Jumpin’ Jack

Flash Fiction by John M. Floyd

Two men stood together in the grass at the edge of a chasm. From a distance, it looked like a wide crack in the earth, just outside town. Up close, it was a rocky gorge a hundred feet deep. One of the men, old and bearded, stared idly into the depths while the other, young and strapping, watched a group of young ladies chatting outside a small shop nearby.

After a moment, the man with the beard looked up and followed the other’s gaze. “Admiring our local womenfolk?”

“One in particular,” the young man said. As they watched, the women entered the building, talking and laughing. The sound carried clearly on the wind. “But she sure hasn’t noticed me.”

The older fellow chuckled. “Well, I’m sure she will, if you stay around awhile. As for me, I best be getting home. It was nice meeting you, Mr. …Taylor, was it?”

“Yes sir. Jack Taylor. Thanks for showing the new guy around town a bit.”

“My pleasure.” The old man seemed about to leave, then paused and turned again to study the crack in the ground at their feet. “In fact,” he said, “I might know a way for you to get that young lady’s attention, if you want it.”

“What do you mean?”

He nodded toward a large patch of red and yellow wildflowers growing on the far side of the chasm. It was a blaze of color in an otherwise bleak landscape. “Give her a bouquet of those,” he said, “when she and her friends come out of that shop.”

The younger man blinked. “What? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Jump across and pick a handful of ’em, that’s how. Better yet, wait until her group comes out, so she can see you do it. A brave gesture, to win her heart.”

Jack Taylor shook his head and said, “That’s not bravery, it’s suicide. That crack’s ten feet wide, at least. I could never jump across it.”

The old man chuckled. “Of course you could. Don’t you feel the wind?”

“The wind? What about it?”

“Well, it’s not just a regular wind, blowing across the flats. There’s a constant vertical updraft, from deep in the gorge here. In certain spots, it blows strong enough to keep you from falling in.”

The young man snorted. “What?”

It’s true. It’d be almost like floating across.”

“Yeah, well. Why don’t you do it, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Show me,” Jack said. “You’re so sure, jump it yourself.”

The old man stood there a moment, stroking his beard and looking across at the other side of the chasm, then glanced again at the little shop in the distance. No sign of the women. “All right,” he said. “Watch this.”

With no hesitation he stepped forward and leaped into the void.

And sure enough, a moment later he landed nimbly on the far side, not at the edge but several feet beyond. He stayed there long enough to bend and run a hand through the gorgeous flowers that now surrounded him, then grinned and jumped gracefully back to the near side.

The younger man was gobsmacked. He stood rooted in place, his hair blowing this way and that, mouth hanging open. At last he stammered to the man beside him, “I can’t believe my eyes. How in the world—”

“I told you how. The upward push is so strong it’s like a cushion. You couldn’t fall if you tried.”

“But—”

“Want me to do it again?”

Before Jack could reply, the old man sprang once more across the gap, landing even more safely and farther from the edge this time. Smiling, he turned and leaped back across. He did indeed seem to be floating.

 “It’s like swimming on air,” he said. “Convinced?”

The young man swallowed hard, still stunned. At last he nodded. “Yeah. I’m convinced.”

At that instant they heard the voices again, and saw the ladies emerge from the shop and look in their direction.

“Then do it,” the bearded man said. “Now, while they’re watching.”

“Okay,” Jack said, grinning. “Here goes.”

A quarter mile away, a woman in an elegant gown stood at an open window high above the town, looking out at the countryside. Her long red hair rippled in the wind. She was about to turn away when she stopped, focused, and gasped, “My word!”

Behind her, her husband looked up from writing in a thick journal. “What’s wrong, Winnie?”

She removed the hand she’d clapped over her mouth. “Something’s happened, outside the north wall,” she said, pointing. “A group of women and a man are standing at the edge of the gorge, looking down. One of the women is crying, and another’s screaming. Listen, you can hear them.”

Her husband put down his ink pen, rose from his chair at the roundish table, adjusted his purple robe, and came over to stand beside her at the window. Leaning forward, he squinted at the scene in the distance.

“What is it?” she asked him. “Can you tell what’s happened?”

He smiled. “Nothing to worry about.” He straightened up and returned to the table.

“What?”

“It’s just Merlin,” Arthur said. “He likes kidding around with the villagers.”