I don't know how the hell I got here.
I mean, really, I do: I walked up here.
Mostly due to the coaxing and pressure from Sean and Nathan not to be a chicken. To climb under or over the barrier off the main path and ignore the clear signage telling us we weren't to go beyond that point.
They were dead keen to see the view. It looked amazing. Me? Not so keen.
I don't like heights for many reasons so sitting up here was a little beyond my comfort zone.
Not a little. A lot. Who am I kidding?
I waver between an overwhelming feeling of invincibility and the overwhelming feeling I'm going to bring up the burger and fries I consumed only an hour or so ago at a nearby pub. They would be preceded by the ice cream I enjoyed about 30 minutes before we headed down the path toward the beach.
The sea below is the most amazing blue.
I simultaneously feel it washing calm over me and calling to me to leap off into it. The second option could surely only result in death.
But the pull of the voice in my head - the physical pull I can't really adequately describe - is real. It's the same pull I feel when I'm right up against the yellow line on the platform in the Tube. A combination of magnetism toward the water or the metal of the train tracks and absolute rigid fear of what my body acting upon that magnetism would mean.
It's equal parts compulsion and revulsion so I avoid both situations as much as I can. Because I'm not ready for what comes after a wrong step; a loss of balance; the loss of equilibrium caused by being that close to the edge.
I sit and talk with Sean and Nathan studiously ignoring the sound of the waves below crashing in my ears. Studiously ignoring the point where the blue of the sea and sky meet that we like to call the horizon.
I focus on Sean's lips. The words pouring out of his mouth are kind of irrelevant. I don't really care about the substance of what he's saying. But they're absolutely imperative to me at this moment. If I lose focus on his lips, the words he's speaking, I lose everything.
I sneak a glance down at the beach. The crowds are growing as the day becomes warmer. Women of all shapes and sizes, in all manner of swimwear. The odd one catches my eye. Sometimes it's her figure. Other times it's an unfocussed splash of colour my eyes burrow into. Colour I can lose myself in. That isn't unending blue sea that hypnotises and calls to me.
Sean is also keenly aware of the women on the beach. He passes judgement and rates each woman who catches his eye. At least from this distance, he can't really see detail. Whether they have part of their swimming costume awry. Whether you can see the outline of their nipples. Whether you can see their tan lines, cellulite, curves ('good' or 'bad') or whatever else he's fixating on this week.
Nathan seems settled at this height but similarly uncomfortable about Sean's critique of the women on the beach. We both stay silent. Listen, but don't engage. Nathan looks out over the sea clearly wishing he was elsewhere, or that Sean was elsewhere.
As vacuous and offensive as Sean's commentary is, my mind focusses on it. Something to distract me from the closeness of the cliff.
I wonder how long we have to stay up here.
I shift uncomfortably on the rock and try to mentally coax Sean to suggest we head down to the beach. The shingle will still be uncomfortable under my arse, but at least I won't be so far up with so far to fall. So far to jump.
The sea never calls me this way when my feet are nestled in the sand or shingle. The sea can lap at my toes as much as it likes but it will never drown me in the siren sound that buffets my ears sat here on the cliff.
I can swim into the sea and feel it buoy me up. I can do handstands and swim out beyond where I can feel the sand under my toes. I can feel its welcoming, hopeful and calming caress against my body down there.
Up here, all I hear is its insatiable need for me to fall into it.
