Ledge Walkers

by Rosalyn Wraight

  Hope made our feet move quicker, and soon we neared the park's entrance. While it seemed we would be entering more pitch-blackness, I could begin to see the orangish glow of lights a distance down the road. We picked up the pace, and as we did so, the quacking became louder. When we finally cleared the forest-lined gravel road, we moved into a large clearing. A sign indicated a boat landing, a picnic area, and a playground.

  No “duck lagoon,” but it was easy enough to determine their location. We followed the winding road toward the boat landing, and there we saw her. We stopped dead in our tracks.

  Across the big lagoon spanned a very high walk bridge made of stone. The sides of it were maybe three or four feet high, and out of those sides jutted large metal rods that formed a fence to keep stupid visitors—and Susan—from falling over the edge. Only Susan had climbed up the metal-rod fence and was seated on the top two-foot overhang. She just sat there, staring off while ducks bitched about her intrusion and lack of food.

  "Hey, Susan,” I yelled from our distance, not wanting to scare her with our approach.

  "I'm not Susan,” she yelled back at me. “Go away."

  Holly and I shot gaping looks at each other, and for some inexcusable reason, we laughed.

  "Well, you look like Susan, so we're coming over."

  "Please just let me be,” she shouted, as did many dozens of the ducks that looked up at her from the water.

  We neared the bridge but stopped short of walking onto it.

  "What the hell are you doing way up there, Susan?” I asked her, suddenly realizing that I should have left “hell”

  and “Susan” out of it.

  "I'm not Susan!” she spat. “Just leave me the hell alone."

  "Who are you then?” Holly dared to ask, fearing an answer that would beg for Kris or a straightjacket.

  "Maggie!” she asserted. “You made the silly game. I'm just playing along."

  "That class is over,” I said. “You don't have to do that anymore. We want Susan back."

  "I don't!” she screamed, and beneath that intensity, I could tell that an even bigger tempest brewed.

  Holly and I looked to each other, horribly afraid that we were in over our heads, that something had gone terribly wrong with something that was supposed to be so innocent.

  "How much did you have to drink, Susan—I mean—” What the hell did I mean? Did I foster her delusion and call her Maggie, or did I piss her off? I did not like this. I tried again. “How much did you have to drink, bud?

  Are you level two?"

  "I'm not drunk! A little tipsy maybe, but not drunk. I wish to hell I was! What the fuck is a gladiator anyway?”

  She moved suddenly and nearly lost her balance. “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe a lot tipsy."

  I wanted to walk my ass over to her, grab her by the scruff of the neck, and pull her back to earth. I knew she wouldn't plunge to her death or anything, but a tipsy and pissed off person in the middle of a deep lagoon was not a good thing. I chose to do nothing but cross my fingers.

  "Are you going to tell me what a gladiator is?"

  I grimaced and carefully said, “Somebody who gets very argumentative and starts thinking she can kick the world's ass."

  She let out a big laugh. “Well, that's not me. I'm too damn busy getting my own ass kicked."

  "Susan, just tell us what you're thinking. Please!” Holly implored.

  A nasty face twisted to Holly's direction. I knew what was coming, and she delivered. “I'm not Susan! Goddamn it, I don't want to be Susan!” She let out a thunderous scream.

  "What's so bad about Susan?” I dared yet again. “I like her."

  "I like her, too,” Holly quickly added.

  "I can't stand her! I want to be like Maggie. Maggie's so okay with who she is. She's so fucking free!” With that, her hands clutched each side of her shirt, and she forcefully pulled, busting buttons as she went. She removed her shirt and threw it into the lagoon to a chorus of ducks that greedily tested its edibility factor. She stretched her arms wide.

  I suddenly remembered how innocuous it had seemed when Susan whipped her bra across the basement. Now, she sat there bare breasted, but the least of what she exposed was flesh. She hurt. Bad.

  "Bud,” I yelled, “getting arrested for indecent exposure while sitting above a ‘Do Not Climb’ sign is hardly going to help your feeling free."

  "She's right. Just come down, and we'll talk about it. We care about what you're feeling. We really do, hon!"

  If anyone could sweet-talk a half-naked woman off a bridge, it was Holly. I whispered to her, “Turn on your charm, Holly. Keep her distracted. I'm going in."

  Holly nodded and meandered down the poopy shoreline a bit so that Susan had to look further ahead in order to see her. “It's awfully pretty here, isn't it? I wonder what it's like when the sun is out. Have you been here when the sun is out? Is it pretty enough to paint? I always look at things in terms of whether it's worth my oils or pencils."

  Channeling Rambo's stealth, I started up the bridge.

  "Like when I drew that picture of Maggie today,” Holly continued. “I knew her pretty face belonged there. She is pretty, isn't she?"

  Susan nodded, looked down, and started swinging her dangling bare feet.

  "She is awfully worried about you. She wanted to come find you, but we wouldn't let her. She was too upset. I bet she'd come now if you wanted her to, hon."

  "You think I want her to see me like this? I'm surprised she's stayed with me this long."

