Behind the willow trees that line the river behind that big house I heard these boys talk and knew for a split second I was about to see something great. 15 years old and newly minted from the north side of town, wide-eyed out here, where enormous watersheds sprawled across the hills and where the mountain looked so much bigger, where streets were long and straight, vacant and smooth, a place I used to skate and absorb the natural emptiness. Aside from the freshly carved neighborhoods, it was quite serene and pleasant, even the older streets and houses were close knit and protected by winding little streets and cul de sacs, coming from the little city this tiny town was beautiful and microcosmic.
I just didn’t know it.
What I saw were jumpers off bridges, rocks, ledges, straight from the sky itself, bodies plunging into the river of soft currents below. Those currents had taken many under for good but right then it was giving me more life than any Portland pool ever did.
I just didn’t see it.