I lived on the End of the World.
Well, okay ... I didn't really live on the End of the World. A half-day's drive, maybe.
The little borough where I lived was about as normal as you could find. There was a general store, six denominational churches and twice as many bars. It was a model rural town. Crime was virtually non-existent and everyone pretty much got along with everyone else.
No one really seemed to mind that they lived near the Edge of the World.
Now before I continue, I should clarify just what the End (or Edge) of the World actually is. It's not the same thing that Isabelle was afraid Columbus would encounter when he went sailing off. Instead, the End of the World has a finite shape - like a lake. It was roughly a hundred miles in diameter and had a depth that was unknown.
Apparently, it just appeared during the 40's in a part of the state already set aside as a national park. Since the government owned the land, it proved an easy task to maintain secrecy as roads leading into the area were blockaded. In the beginning.
During the 50's and early 60's, the military launched a salvo of probes, cameras, and even three manned helicopters into the chasm.
Those in charge enjoyed a short-lived confidence that the enigma would be solved. The probes and cameras quickly ceased transmission. The soldiers never returned.
Consumed by the End of the World.
Word began leaking out to the press about the blunders.
When questioned, the officials would not comment.
A veritable Bermuda Triangle.
The Government, not keen on loosing any more soldiers, classified the End of the World simply as an
Unexplainable Phenomenon and publicly stated that no more lives would be put at risk.
Unexplainable Phenomenon?
Whatever that meant.
***
Time passed.
Every month or so a military convoy would drive through town heading towards the End of the World. They would always travel late at night to maintain a sense of secrecy, even though the trucks generated enough noise to rattle window-panes as they barreled through town. The trucks were usually transporting machinery - judging from the large tarps they were wrapped in. It was rumored that the government was still employing scientists - ranging from meteorologists to chemists - in an effort to solve the mystery.
Vanity.
It had been fifty years since it appeared and in that time they had learned nothing.
Even the media ceased reporting about it. To them the End of the World was old news ... yesterday's news. The infrequent re-runs on the End of the World that did air drew low Neilson ratings.
Tourism was non-existent. Gas stations doubled as souvenir shops due to sluggish sales. After all, why visit the End of the World when you could go to Mt. Rushmore?
It was as though the whole issue lay dormant, forgotten in the back of people's minds.
But the military persisted.
A stubborn bunch they were.
The military had a medium-sized barracks near the Edge, housing several hundred soldiers. It was common knowledge that they didn't enjoy being stationed there. When on leave they frequented the bars in town. Several times on my way home, I would pass a group of drunk, off-duty GIs, stumbling down Main Street, bragging about how they would rather be forcibly uprooting some mad dictator in a foreign land or rescuing hostages from crazed terrorists. The only problem was that there weren't any mad dictators left to overthrow, or many terrorists to defeat. The Cold War was over, Communism was extinct, and the Iron Curtains had fallen a long, long time ago.
I sympathized with the soldiers. They endured months of combat training and their main objective now was ensuring no tourists or suicidals entered the restricted zone.
I often wondered how they acted when they encountered someone about to jump. Tell them to stop or they'd shoot?
The origins for such a large military presence even being here was ludicrous: Several years before a Senator died by falling off the End of the World. Apparently, while touring the area, a gust of wind blew by and swept the fellow right off.
So of course, since a politician died, his peers called for action.
As though nobody cared that in previous years, scores of people had died.
Build a Wall! thundered Capital Hill. Too expensive! retorted the newspapers: Just ask the Chinese!
The government compromised by setting up watch posts all along the edge.
But what good could the army do? After all, the Edge of the World stretched quite a long way. If someone was determined to get an up-close look, they would. Either the government would have to utilize thousands of soldiers or they would have to build that wall.
So the government set up a token force, just enough to keep the bureaucrats happy and their budgets in check.
***
I was completing my senior year of high school when I decided that I wanted to have a first-hand look at the Edge of the World. I had always wanted to visit it, but never had the gumption. Several of my friends claimed to have gone but they all told different stories as to what it was actually like, making me question if they had actually gone.
It was a sunny day, a Wednesday towards the end of May, when I finally decided it was time for me to go.
I skipped school and headed over to McCormick's Deli to pick up some food for my journey: Some ham sandwiches on rye, a couple cans of pop, and some Mars bars.
Walking back to my car, I was confronted by an old, disheveled man. Tied around his neck was a makeshift sign. It read: THE END OF THE WORLD IS COMING!