  "Hon, she seems to thinkshe did something wrong, not you."

  "Her! She didn't do anything but act like me and spew all that crap I spew at her everyday. I'm the idiot. It just felt so fucking good not to be me. I just needed to try it on. I just needed to move."

  "And you just had to move all the way up that stupid fence there, huh?” she asked with a cautiously big grin on her face.

  I was getting close. So was Holly.

  Susan smiled halfway. “Maybe this sounds stupid, but I needed to feel big. I needed to look down on things."

  "Instead of yourself, you mean?"

  She screamed. “I fucking hate this! I'm dying in here, but I can't seem to get out!” She started sobbing and beating her chest as if she could force the demon out.

  And then I jumped. I stood on the wall, shoved my legs and arms through the bars, and hung onto Susan as tightly as I could. I startled her. She looked down at me, and I really expected her to be pissed off and fight me, but she didn't. She just stared.

  "Will you come down now, so I don't look like a big dink hanging here?” I begged.

  Holly was suddenly behind us, reaching her hands up to Susan. “Kate looks like a big enough dink all on her own. Let's not make it any worse. Come on down, hon."

  "Thanks, Holly” I said sarcastically, but when I saw Susan take her hands, I meant it two ways.

  With several careful maneuvers on all our parts, we were eventually seated safely on the bridge. Holly and I both took a deep breath, and Susan seemed to relax. I was not satisfied, however, and I promptly stood and peered down at Susan. “Okay, now that you're safe, you are in big ass trouble. What the hell would possess you to go walking out here by yourself? And then to—"

  "Oh, chill your ass, Kate!” Holly said, glomming onto my leg and pulling me back down. “She doesn't need to be yelled at."

  Thank you, Holly!I meant that one only one way.

  Holly looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “Correct me if I'm wrong, hon, but I think you're just going through what most of us went through. That coming out stuff is hell."

  Susan scrunched her face and tilted her head.

  "Yes, most—if not all—of us did it. And most of us didn't keep our shirts on while we did it either."

  There was nothing in life that laughter could not make better—even if you had to laugh at yourself. I believed that with every cell of me. Susan laughed, and as she did so, somewhere in the world a straightjacket spontan
eously unraveled.

  Holly continued, “It is so incredibly huge to finally be able to say ‘I'm a lesbian, and that's okay.’ It's big, it's liberating, and you have this need to scream it, to shove it down people's throats if you have to, but you don't, you can't. You sit in that small, stuffy closet, and the feelings just get bigger and bigger until it feels like they'll blow the door off the hinges. But you don't want that either. Not having the closet is scarier than having it, because the world doesn't take too kindly to queerfolk."

  Susan was nodding her head vigorously. I was, too. I remembered. Sometimes I still knew those feelings too well.

  "The answer's not out there, hon. It's not up on that fence either. It's in that small, stuffy closet. You're mad at yourself for being in it. Get mad at what makes you have to be in it in the first place. Hate. Prejudice. Ignorance.

  It's their problem, not yours. But, it isyour closet, and chances are pretty darn good, you'll need that closet for the rest of your life, to one degree or another. So you've got to do the girlie thing and—"

  I was just trying to imagine Holly doing anything that wasn't girlie when suddenly headlights came into view.

  "Cops!” I yelled. “Hide!"

  Like two halfwits and one half-dressed halfwit, we spread out the long way, lying down and trying to become a part of the bridge wall itself, figuring the lip at the bridge's beginning would protect us.

  "It's probably a county cop. Oh please, let it be a county cop! If it's a city cop and I get hauled in, Laura will kill me."

  We were laughing uncontrollably, and then the lights shone down the bridge, mere inches from our faces. I could hear Holly chanting “county cop, county cop.” All I could think to chant was, “Please, don't let this make front page of my newspaper."

  Then the lights moved away. Holly loudly whispered, “Roll!” and somehow Susan and I knew what to do—as if we had done this twenty times in our law-abiding lives.

  Like sacks of potatoes, the halfwits rolled. We molded ourselves into the opposing wall and waited. A couple of minutes later, we heard the squad car coming back but on the other side, the side we somehow knew to get to.

  Holly eased her head into the bridge's center, stole a peek, and yelled, “Brown! It's a county cop. Thank God!"

  Once the taillights were out of sight, we sat up and laughed out every smidgeon of emotion we had.

  "We've got to do something about those ta-tas of yours, Susan,” I said. “We probably wouldn't have been in trouble if you had a shirt on, and we sure as hell can't walk home with you like that anyway.” I pulled my shirt off over my head.

  "What the hell are you doing?” Susan asked.

  "Well, I at least have a bra on. You've got nothing on! You can have my shirt."

  "Put it back on! She can have mine. Here!” Holly said and began unbuttoning.

  "Holly,” I yelled emphatically, and she looked at me as if she were ready to duke it out. “Holly, quit it. Your big happy girls there woulddraw traffic, not keep it sailing by. She can have my shirt."

  Susan countered, “Then, Kate, give me your bra, and you keep your shirt."

