Where I live there is a location called Lover’s Leap because, as old waconian legend states, an Indian and his lover were not allowed to marry so they jumped off of a cliff together. Lover’s Leap is a large cliff over looking the gorgeous blue Brazos river and the small suburban houses of Waco. The legend makes the cliff embrace the tragic romantic feel most writers can never successfully emulate, while at the same time keeping the cliff’s serene beauty.

 

I picture the two Indians on Lovers’ Leap with their arms wrapped around each other in the darkness of night. The taboo relationship hidden from their parents as the sounds of the wind is louder than their gentle whispers of loving commitment to each other. Their hearts connected with tears when they learn they can not be together. The brave Indian asks her if she really loves him. A last living kiss of two misguided lovers. Hand in intertwined hand,

 

They Jump.

 

Of course, I imagine the romantic stories of the Indian lovers until I read the paper. Everyone in Waco knows more people have tragically died on Lover’s Leap by leaning too far over the cliff’s edge while watching the boat races on the Brazos. Therefore, a wire fence has been placed around the cliff’s edge to prevent people from accidently falling to their deaths. In the paper, a man said he lost his shoe, climbed over the wire fence, and accidently fell off of Lover’s Leap hurting his back. My favorite part of this story is by the witnesses who claimed he was actually peeing off of Lover’s Leap when he accidently fell to his death.

 

My pictures, of the Indians on Lover’s Leap, is replaced with snickers from onlookers as they watch some jack-ass pissing off of the cliff. I picture his smug face as he chuckles to himself thinking how he’ll tell his grandkids about the day he pissed off of Lover’s Leap. Suddenly a misstep makes him plummet to the ground, and the onlookers (like myself) are in between shock and trying not to laugh.

 

I learned from the paper the feelings embraced in reality and legends are completely different. Legend is the graceful stories invented by romantic unrealistic dreamers where every silence is filled with quiet music. Reality is the awkward moments where you listen to pee falling onto rocks from a cliff. Legend is smooth and beautiful, and reality is shaky and odd. So many people spend so much time trying to get their lives to measure up to the ideal of legend type grace. In actuality, life will always be raw and awkward. Sometimes, I think we, dreamers, need to recognize our lives will never be filled with legend type grace