BASE Jumping
“The beauty of the game,” continued Hop-Frog, “lies in the fright it occasions among the women.”
“Capital!” roared in chorus the monarch and his ministry.—“Hop Frog” by Edgar Allan Poe
Watch the boys play grab-ass in the office, just like they did in high school.
Watch them pick on the low-hanging fruit, like they always do. The data analyst hired by the firm. At the office Christmas party, watch them press against him just a little longer in their boy game bear hugs and wrestling matches. Watch them call him a pussy when he declines a tequila shot. Ask him why he doesn’t quit but know the answer because he’s shared with you that he has a wife with MS on his insurance. Notice her picture on his desk. Listen as the other boys pick up the photo, smudge it with their grimy paws. Watch them clap him on the back and ask him how he ever landed such a hottie and if the curtain matches the drapes. Shake your head at their complete lack of imagination. Know he taught himself to speak fluent Klingon in college for fun. Know Klingon DOES indeed have a full alphabet and vocabulary, that a linguist constructed it for the Star Trek films, and yell Doh Hu’tegh at the Neanderthals who torment him. Watch the data analyst smile.
Appreciate his safety. Appreciate his intelligence and sense of humor. Appreciate his empathy as you tell him over lunch about your narcissistic ex’s bullshit. Trade books and streaming suggestions. Mention him to your sister and explain, when she asks if you’re dating, that you simply appreciate a friend. Explain that romance hurts too much, scratches, bruises, cuts, dries up every last one of your reserves. Explain that the other guys at the office are such assholes–that they keep calling him names, putting KY in his desk drawer, hiding food–tuna fish sandwiches, fried shrimp, Caesar salad with anchovy dressing– in the back of his filing cabinet that he won’t find until it begins to reek. Tell her, when she asks you why you don’t quit, that you’ve been here before. How you filed a grievance with HR when your manager snapped your bra strap playfully, asked why someone as pretty as you didn’t have a ring on your finger, and suggested you bring a bikini to the conference in San Diego. Explain how you couldn’t afford to sue when nothing happened to him. How you felt lucky to obtain a quiet transfer to this new town, this new office, even if it’s smaller, and the pay’s a little less. Put up with some of the same shit from the boys in this new office–some comments when you wear a certain dress. Assurances that they don’t mind flat-chested women. Feel grateful it never gets any worse than that. Tell her, on the positive side, you’ve found some gorgeous hikes nearby.
Know that you’d love nothing more than to tell the office boys you know they jerk off to thoughts of each other on a regular basis. Know you’d love to say that when they spit in the data analyst’s salad stored in the break room fridge. Hate yourself for a lack of courage to do anything about it. Feel the knot in your gut when he keeps telling you that it’s okay. That people have often treated him like that. Understand that, just like you, he’s probably tried to say something before, and nothing happened. Understand that no one protects people like you.
Become obsessed with BASE jumping videos. Think about doing it in the dark from the top of twenty-story office buildings. Then decide that you’ve always hiked for the scenery and sign up for wingsuit training. Start small. Remember how you went hang gliding once. How they put you in a harness like a diaper up on Jockey’s Ridge, one of the natural wonders of the world, and told you to run–how they promised its safety and told you not to pull back on the harness too hard, but you did. Remember how you got the longest ride of the day. Think to yourself that a wingsuit might be just as easy. And that you’ve always preferred higher places. Work your way up to jumping off of cliffs and hanging out with the hawks.
Mention to your coworkers that you bought a wingsuit and show them YouTube videos on their break. Watch their eyes light up, impressed.
“Cool!” listen to them say. “Do you have any videos of you in the air?”
Tell them, “Not yet, but soon.”. Invite them on a hike with you where you say you’ll do your first solo run at the end of the month. Suggest it as an informal team-building activity. Tell them you know it’s early, but the view at sunrise. is totally worth it. Invite your friend, the data analyst as well, Even though he questions why you suggested this in the first place, know he’ll say yes. Know he’s that kind of person.
Meet everyone at the trailhead in the pitch black. Pass out headlamps and tell them to follow you up the trail. Go straight up and up and up. Be in shape and prepared for an elevation gain of 3639 feet in less than two miles. Smile to yourself as the others huff and puff, even though they hold no heavy pack like you. Stop halfway up to drink some water and pass out bags of M&M’s. Roll your eyes when one of the guys asks if you brought a juice box for your friend.
Know there is a place–You’ve made this hike so many times you could do it in your sleep, when your arms and legs fall short. Throw your backpack above your head. Jump, just a foot, to grab an oak branch with your fingertips and swing yourself across the gap. Know the truth. You are terrified of heights. Wait at the top until everyone follows you. Watch one of the office boys try to go a different way and almost miss a leap across a larger gap. Watch him lie across the boulder’s surface for a moment, face down as the sun peeks over the summit.
Hear him whine, “Oh shit, I’m bleeding!” See that a pretty good-sized gash, about three inches long across his kneecap.
