“He needs to go to the hospital,” I heard a voice say from amongst the swarm of people.
I was too short back then to be able to see over everybody’s head to the middle of the chaos, but I knew, nonetheless, exactly what was going on. Bart was broken and his father was assessing the damage. I didn’t know to what extent he was broken, but judging by the panic in and volume of his whaling, I knew it wasn’t good. What was worse was knowing that it was my own fault.
I tried to keep a little bit of distance from the center of everybody’s focal point so as to not draw any attention to myself, and at the same time I knew that trying to distance myself too much while every person in the vicinity was battling for a chance to see into the center of the huddle would also draw unwanted attention. Yes yes, it was my fault and I knew it, but nobody else seemed to know it, and I wasn’t about to start spreading that word around.
I was somewhere around 9 years old, I think, and we were out in the woods camping out. Once every year my church sponsored a father-and-son campout, which was always something my brothers and I looked forward to. There were all kinds of activities to do, but the main attraction for excitement was the line of cable running from a tall cottonwood tree, over the tops of a few shorter trees, and out into the clearing.
All day long things were running smoothly- getting into the back of the long line, waiting my turn, zipping down the 3 or 4 second zipline ride, then starting the whole process over again. After a while, though, the line grew smaller and smaller until there were only a few of us left interested in the short exhilaration of the ride. One of those few people was, you guessed it, Bart. And, of course, another one was me.
It was a genius idea to put a zipline in the woods for people to zip along. It was also a genius idea to tie a rope to the zipline in order to be able to return the zipline handle back to the beginning of the ride. What wasn’t quite so Einstein-like was the genius who tied a knot at the end of the rope. Whoever did that must hate young boys who want nothing more than quality time with their fathers out in the woods, because it was a disaster waiting to happen.
It came down to this: being that I was the next person in line, my job was to toss the dangling rope over the tops of the trees as Bart zipped down the cable. That was all I had to do- make sure the rope cleared the trees.
The rest of the story basically tells itself. Bart grabbed the handle and I grabbed the rope. He lifted his feet, let gravity take over, and I threw the rope just like I was supposed to. Well, maybe not exactly how I was supposed to. When I saw the rope leave my hands and the knotted end of the rope didn’t clear the trees in front of us, that’s when time slowed almost to a stop. As Bart zoomed down the cable, I watched the rope work itself right into a forked V of the branches below. The rope slipped and slipped through the branch without problem, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the knot at the end of the rope met the V. There was nothing I could do but hope the knot would somehow jump the V or slip through, but to no avail. I watched and waited as it slipped closer and closer and closer until- snag.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I didn’t want to be found standing where I was. For the time being, everyone’s attention was swarming around the kid whaling on the ground 15 feet below the zipline cable. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see what state he was in, but his screams and cries told me I didn’t want to be the one spotted in the zipline tree so I abandoned my position as quickly as possible. It was a broken wrist or arm or something, by the way- not anything some time and a plaster cast couldn’t set straight.
Nobody ever did point their finger at me. I don’t think anybody there even put together the pieces that I messed up by not throwing the rope far enough. Now my confession is out in the open. Now it’s off my chest. Let the chips fall where they may. We’ll see if anyone shows up at my door ready to take it out on my own hyde (yes, I know how I spelled that). True story.
I was too short back then to be able to see over everybody’s head to the middle of the chaos, but I knew, nonetheless, exactly what was going on. Bart was broken and his father was assessing the damage. I didn’t know to what extent he was broken, but judging by the panic in and volume of his whaling, I knew it wasn’t good. What was worse was knowing that it was my own fault.
I tried to keep a little bit of distance from the center of everybody’s focal point so as to not draw any attention to myself, and at the same time I knew that trying to distance myself too much while every person in the vicinity was battling for a chance to see into the center of the huddle would also draw unwanted attention. Yes yes, it was my fault and I knew it, but nobody else seemed to know it, and I wasn’t about to start spreading that word around.
I was somewhere around 9 years old, I think, and we were out in the woods camping out. Once every year my church sponsored a father-and-son campout, which was always something my brothers and I looked forward to. There were all kinds of activities to do, but the main attraction for excitement was the line of cable running from a tall cottonwood tree, over the tops of a few shorter trees, and out into the clearing.
All day long things were running smoothly- getting into the back of the long line, waiting my turn, zipping down the 3 or 4 second zipline ride, then starting the whole process over again. After a while, though, the line grew smaller and smaller until there were only a few of us left interested in the short exhilaration of the ride. One of those few people was, you guessed it, Bart. And, of course, another one was me.
It was a genius idea to put a zipline in the woods for people to zip along. It was also a genius idea to tie a rope to the zipline in order to be able to return the zipline handle back to the beginning of the ride. What wasn’t quite so Einstein-like was the genius who tied a knot at the end of the rope. Whoever did that must hate young boys who want nothing more than quality time with their fathers out in the woods, because it was a disaster waiting to happen.
It came down to this: being that I was the next person in line, my job was to toss the dangling rope over the tops of the trees as Bart zipped down the cable. That was all I had to do- make sure the rope cleared the trees.
The rest of the story basically tells itself. Bart grabbed the handle and I grabbed the rope. He lifted his feet, let gravity take over, and I threw the rope just like I was supposed to. Well, maybe not exactly how I was supposed to. When I saw the rope leave my hands and the knotted end of the rope didn’t clear the trees in front of us, that’s when time slowed almost to a stop. As Bart zoomed down the cable, I watched the rope work itself right into a forked V of the branches below. The rope slipped and slipped through the branch without problem, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the knot at the end of the rope met the V. There was nothing I could do but hope the knot would somehow jump the V or slip through, but to no avail. I watched and waited as it slipped closer and closer and closer until- snag.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I didn’t want to be found standing where I was. For the time being, everyone’s attention was swarming around the kid whaling on the ground 15 feet below the zipline cable. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see what state he was in, but his screams and cries told me I didn’t want to be the one spotted in the zipline tree so I abandoned my position as quickly as possible. It was a broken wrist or arm or something, by the way- not anything some time and a plaster cast couldn’t set straight.
Nobody ever did point their finger at me. I don’t think anybody there even put together the pieces that I messed up by not throwing the rope far enough. Now my confession is out in the open. Now it’s off my chest. Let the chips fall where they may. We’ll see if anyone shows up at my door ready to take it out on my own hyde (yes, I know how I spelled that). True story.
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