What We Say On The Cliff

Author’s Note: What can I say? School’s a ridiculous time consumer. And stress enhancer. Moving on...this is an old-ish piece I wrote last year for a magazine competition. I didn’t place or anything, but it was an interesting experience. I kinda liked how this turned out, even if the judges deemed it “preachy.” Meh, everyone’s got their own opinions, and I’d love all of yours.

It's not...the same as a PoF. That's why it's a separate story.

This evening you’ve deviated from your normal routine of: get up, work, go home, eat, sleep, and get up. Tonight’s a special night. You finished work over an hour ago, and now find yourself in a somewhat curious position: seated on the floor behind your overly-large wooden desk, (in a new suit, no less) waiting.

The view from your top-story office is astounding to most who’ve ventured in, but you don’t find it so spectacular anymore. The almost glass-to-glass windows make you privy to the goings on of the world, but in turn they expose you; the CEO, the Master in Chief, the Head Honcho of one of the biggest manufacturing companies in the country. Fabric bags (in lieu of plastic) in case anyone was wondering. Not bad for a California-born Edmontonian. You’re the work-a-holic, the promoter of all things Green –but wait. It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?

Green: the colour of all things natural, the sad lacking reminder of the way the world used to (but still should be) before...it.

When you were ten, a rumour had begun to circulate around to the most powerful, dominating countries in the world: the Earth was overheating. All the carbon gas emissions were breaking the ozone layer, therefore destroying the planet’s protective barrier against the sun. And slowly but surely, all the excess heat was causing the Polar Icecaps to melt. Scientists called this alarming discovery Global Warming.

Of course, there was immediate uproar from every side. Believers frantically changed their light bulbs, recycled everything, stopped driving—stopped enlarging their “carbon footprint”. Protestors waved away all scientific proof. “It’s a myth!” they claimed, and went about their usual business.

And there were the rest; the ones who cared, but not enough to really do anything at all. You, you know (ashamedly) were one of those people.

But as many believers –tree huggers, pro-green, environmentally-friendly –as there were in the city, in the country, in the world, there were at least twice as many sceptics stamping out their efforts. The Kyoto Protocol seemed to help, but that too, was nearly extinguished. It was late in the game when the influential pull of celebrities and political leaders was put into play –too late.

-

The soft “click” of the glass door sliding shut announces her presence. She moves across the room, barely making a sound, until at last you catch the sparkly star of her Converse sneakers in the fading sunlight. She never really grew out of them, shoe size or otherwise.

Arielle Hasten doesn’t comment on your choice of seating, opting instead to simply slide down beside you and curl her knees to her chest, while simultaneously elbowing you in the side. You, with a grunt, oblige her, sliding lower so that the two of you are more or less level. Arielle puts her head on your shoulder, leaning into the crook of your neck. She’s not cold, you know, even if she’s practically attached to your side. No, your best friend just likes to sit like this with you. And although you’ve always wanted to ask why this is, even though you want to resist the urge to lean on her too, you don’t.

So there you sit, perfectly comfortable, when Arielle begins to hum; a sign that she’s well beyond content. You’re reminded very pointedly of your girlfriend’s cat.

“Man, when did we get so old?” asks the petite woman, one year your junior, and you chuckle lightly in response. You’ve known each other forever, even before she walked so confidently into your Biology 20 class, Converse shoes winking. Ever since elementary school, when Arielle wanted to play football with the big kids. And everyone, including you, was too stunned to stop her. Something clicked between you two, and you’ve been best friends ever since. It’s silly, yes. Cliché, yes. True? Absolutely.

You were best friends when Jack Frost paid a visit in April, when drought ravaged the most humid parts of the continent, and still after you watched the now-dry state of California go up in flames from your living room. You’d called every relative from the area, but received no reply. So you flew down (Arielle insisted on accompanying you) to meet the devastation head on. It was beyond anything you had imagined.

Two years later you can still find yourself there again. The thick, black smoke burning your eyes, the heat of the flame-engulfed forest that surrounded your hometown; so smothering, and no matter how much or how hard you cough, your chest won’t stop hurting...

“Anthony...” Arielle’s hand is on your knee with comforting pressure. “It’s okay. Calm down.”

