“I dare you.”
He said that phrase to me at least once a day, usually trying to cajole me into something that would get me killed, or at least bloodied, bruised and broken. Jumping off the top of the monkey bars, climbing to the highest branch of the tallest tree, riding my bike down the steepest hill with no hands -- that sort of thing.
I usually knew better than to listen. Not so much because my uncoordinated self would most certainly get hurt, but more because I knew that if my dad found out, he would kill me. My fear of my dad far outweighed that of broken bones or the mocking I would receive for refusing the dare.
Besides, the last time I’d gone along with him, we ended up setting one end of our block on fire. I’m still not sure whether my parents were angrier about that or the fact that I’d ruined the brand new dress I was supposed to wear to see my grandmother later that day. But it got me a spanking and a grounding that lasted so long I almost forgot what outside looked like.
So I definitely knew better than to go along with any of his schemes.
But for some reason, that day, I accepted the dare.
Maybe it was because it was summer, and I was bored. Maybe because I was curious. Maybe it was that I was tired of saying no and being branded a chicken, or maybe I just needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t, in fact, chicken. And somehow, I let myself be convinced my parents would never find out.
He’d already gotten me to help him carry a large PVC pipe -- piles of which lay stacked around the site, courtesy of the local water department -- over to the base of the tower and lean it up under the metal ladder set into one side, the bottom rung of which was suspended six feet off the ground, probably in order to prevent curious and daring children from doing what we were about to do.
I was six or seven. He was a year older, and a daredevil. I knew he only played with me because I was the closest kid in the neighborhood in both age and proximity. So I often didn’t question him, until it became clear he was about to get me in big trouble.
But once the pipe was in place, when he looked at me and said, “You first,” I automatically said no. I wasn’t going to stop him, but I knew it was a bad idea and wanted no part of it.
Then he said those three words, and something inside me caved.
So I climbed the water tower.
It was a cylindrical tower, probably 20 feet in circumference, painted the same blue as the sky. It easily stood five stories high, towering over the trees and houses in the neighborhood, as towers do.
He gave me a boost and helped me shimmy up the pipe and onto the bottom rung. I squeezed into the space between the rungs and the tower wall, although there was plenty of room for my 40 pound frame, so there wasn’t any actual squeezing involved. With my back braced against the tower, I started to climb.
The rungs were made for the legs of grown men in work boots -- not for those of second-grade girls in Zips. It took some real effort to lift myself from one rung to the next, but one by one, I pulled myself up the side of the tower, concentrating on the job at hand and not letting myself think too much about what I was doing.
That is, until I lifted my gaze and saw that I not only looked down on roofs and tree tops, but I also had a fantastic view of the large lake beyond our neighborhood, and of the little town that lay on the other side.
Satisfied I’d gone high enough to fulfill the requirements of the dare, I immediately began my descent. It wasn’t the height that startled me -- although it didn’t help -- as much as the realization that the neighbors could probably see me, and it was only a matter of time before an adult either came to investigate or called my mom.
I made it safely to the ground, exhilarated and a little dizzy from my experience, but none the worse for wear. My antagonist wasted no time shimmying up to the ladder. I tried briefly to talk him out of it, my ever-growing concern we’d get caught tugging at me to abandon him and run home, but of course my protests fell on deaf ears. He wasn’t about to let a girl -- and a younger one, at that -- succeed at such a feat without him being the one to top it.
He reached the ladder and began to climb. And climb. Despite my reservations, I stuck around to bear witness. I backed up toward the street the better to watch his ascent without craning my neck, and only then realized we had witnesses -- a pair of bigger girls on bicycles from up the block. They said nothing, so intent on watching this unprecedented feat of daring that they barely noticed me.
He quickly reached the point at which I’d decided to retreat. I saw him hesitate, but then he squared his shoulders and kept going. And going.
He made it all the way to the top, and climbed onto the roof of the tower, where he sat for a long while, surveying his domain.
When I thought he’d taken quite long enough to savor his victory, I called up at him to come down. When he didn’t budge, I pulled out the only weapon in my arsenal. “If you don’t come down now, I’m going to tell!”
Of course I was bluffing. Like it or not, we were in this together, and tattling on him would be tattling on myself.
But at least it got a reaction. He shouted down the two most catastrophic words he could have uttered under the circumstances: “I’m stuck!”
Wasting no time, one of the older girls pedaled away to get help. I stood rooted to the spot, panic setting in as I went over my options, wondering if I could run home, sneak into my room and pretend I knew nothing of these shenanigans.