  I laughed. “You guys are just trying to humiliate me. My bra would be like pasties on you. Shut up and take the damn shirt!"

  We all roared with laughter, and I was not sure if they were laughing at me or not, but I supposed that it didn't really matter. I was.

  "And you're just going to walk home in a bra?” Holly asked.

  Suddenly, the word “home” hit me rather oddly, and my stomach dropped. “Shit! We were supposed to call home when we found you. Laura's still going to kill you, Holly, and I'm not long for this world either."

  "Then, call!” Holly ordered. “And make somebody bring you a shirt."

  "What the hell am I supposed to say? Who the hell do I get to bring a shirt?” I asked, and they seemed like reasonable questions.

  "Susan, are you ready to face Maggie? This really is nobody's business but hers. Screw everybody else."

  She looked frightened by the prospect, but she nodded in assent.

  We decided not to say anything about what happened, just that we were all safe. I hit speed dial and wondered how I could be delusional enough to think that Claudia would accept that.

  "Hi, honey,” I said when she picked up. “We found Susan, and everything is okay.... Yeah, she really did just need some air.... No, really. Everything is fine.” I swatted at the two of them for passing on the immense urge to laugh. Claudia rambled a few more things that I could not make out. “Uh huh,” I said, not even sure if it fit. “Oh, and could you have Maggie come to meet us?"

  I explained where we were and that we would start heading back home, meeting Maggie somewhere along the way. Then I was overjoyed to have a legitimate occasion to toss a whimper back at her. “Honey?” I beseeched, just as she had. “Could you please ask Maggie to bring me a shirt?” I held the phone away from my ear as she unloaded her questions. It was babble to me, and I tried so hard not to laugh out loud. “Because I need a shirt.”Oh, that was good. “Thank you, honey.”Beep.

  We all burst out laughing, with Susan being quick to point out that I was indeed going to be killed by Claudia, a slow and painful death. Then I reminded Susan that it wasn't really that funny. After all, she had to explain to Maggie why I was in a bra and she had my shirt on—plus, being unable to account for her own. Holly was, as usual, off the hook. Howdid that work?

  The three of us stood, and I shivered to the damp cold of a June night. We decided to make it to the entrance of the park and wait for Maggie. They put me in the middle, huddled in to keep me warm and Susan upright, and off we went.

  We had only made it a few yards when Susan said, “You didn't get to tell me what the girlie thing to do is."

  "Decorate!” she yelled. “It's your closet. Make it your own, chickie! Decorate!"

  "I don't get it,” Susan said.

  "Make ityour choice to be in there when you need to be in there. Make it your choice to come out when you want to. Mentally, just make it yours. Make it comfortable. Give it wallpaper, carpet, paintings, pillows, a ‘keep out’ sign. Make a window and hang some frilly curtains. Make it bigger. Put in a spa. A shower stall would be better. Make a plaque for everyone who is welcome to come in or is free to ask you to come out..."

  I think Susan finally got it, but Holly continued on with an endless list. All the way to the entrance of the park, we rattled off things that could make something that seemed deathly into something safe and homey.

  Chapter 10

  When we got back to the roadway, we again had a choice, but this time, it was of a very different nature.

  "I say we go for it and head back,” I suggested.

  "You're in your bra, Kate, in case you forgot,” Holly reminded.

  "So? Just hide me when a car goes by. No one will notice."

  "No,” she said. “Let's just wait for Maggie and your shirt."

  "I agree,” Susan added. “Besides, my feet could use a rest after all that gravel. I should have asked her to bring my shoes, too.” As if we could see the bottoms of her bare feet in the darkness, she held a foot up and nearly wiped out in the process. Then she said, “I'm sorry I got you into this. I didn't mean to."

  "Oh yeah, Susan, neither Kate nor I could ever get ourselves into anything similar all on our own."

  We made a pact to wait for Maggie. We examined the ditches by the park entrance, looking for a safe place to hunker down, out of sight. For the life of me, I had a hard time figuring out if the thought of animal eyes staring at me was really a better deal than the red lights of a squad car.Walk fast, Maggie!

  Eventually, we found a sloped, grassy area, and the three of us flattened ourselves, face up. The feel of damp grass on my bare back gave me that horrid creepy, crawly sensation. But, the sky was beautiful, and so we all gazed upward, pondering. For me, though, pondering always led to questions, and so I asked, “Susan, do you really think Maggie is a free as it seems?"

>   She didn't answer immediately. Then she finally said, “She's freer than me. Maybe that's all I look at. She sure has a knack for boiling things down to their simplest form and living what she believes."

  "Do you think she still has occasion for her closet?” Holly asked.

  "After hearing your explanation of it, I'm sure she does. She's fought for a lot of things, but I think she also knows when to fight and when to keep moving."

  I thought that was a good point.

  Holly recalled, “I remember a few years back and the big stink she caused with the district school board when the high school refused to put out pamphlets for the young people's GLB support group she helped start. She got them to agree to do it. She is a force when she needs to be."