"The end of the world is coming!" he screamed at me as if the sign wasn't conveying the message well enough.
I looked at him curiously. "The End of the World's already here. It's about a half day's drive due west."
The old man was taken back. For a moment he was silent. I wondered if the electrons in his head were still firing. "Blasphemy!" he hollered suddenly. He pointed a bony finger at me. "Heretic!"
I had overstayed my welcome.
Dropping my lunch onto the back seat of my old Pontiac, I hopped into the driver's seat, and set off for Route 88.
The old man continued hollering at me until he was a mere speck in the distance.
***
After driving for several hours, I pulled my car off to the side of the road. I was close. Hiding it behind an old army-recruiting billboard, I grabbed my lunch and began walking.
It was not long before I spotted the watchtowers looming ahead. At least a hundred feet in the air, the soldiers would be able to see for miles. That is, if the towers were actually being staffed. A nice day like this meant one thing - the soldiers were probably swimming at the Rubicon Reservoir several miles to the north.
As I continued, I came upon a small wooden sign nailed to a tree. It read in block letters:
END OF THE WORLD: 800 METERS
I wondered why the sign was so small. Perhaps all the larger ones had been stolen? After all, it would probably look cool to have a sign hanging in your room that read: END OF THE WORLD: 800 METERS.
I picked up my pace.
My heart raced with anticipation.
Several minutes later I reached my destination. A second sign was posted before me, larger than the first, with bright red letters stenciled onto a thick sheet of plywood:
YOU HAVE NOW REACHED THE END OF THE WORLD
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT
VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED
VIEW AT YOUR OWN RISK
I had reached my goal.
I looked far to the left and then far to the right.
I took it all in.
It was not quite what I had been expecting.
An expanse of blue nothingness lay before me. It looked similar to the ocean - except there was no beach, no waves - not even a breeze. It was as if the ground had been replaced by the sky. Looking up, even the clouds ended where I stood. The view stretched seemingly forever, for as much as I tried, I could not catch a glimpse of the opposite side.
In general, I was pretty disappointed.
I was hoping to see something dramatic - something sensational - like looking down to see the bowels of hell blazing with a rich crimson, or looking up to see angels flying high up in the heavens.
But all I saw was blue.
Blue.
And not a particularly pretty shade.
It was no wonder people opted for Mount Rushmore instead.
I sat down on the yellowing grass and looked out.
The Edge of the World was dull, but surprisingly tranquil.
This was what the government was fussing so much about?
Pulling a sandwich and a pop, I began to eat.
***
I had finished my first sandwich and was about to start my second when I heard a branch snap behind me. I turned and saw a girl appear from within the woods. She looked no more than a year or two older that I, and about my height. She was quite attractive - sporting short sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and freckles. She was wearing a pair of jeans that accentuated her slim waistline, and a short-sleeve shirt. A small leather pocketbook was slung on her shoulder and a thin sweater was tied around her waist.
"Hello," she smiled, walking up.
"Hi."
She offered her hand. "I'm Kate."
"Doug," I replied. "Pleased to meet you."
"Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Please."
She sat next to me. "Nice view," she commented, looking out over the End of the World. Up close, I couldn't help but notice right away the rings under her eyes. She hadn't been getting enough sleep lately.
"First time you've been here?" I asked, for lack of a better question.
"No. Once before - though it was several years ago." She answered, turning to me. "Your first?"
"Yeah. I finally decided to come here and take a look for myself - to see if it the End of the World was what it's hyped up to be."
"Oh," she answered, looking down at the grass with a slightly despondent look.
When asked, she readily accepted my other sandwich.
"What do you do for a living?" I asked.
"I work for an auction house in the city."
"Doing what?"
"Ugh ... acquisitions."
"Do you like it?"
"It's alright, I suppose."
"Difficult?"
"Not really," she answered, fiddling with a leaf that had fallen onto the ground. She twirled the stem between her fingers. "A lot of leg work."
I nodded.
"How about yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you happy about how your life is heading?"
"That's a deep question," I answered. "For so early in the conversation."
Kate leaned back, amused that she had caught me off guard. "Small talk lasts for only so long, Doug."
I grinned and quickly rattled off some ideas about what I wanted to do with my life.
It was strange, for as we talked, Kate kept bringing up reason for me being here. It was as if she was unhappy or unsure with my original response.