But it was too late. The other girl returned with her mom, with more parental figures close on their heels.
After that, everything's a blur. At some point, I think either the water company or the fire department was called to come and get this kid down. Somehow I have no memory of getting punished for this monumental event. I knew my mom knew about it, because she still laughs about it. It’s possible she never told my dad. It’s also possible, that she did and he found the whole thing as funny as she did.
That might sound strange, but this was the early ‘80s, when parents generally didn’t care much what their kids got up to while staying out of their hair, as long as no one got seriously hurt and nothing got broken. And since neither of us got hurt and I wasn’t the one who had to be rescued, it turned out not to be a punishable offense after all. I suppose they figured we learned our lesson and had enough fear of the tower ingrained into us by the experience itself without them adding reinforcements.
I wish I could report that I learned some valuable lesson from this little adventure, or that I earned the grudging respect of the neighbor boy to the effect that he stopped trying to get me killed or in trouble -- but he continued to be a bad influence, and the only thing I really learned is that I’ve got a low tolerance for high heights and that my parents were oddly selective about which of my childhood crimes and misdemeanors deserved punishment.
I know I never tried to climb that tower again, and neither did the boy. Whether or not he got punished for his antics, I don’t recall, but he certainly enjoyed the notoriety he’d received because of it.
Looking back with adult eyes, I’m sure someone should have tanned both our hides, but mostly I feel what was most likely the overriding emotion our parents felt -- relief that we didn’t get ourselves killed. But I did take one lesson away from that event: never accept dares from older boys who want to make you their proverbial canary in the coal mine. You’ll have a much better chance of surviving your childhood that way.
Questions: What’s a dumb/brave thing you did as a kid that could’ve gotten you killed? Did you get away with it? Also, are you old enough to remember Zips? Hit reply to tell me your answers.
February Happenings:
Welcome to my new format! Each month for the forseeable future, I’ll be sharing a true story culled from my life. If you’re entertained by these, I’d love it if you’d reply to let me know, as they may make their way into a book at some point. And even if they don’t, I just want to know if you’re entertained, or if you’d prefer I go back to the bloggy blather of yore.
If you’re reading my weekly updates, you already know that I’ve stopped writing Desolation for the moment to go back and edit what I’ve got so far, so I can then edit as I go. I actually got another chapter and a half edited since Friday’s update, so currently I’ve only got two and a half chapters to go until I’m all caught up.
Also if you read Friday’s update, you know that last week things slowed down because I’m struggling with adrenal fatigue. I’m happy to report that after three days of limiting myself to one cup of coffee and catching up on sleep, I’m feeling significantly better, although I still have a ways to go.
I have two new non-fiction projects I want to tell you about. First, if you are a person of faith who is worn out by the hectic pace of our culture, you might enjoy my other monthly newsletter, A Quiet Life.
Second, I’m getting ready to launch a weekly coaching newsletter for would-be freelance writers and writerpreneurs. The Working Writer is a newsletter from a fulltime working writer to aspiring working writers to educate, motivate and help launch and grow your writing career. If my health cooperates, I’m hoping to launch it next week. If you want to know how to make a living writing or how to level up your writing career, sign up so you don’t miss an issue!
Finally, here are all of the places you can keep up with me and my writing now that I’m officially no longer blogging.
Cool Things
ICYMI, each week in my Echoes of Accountability updates I’ve been sharing one cool thing and opening a thread inviting you to share your own cool things. I’ve only had one taker so far, which makes me think you guys never encounter anything cool in your weeks, which makes me think you need more cool things in your lives. So here’s a roundup of all the cool things I shared in January:
Podcast - The Good List, particularly this episode, which delves more into Atomic Habits.
Twitter account - ASmallFiction
Giveaway - Win a Free Nook or Kindle Fire from My Book Cave!
This tweet:
January’s Soundtrack
The Trilogy of the Damned (Spotify playlist)
Josh Garrels (Artist)
I’m With Her (Artist)
Creative Calm (Playlist)
Deep Focus (Station)
#AmReading
Current read: Beatitudes and Woes: A Speculative Fiction Anthology
Prior read: The Toll by Cherie Priest
And the February issue is a wrap! I’ll be back in your inbox on Friday, hopefully to report that I’m all caught up on editing and ready to start writing again, but if you’re not opening those updates, then I’ll see you back here next month!
Until next time,
Jean
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