Baker's Falls (F)

Me, I hate going to town because I hate driving by Suicide Falls. It’s Baker’s Falls Park rightfully, but no one but the county commissioners and church ministers and the mayor call it that. There’s a picnic table at the pull-off out there, and someone is always leaving flowers.

My bad luck, I’ve seen four jumpers. Folks have been jumping from way back, and it’s about 60 feet give or take and all rock at the bottom. Water’s almost never more than ankle deep going over the edge.

Tourists stop during the summer, folks heading from the city to the lakes. Families picnicking, kids rolling in the grass—people for a quarter can look through a spyglass at the valley.

First I saw go over was Ted Pearce. He lost his family’s feed store when interest rates spiked. I was just close enough to recognize him. He sort of turned toward me and leaned back. Done, just like that. I stopped at the Wayland place to call it in. Because I didn’t go look, Sheriff Buck gave me hell.

Next time, about two years later, it was Biker Mike. He went to Iraq a couple of times. I was coming back from town and I saw him. Just as I turned the truck around, he gave me a salute and jumped—actually, he kind of fell, had his arms wrapped around himself. I went to the ledge and I could tell there was blood and he wasn’t moving. Bad stuff came up in my mouth, but I choked it back.

Lucky me I went seven years before seeing the others—even ate lunch out there two or three times with a girl who worked for the Ace Hardware, but she decided it was creepy and even creepier I saw folks jump, so she would only meet at the Bait ‘n’ Bar.

The last time—well, I wouldn’t know that, I guess—was two kids. They were Ohio girls a long way from home. I saw them in my headlights. I pulled into the lot so that they were in the light and when I got out, one of them shouted, “Don’t come over here.”

I just started talking. “What are you girls doing out here?”

“We’re not doing anything.” The taller one was the talker.

I guess I was about 30 feet away from them when they stepped toward the edge of what was just black, like a big, black hole.

“Y’all need to be careful.”

They were kind of clutching each other. They kicked off their yellow flip flops.  

“Y’all step back over this way.”

“Y’all have family?”

“Don’t come any closer!”

”Girls, you’ve got to get away from there. You don’t know—“

“We know.”

I half raised my arms. “You don’t. You don’t know anything. Girls—“

“Stop calling us girls!” The silent one flinched and they teetered and then steadied again.  “We know where we are.”

“You don’t. Y’all are—“

And they were gone.  Ladson 2013