"I'm still nervous about the whole college thing. I can't decide if it would be best to..." I stopped as I looked over at her.
Kate's eyes were closed - her chest rising and falling steadily. I called her name, but she didn't respond. Fast asleep. My exciting life story had obviously been too much for her.
Leaning over to rouse her, I noticed the tip of a plastic card protruding from her purse. Assuming it to be her driver's license, I became curious as to how old she was. I pulled the card from her purse, taking care not to rouse her.
It wasn't a license but instead a military identification card that read: KATE BENTER: UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.
Attached to the I.D. was a license stating that Kate was a Trained Psychological Counselor employed by the military.
The I.D. stated her birth date - a quick adding of numbers told me that she was nineteen.
She was telling the truth about her name - but not much else.
Counselor. End of the World. Kate was here in case I wanted to commit suicide. Her job was to talk me out of it. That would explain why she was questioning me about my reasons for being here.
I was surprised about her age. Awfully young to be working for the government.
I assumed she had to walk along the Edge of the World looking for suicidals. That would explain her fatigue. You would think the government with all their billions, could have purchased her a bicycle?
I slid the licenses back into her purse. I then tossed a small stone, making sure it would make some noise when it splashed.
Her eyes fluttered open. "I'm sorry ... was I sleeping long?" She appeared embarrassed.
"Only a minute."
She sat up. "You do know that this is a restricted area and that you shouldn't be here," she said looking at me sternly. Obviously, she was convinced that I wasn't a jumper, so it was time for her to continue on.
I brushed a burr off my sleeve. "I won't tell anyone if you promise not to."
She nodded. "It was nice to have met you, Doug."
"Likewise. Could you use some company?"
She stared at me for a moment - wondering if her cover had been blown I guess. "If you like."
Hours slipped by as we strolled along lichen-covered trees and overgrown ferns that bordered the Edge of the World. The sun was beginning to grow heavy. I was going to have leave soon.
"I would like to see you again, Kate."
"I would like that very much, Doug."
"Can we meet here?" I tried to maintain composure. "Unless, it's out of your way."
***
Our relationship blossomed over the following months. I would meet her every weekend at an immense weeping willow where we would go for our long walks. We spoke about everything from her family problems to my plans after college.
She soon knew me as well as any of my friends at school.
Occasionally, we would come across a jumper. The people ranged from penniless alcoholics to millionaire executives. The people were of all ages and races.
But their stories of loss and despair were identical.
Kate would use her training to talk them out of it.
I played stupid but I'm sure she suspected. I never questioned why we had to walk the same route every time we met. I never questioned the phone calls that she made on her cellular. I never questioned why we had to be finished with our walks at exactly the same time. There was no reason to put her on the spot.
I was enjoying being with her too much.
Not one person we encountered followed up with their intended plan. Before long, the individual people we met began to blend together so that I had difficulty remembering any one face specifically.
That is, except for Rufus.
It was midday. Kate and I were walking along our well-traveled path.
A middle-aged man was leaning again a massive oak tree that we had nicknamed "Moby." So close was the tree to the Edge of the World that a good number of its roots were protruding out into the air. The man appeared unconcerned that he was mere inches from falling into oblivion.
We approached, and upon getting a better look at him I was taken by how he was dressed. He wore long, baggy pants tied tight by a colorful sash and an equally loose shirt. Save for a thick reddish goatee, he was bald. A large, hoop ring was fastened to his left ear.
I had recently watched a pirate movie with Burt Lancaster. This fellow looked as if he had stepped right out of the film stock.
Kate walked up to him, treating the man no differently than anyone else we had come across. Rufus turned to her. "I admit," he commented in a raspy voice with an accent that I couldn't place. He gestured outward. "All of this green. It's not what I had expected."
Green? I thought.
"You're not the only one," she answered, pausing for a moment as her gaze shifted downward. "Got a problem there?"
"What? Oh, this," he answered, looking down at his shirt where a reddish spot had begun to form.
How could I have missed that?
"Got run through. Careless of me. 'Ducked when I should have parried."
"Dagger?" asked Kate.
"Saber," he answered, spitting on the ground. "Damn British."
"Doesn't look fatal."
"Says you!"
"Just a cut."
"Hurts like hell!"
"Are you a man or a coward?" I wondered if Kate had noticed the rather large dagger strapped to Rufus' calf. "A real man would never let such a wound get to him."