The nightmare is receding from your mind’s eye, the flare-up of pain dwindling. You find yourself struggling for breath. How could you let yourself get sucked into it, again? Because you haven’t –can’t let it go. You lost both your parents in that fire. How is it fair, that the only two people in that town, who believed in Global Warming, lost their lives to it? Stupid, twisted irony.

You’re amazed that you and Arielle have managed to stay in the same position you started in. She shifts even closer and grips your arm, whispering. “You better not be blaming yourself, A.J”

A.J. Only Ari and Dad call you that. You swallow thickly. “I should have seen it coming.” Your voice is barely audible. That does it, apparently. Her lithe form jerks away from yours, and she sits straighter so she can glare properly.

“Anthony Joel Dominic Kane, you stop it right now.”

Wow. No one’s used your full name in years.

“There was nothing you could have done. That fire was an accident, and we both know it. So stop killing yourself over something you had no control on!”

“But I did!” you hear yourself protest, quite desperately. “I majored in Environmental Science for Pete’s sake, Ari. I knew what global warming was doing to the planet. But I was stupid. I chased my own goals and ambitions for this company.”

Kane Kloth Bags; your pride and joy? You’re not sure anymore. Is it shame, this feeling crawling up your back? “I didn’t stop for a second to consider what would happen when the “what ifs” became real. And look what everyone’s learned from it all.”

You gesture vehemently out the glass at the city lights, the cars, the long strip of freeway, and the distant, thick smog of the Labatt brewery beyond. “Nothing! Squat! No one cares that the ozone layer is almost non-existent, that trees are disappearing faster than we can waste paper, and no one—”You’re standing now, agitated and pacing.

“—cares that with all the crap we’re leaving behind us, the next generation won’t even live long enough to have a chance to complain about it!”

Your chest is heaving, beads of sweat trickling down your forehead, where you’re pretty sure that anger vein is throbbing too. And yes, the new suit is now officially ruined.

Arielle’s gaze is perfectly steady and level with yours, despite the fact that she’s still sitting down, and you’re...well, not. This dazzling twenty-eight year-old knows you –maybe too well –and she knows the tirade is just a preshow; a well worn buffer to the real news, which is the reason you called her here in the first place.

It’s quiet for a long time as the pair of you are locked in this staring contest, but at last Ari’s silent, steady, calm reason wins out. She’s still quiet when you let a tense breath and your shoulders sag. She’s waiting, with her incredibly unwavering patience. You turn away, out to the dark, clouded night sky, unable to face your best friend as you just say it.

“Cassie’s pregnant.”

The glare of the glass gives you access to Arielle’s face, and her tiny, sad smile. “Congrats, A.J.”

You were never much of a kid person, and she knows that. Maybe someday you would have been ready...but not now. She knows that too. “You’ll be a good father, Anthony.”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, still cagy. “Fathers are supposed to leave something behind for their sons and—”

“It’s a boy?” Ari’s eyebrows arch together, her expression screaming: You waited how long to tell me? You just nod, too riled to reason away your own decision. There is a beat of silence before her face relaxes into impassiveness again.

“And?”

“And the only thing I’m leaving behind is a world I helped destroy!” Tense silence is what’s left now, until Arielle speaks again.

“There’s a minute left on the clock right?”

“What clock?” you snap sharply; there’s no clock in your office. Then it clicks. The Clock, the 12 hour clock depicting how much estimated “time” was left until 12:00, when the damage of global warming and pollution became irreversible.

“Yeah,” you reply hoarsely. “A minute.”

The young woman stands to face you, tilting her head in that innocent way of hers. “A minute’s plenty of time to choose a path, to walk the right and avoid the wrong.” Her dark orbs are glowing with a wisdom you only wish you had. “You can lean too far over the cliff, or you can choose to back away.”

“But what do I say?” you ask, that same, sad desperation lining your words, “What do I say when spring becomes winter, when he gets asthma from all the bad air...what do I say when he looks out to see a black sky instead of a blue one, and asks me why?”

“Well,” she begins slowly, “What would you tell me?” She’s trapping you. You can’t lie to Ari. You swallow as your head spins.

“I’d say...that the Earth is sick, and no one really knew what to do, but we’re trying to help it now.”

She smiles, pride flickering in her eyes. “Good answer.”

A/N: Who wants to pull Annie out of her funk?