The Edge

Rodney was a fat kid. There was really no nice way to say it. And to make matters worse, he had orange hair and freckles. And even more diabolical, his mother chose his outfits, so he usually looked like he was on safari. Or something. His mother didn’t say much, but his father sat on him pretty hard about his size. The hell you trying to do, be the first twelve-year-old kid in two time zones? That was one of his favorites.

Honestly, Rodney wasn't eventhat fat. He was big for his age, yes, but it wasn't out of control. No, the truth was, he was an alarmingly tall and chubby pale boy with fiery, moppy hair and a sea of brown spots covering each pudgy cheek. Even still, he might have fared better at school were it not for his wardrobe.

The boy often rode to far away places on his bike with friends Jason and Aaron, whom he had known since the beginning and were the only people he trusted fully. More often than not, they rode their bikes to exactly the place the boys’ parents had forbidden them to ride: Specklemore Canyon. The trip entailed tracing the dangerous highway for several miles out of town to the forest, where they’d eventually turnright, into a small opening in the foliage. The rocky, dirty trails from there provided the boys a challenging and fun obstacle course that lasted twenty minutes if it hadn't rained. After that, a thin trail the size of bicycle tires made its way though tall, golden weeds among a large thicket of trees. That trail gave way to fifty or so feet of bare rock before a sheer drop off, and it was a two-hundred-and-fifty-foot trip to the bottom should anyone become careless.

One rainy Tuesday afternoon, Rodney left school upset and worked up because one of the kids who ran with the street-dance crowd pushed him down and called him Borer the Explorer. To add insult to injury, a slew of pretty girls that had been near laughed at him as he got up and brushed the grass off his clothes and out of his hair. When last bell rang, he tore off across the grounds on his bike, the front wheel barely making contact with the ground as he power-pedaled. He turned onto the highway that led to Specklemore Canyon.

Rodney pedaled as fast as he could along the road, lips pulled back in a grimace and sweat dripping off his forehead. He turned into the trees, rode the trail so fast that he barely noticed the obstacles, and rocketed out of the weeds. He locked his brake and the tire hissed against bare rock, stopping the bike just feet from the edge. He pushed the bike on its side and stood facing the drop, balled-up fists by his hips, chest heaving. Then, a rage scream that echoed through the canyon like the cry of a desperate wildcat. After a moment, anger turned to tears and he inched closer the edge.

The sun was setting on the other side, and brilliant oranges and yellows and pinks and purples were cast in all directions, oil in water through teary eyes. Shame and fear, but mostly shame,ran rampant through the boy. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, momentarily clearing his vision. When he saw how close to the edge he was, his muscles tensed,then froze, and breathing stopped. For a moment, as hestared, saucer-eyed and gridlocked, down at the tiny river nearly three hundred feet below, there was absolute peace.

A gust of wind from behind. A momentary loss of balance. The sound of shoes scuffling as faraway feet hunted for traction. Arms flailing at his sides as he fought to go backward without stepping forward. Still not breathing. Not going backward. Going forward. Going over the edge. Rodney closed his eyes.

His stomach knew he was falling before he did. Too terrified to scream, heopened his eyes and watched the rocky cliff face go by as he sped toward the bottom. Then another strong gust of wind from the other direction, whichslowed his fall considerably and blew him into the wall of the canyon, scraping and bouncing as he continued to fall. Rodney came to a sudden and moderately painful stop ten feet later, shaken and banged up but alive.

It took time for him to realize what had happened and that, miraculously, he had survived. That he might be already dead occurred to him, but the pain shooting in his arm and hip told him otherwise. Slowly, he sat up and surveyed his surroundings. The small ledge was about four feet out from the cliff face and maybe six feet wide—just big enough to catch an overweight and awkward kid before he fell to his death. On either side of the ledge, there was only sheer rock face, a hundred feet up and down and stretched out across the land until it appeared tiny and insignificant.

He slowly pivoted around so that he was facing the cliff and saw what looked like an opening in the rock. Puzzled, he moved closer, scooting on his bottom and pushing himself along on shaking arms. It was definitely a hole in the rock. It went in a few feet and then to the left, where it disappeared into shadow. Realizing it was his only chance, crawled inside, wincing as he went.

Another strong gust of wind; this one heard, but not felt. The haunting howl as it passed the cave’s entrance was a melancholy mix of loneliness and rage, an ancient promise to return over and again. Rodney crawled deeper into the cave.

It wasn't long before there was orange, glowing light and the faraway sound of voices. He crept forward on tummy and elbows until he was close enough to hear clearly. There were several different voices, deep and gurgly and rough, speaking in a foreign tongue. Rodney was comforted by the cacophony, momentarily smiling in the dark of the cold tunnel.

Then the light disappeared as someone—or something—came between it and the boy.A set of eyes, yellow and round, appeared in the near-dark of the cave. Then, a silhouetted body, hairy and fat. As it moved closer to Rodney, monster was the word he screamed in his mind. A rather cute monster, if he were being honest, but a monster nevertheless. Thick, green fur covered the entirety of this creature’s face, only ceasing around its yellow eyes and its clown-red lips, enormous and wide. Its nose, which was like that of a gorilla’s, was devoid of hair entirely and featured only dark and shiny skin with two soda-can-sized nostrils, which were flaring and relaxing as it sniffed the air.

For the second time that afternoon, Rodney was frozen in terror. The monster was close enough that he could feel its hot breath on his cheek. He shut his eyes tight and put his head down so he didn’t have to see whatever was going to happen next.

After a long silence, the monster spoke, its voice deep and melodic. “Who are you, child? How did you get here?”

Rodney slowly raised his head. “I fell.”

“You fell? From where?”