"You'd best watch her tongue," he said, leaning heavily against the tree. Far off a bell rang. Too low of a pitch for a clock tower, it sounded more like a buoy's gong.
I shook my head. My imagination was getting the best of me.
Kate stood her ground.
Beads of sweat began to form on Rufus' brow. His face was beginning to loose color.
"I've known people who have had wounds far worse than that and are still around to talk about it," she said.
Rufus chuckled weakly. "Is that so?"
"What's it going to be?" she asked.
They stared at each other for a while in silence. "This view," he muttered. "I'll have to assume that the next time I'm here it'll be better."
"It's what you make of it."
Rufus rose to his feet. "Perhaps." He took several steps and disappeared behind the tree. I walked over to where he should have been.
He was gone. I was certain that he had not fallen off the edge.
"What was that about?"
She ran her fingers through her hair. She looked stressed. "Don't ask."
"Kate..."
"Not now, Doug."
***
Summer was winding down and I was leaving for college the following week. Even though school was in-state, it was going to put a geographical hardship on our relationship. The Sunday before I left, we took our walk in silence, just holding hands. Fortunately, there were no jumpers around.
"All packed?" she asked.
"Yeah."
We stopped under Moby. "I've been thinking about my job lately."
"Really?" I said.
"Yeah. I'm unappreciated by my superiors. It's a dead-end job … overworked, underpaid ... all that."
"Don't you feel that you are making a difference?"
"Sure," she nodded. "But there are others who can fill this position in an instant." She continued. "I've been thinking that it's time for a change. Time for me to broaden my horizons."
"How?"
"It's time I went back to school," she answered.
Well, that caught me off guard. "You know," I said. "I know just the place that has a diverse curriculum and late enrollment."
We stayed under Moby for a while longer, just looking out over the Edge of the World.
Later, I took her hand and we walked back to my car.
But not before I looked over my shoulder one last time.
I was expecting see the blue expanse. Instead, the surroundings were being replaced by a whiteness as if being erased.
"What is that?" I asked in horror, taking several steps backward.
Kate turned around. She smiled. "Finally."
"What are you talking about?" The whiteness was rapidly expanding. It wasn't very far from us.
Kate walked up. Leaning forward, she kissed me. Her lips were warm against mine. My fear melted as I pulled her close.
Like a blanket, the whiteness enveloped us.
The trees, my car, the End of the World, and even Kate were lost, vanished in the brilliance.
I became disoriented - adrift as the ground beneath my feet disappeared.
How long I was like this I do not know. The whiteness became so vibrant so that I had to shut my eyes.
In the distance someone was calling my name. Each time it sounded louder and more clear.
***
The February 15th evening edition of the Burlington County Gazette carried my article on Page Six of Section A.
It was first time that I had ever been in the news.
My fifteen minutes of fame.
My mother gave me the article after I had been discharged.
It read:
Winston. After four months of remaining in a coma, high school senior Doug Romano, to the delight of his family and the surprise of the hospital staff, regained consciousness. Doctors had placed his chances of survival at 10% after being struck by a drunk driver this past September. When asked what his plans were with his new lease on life, the determined Romano declared that he would attempt to catch up with his classmates so that he could attend graduation in June and college in the fall.
***
Years later, while relaxing in my living room, reading a mystery novel that was not holding my interest, my wandering eyes fell upon my son's 4th grade history textbook. Lying open, the book had been abandoned as soon as my wife informed him that unless the kitchen table was cleared of all dirty dishes there would be no chance of him watching Wrestling later in the night.
Placing my book onto the coffee table, I walked over and picked his up off the carpet. The book was open to a double page reproduction of a painting depicting a naval battle circa 1721 between two large sailing vessels. The larger boat, flying the Union Jack, held what appeared to be soldiers - all dressed similar and acting upon the directions of a lone man standing at the stern.
The other boat, a sleek pirate vessel with three reddish masts, black hull and ten portside cannons, which, judging by the smoke the artist had drawn, had been just fired. The pirates were attempting to overtake the soldier's ship.
It wasn't the grandeur of the battle that caught my attention. It wasn't that at all. It was the figure of a pirate, standing in the bow of the ship, holding up his sword in defiance of the soldiers. The bald pirate with the baggy clothes, colorful sash, and red goatee. The pirate that, when I brought the book up close, appeared to be smiling.
Smiling.
At me.
With assurance.
Because everything was going to be alright.