Ask him if he brought any Band-Aids, knowing full well he hasn’t. Watch him try and cover the bloody knee with his dirty hand as the data analyst comes forward.
Hear your friend say, “I did,” and watch as he takes out some wipes and a couple of bandages, kneeling beside his abuser. See how the cut has its share of dirt and gravel, and how your friend gingerly works the rocks out with his thumbnail as he cleans the wound. Grit your teeth when the office boy doesn’t even thank him, only nods when it’s finished. Loathe his weakness, his unkindness, his dependency. Notice your friend doesn’t seem to mind.
Make the rest of the climb in silence, at one point reaching the second spot where you sometimes struggle. Watch as one of the office boys crinkles his nose, smelling something unpleasant. Stop as the scent hits you. Sun-baked rotting animal flesh. Step up to the edge of the rock and look down, motioning to your friend to come see. Spot a dead copperhead tucked between two boulders. See his skin faded from death and weather but also recognize his markings. Note his length, hidden in a putrid coil. Measure with your eyes his decaying body–three inches in diameter. Tell the others that, had you run across him when he was alive, he could have packed a wallop. Laugh that he just lies there now, stinking between the stones. Watch your friend crouch down and take off his sunglasses to get a closer look. Listen to the others tease, “I guess you’re not such a pussy after all! Man, that’s gross!” Watch your friend gaze at the creature for a while with a mixture of revulsion and interest. Watch him stand up and continue across the final gap. Appreciate that he goes first, crouches down, and holds out his hand to give you a lift.
Shed your backpack. Lace your fingers and raise your arms to the sky. Unzip the front pocket and pull out a joint. Light it, take a hit, and offer it to one of the boys. Watch them smirk and shake their heads in surprise.
Tell them, “It’ll make the show that much better.”
Notice that your friend declines and takes more teasing from the others.
“Sorry she didn’t bring up a little carton of chocolate milk, Baby Girl,” hear one of them say as you let them pass the joint back-and-forth for a while, while you yourself wave away another hit. See your friend eye them quietly as their laughter grows louder, and one of them slips a little.
“Hey, watch out, Dude,” hear one of them say.
Unzip the larger pocket of your pack and pull out a wad of nylon rope, blood red.
“Oooh…she has twiiine…” hear another say as he giggles and coughs. Motion for your friend to step back and say to the others, “Step a little closer to the edge so I can get a picture. And lose the weed, please. Y’all look hot. This is going on the company website.”
As they preen, ask them to stand closer together.
Toss the rope over the three of them and pull it tighter. Remember every knot your father taught you when he used to take you sailing. The precision he demanded. How he yelled too much but said you should be grateful because the world is rough. Keep tying knots around the group of office boys.
Hear one of them shout, “Oooo, now she’s gettin’ kinky! Now we’re talking!” as the others, clearly stoned, guffaw.
Notice the silence from your friend. Feel him standing behind you and imagine his eyes, dark, unblinking, as you return to your pack for a bottle of Tito’s vodka. Offer the office boys a drink and watch each take a swig. Then, as they continue to laugh and pass it back to you, pour the rest over their heads.
“Hey Baby Girl, what the f—” hear one of them shout.
“Hey, c’mon, untie us! This isn’t funny anymore!”
Hold the empty Tito’s bottle in your hand. Imagine pulling a flask of lighter fluid out of your backpack next and pouring that on them as well.
Imagine taking a yellow lighter out of your pocket, flicking it to a flame, and setting them ablaze.
Imagine listening as they scream, as they wriggle like standing copperheads and push each other over the edge.
Imagine watching them fall.
Realize you didn’t bring any lighter fluid.
Make a different decision.
See your friend has said nothing. Stand in silence for a long while before you hear him ask,
“What now?”
Smile at him. Go back to your pack and pull out the wingsuits, two of them. Watch his eyes widen as you roll them out on the rocks–one red and one blue. Watch him shake his head.
Ignore the increasingly frantic protests of the drunk, stoned office boys. Know they’ll find a way down; it’ll just take a while.
Tell your friend, “Don’t be scared. Follow my lead.” Help him put it on. Explain there’s a parachute in the back for the end–that all he needs to do is hold your hand and jump, spread his arms, and follow you to a safe landing. Watch him nod, knowing he’s done much more frightening things. Know that you have too. Lift your chin to check the wind and be grateful it’s arrived. Grab his hand, step to the edge, and jump.
Sally Toner
Sally Toner (she/her)has lived in the Washington, D.C. area for over 30 years. Her poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in Northern Virginia Magazine, Gargoyle Magazine, Fractured Lit, Watershed Review, and other publications. Her first chapbook, Anansi and Friends, from Finishing Line Press, is a mixed genre work focusing on diagnosis, treatment, and recovery from breast cancer. She holds an MFA in narrative nonfiction from the University of Georgia. An empty nester with two grown daughters, she lives in Reston, Virginia with her husband.