, There was no other path. There was no way back. And besides, she was watching.
I formed a plan. If the boards gave way, I would try to land on my back. With luck, the pack would cushion my fall and I would at least survive. The plan obviously sucked, but it was the only one I could come up with.
It took an hour to make the crossing. I would stop, test a board, watch it bend under my weight, try another board, choose the one less likely to break, and finally commit to moving forward another two inches.
Eventually, I made it. Which, I am happy to say, is why I am here to tell the story. I didn't expect to be, but I am pleasantly surprised that this story ended as it did.
I made many more crossings. Each one was a little easier. I gradually built up a relationship bordering on trust between me and the old boardwalk.
Since then, the boards have mostly rotted away. I wonder if they took some poor soul with them. The boardwalk has been replaced by a new boardwalk. I can walk on this boardwalk without a moment's hesitation. But it doesn't feel quite the same. Walking on this boardwalk proves nothing.
I look over at the rotten remnants of the old boardwalk. A part of me misses the Boardwalk of Death. But only a small part.
Spiritual questions:
- What fears have you faced?
- How have they helped you grow?
- Which fears will you face next?
This is one of the Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.
July 17, 2017 - This piece was written at the Roundhouse Writing Group, Santa Cruz, Guatemala. The writing prompt for the session was: The willingness to show up makes us a little braver each time.
The photo is by Donna Belk, who still laughs whenever she thinks about it. Some rights reserved. The photo was taken in Santa Cruz, Lago Atitlan, Guatemala.
