One Small Step...

           I could not see anything.  My $5 headlamp was grossly inadequate at penetrating the seemingly endless dark of the Costa Rican rain forest.  The torrential rain beat down upon me, soaking through my clothes, as I stood frozen in place.  A lifelong fear of suspension bridges prevented me from moving.  I knew the green metal foot bridge would be slippery, and I could hear it creaking in the wind.  I also knew that about halfway across it was slightly crooked and I wondered if my boots would have enough traction.  I stood there, watching the flickering of my classmates’ headlamps fading away into the distance on the other side.  All I could do was breathe.  The rain was warm, which was strange, not what I was used to.  The river, swollen from the heavy rain, flowed somewhere unseen below.  The nighttime noises of the rain forest: tink frogs, marine toads, an occasional vermiculated screech-owl, countless insects, and myriad other creatures, created a stunning cacophony with the sound of the river and the rain.

            Suddenly, Peter cleared his throat behind me.  My teacher and fearless leader of this expedition, he knew about my fear of bridges.  In fact, I had given him a short list of all the things of which I was afraid: bridges, streetcars, emotions, root vegetables, etc.

            “Just take it slow,” he said loudly in his strong west Texas accent, “one step at a time.  I’ll be right behind you all the way.  If you want to turn back, I’ll take you back.  If you want to go on, I’ll take you.  Don’t be afraid.”

            I hesitated, took a deep breath, and braced myself.

            “But Peter, you don’t understand!”  I yelled into the darkness behind me.  The wind whipped the warm rain into my face as I turned.  “If I take one step onto that bridge, I’ll never come back!”

            He smiled and slapped me on the back.  “That’s my girl!”