Rodney pointed his finger up. “I was peeved off and got too close to the edge, fell. It was stupid.”

The monster studied Rodney, its yellow eyes unblinking. “You say you fell. From up there. You just, fell? And now you're here?”

Rodney nodded. “Yes, sir. Please don’t eat me.”

The monster recoiled. “Child, you've got it all wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stay put,” the monster said, turning back toward the light. It stopped and craned its neck so his head appeared as if it were installed backward. “Say, what was your name?”

“Rodney.”

The monster smiled, excitement spreading on its face. “Close enough! I thought it might be you. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Rodney watched as the monster waddled out of view on short legs. He thought for a second about running, but remembered where he was and exhaled. Realizing there was nowhere to go, he simply sat with his legs crossed and waited.

The monster returned shortly. “Follow me into the room there. Everyone is waiting.”

Rodney nodded and the monster shuffled quickly ahead. The boy crawled after it and emerged from the tunnel into a great room full of different sized monsters that were all hairy and smiling. Most sat at long, wooden tables, a bowl of soup and a stein of beer in front of them.

They were silent while Rodney took his surroundings, looking in all directions. The large room was elegant, its rock walls illuminated with hundreds of candles—on a vast expanses of wooden shelves, along the large wooden dining tables, in the nooks and in the crannies, up high and down low. Forty or so monsters sat at the tables or stood along the walls, and all of them were looking at Rodney.

“Whoa,” he managed, mouth hanging open.

“Whoa is right,” one of the monsters said, making his way to the front. He was much taller than the others and wore a tiny white coat. Round spectacles sat atop an ovated nose, which nestled into a massive white handlebar mustache. Rodney thought he must be their leader. “I’m Eli, and this is my rowdy bunch of rascals. I think we can help each other. Now, Junior here said you fell. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Rodney replied. “I got too close to the edge. Up there. I was falling when a crazy gust of wind blew me right on to your front porch. I would have died otherwise.” The monsters stared back at him with blank expressions. “I swear it!”

Eli nodded, his face soft. “We believe you. It’s just… well, we are in a state of awe and disbelief, I guess one could say.”

“But why?” Rodney asked.

Eli made his way to one of the shelves and carefully extracted a large, leather-bound book that looked as old as time itself. “You. You are the reason.” He handed the book to Rodney. “Here. See for yourself.”

Rodney sat at one of the tables and opened book.

***

The Gorklesnorks prepared a wonderful room for Rodney inside the great cave, with privacy and endless candles. He’d never felt more at home. Over time, he began to understand more what Home meant. It wasn't a bigger or better house or a more expensive neighborhood. It was safety, it was respect, and it was love.

Rodney learned about the monsters, which called themselves Gorklesnorks. They told him of their rich history in the cliff dwellings, of their mission to never be discovered unless it was byhe who was in the prophecy, and of their spiritual beliefs, which told of the coming of a chosen one named Rothney, who would somehow complete the circle and set them free. The books were old, they explained, and the translations were oftentimes not exact, as was the case with his name. To quote the text:

And he will appear from the ether, in an unexpected way, to guide and to teach and to lead. This chosen one, Rothney, will be apparent the moment he is witnessed by Gorklesnork eyes, for hair of fire and mapped cheeks will announce his authenticity. He will come as a boy, a child, lost and emotional. He is to be given time. Within one Shormun Moon, his role will be known to him, from inside himself, from the Creator. Until this day, house him. Feed and clothe him. Rear him up. Teach him our ways so that he may teach us his.

And the texts had proven prophetic, for that is exactly how Rodney—not Rothney but close enough—had come to meet the Gorklesnorks in the first place. And he did in fact grow, evolving into a kind and mature and driven young man. Rodney liked the way the Gorklesnorks listened to him, really heard him out, and responded with truth and kindness instead of the passive-aggressive and anger-tinged tones that were commonplace at his house.

Due to resources, he took on an entirely natural diet, so there were no more wrapped cakes or sodas or donuts on Saturday mornings as he lounged in front of the television watching cartoons. In just weeks, he grew slim and fit. He lost so much weight the Gorklesnorks had to make him new clothes. His voice deepened. His confidence grew. His senses of family, of responsibility, of personal accountability and of being himself grew immensely.

His time there caused him to realize that all the mess and the fuss, all the moaning and stressing about bills and new school clothes and whether or not your phone was up to par with the times, was a total waste. He realized that the important stuff—love, and caring, and learning, and curiosity, and exploring your real surroundings and yourself, who you are underneath it all—was the key to setting him free so that he could be himself. And, when he did become himself, he naturally led the Gorklesnorks.

Together, each ascended and became better versions of themselves. The lessons weren’t always easy ones, but as the monsters had taught Rodney, the tougher challenges meant greater payoffs. They understood the spiritual world much better than he did. In fact, he realized he hadn't really understood it at all until he'd met them. But once he did understand it, he understood who he was and what his role there meant, as was written in the text. He told them of his world, of traditions and of rules and of our history, as much as he knew, so that they may learn from our mistakes and our victories.

Somewhere in the third month—it was actually three months, three days and three hours, although that’s not important—it was time for Rodney to go, to return home and use the experiences with his new away-family to improve his life and the lives of those around him. And the Gorklesnorks would see many a stretched and eventful evening to come, discussing new ideas at long tables inside a safe and secret cave protected by the quiet might of a majestic cliff face.

When Rodney made it back to the spot where he’d fallen, his bike was, of course, gone, having long ago been found and taken home by other kids exploring the area. He said goodbye to the Gorklesnorks and turned toward the path through the weeds and through the trees and along the two-lane highway—the path Home. A smile spread on his face and he set off walking, lean and learned, retracing the route he'd taken before his life was saved by falling off a cliff.