From our vantage point on the terrace of
our cliff-side hotel, I trained binoculars on
the young man, athletically built and bronzed
by the inferno of an Acapulco sun. Montezuma’s
revenge our biggest fear as we ate lunch, we
watched as he knelt at a small shrine, making
the sign of the cross before striding to the
cliff’s edge to risk his life for a few dollars.
Our waiter had told us he was 136 feet in the air,
causing me to remember the time I chickened out
when challenged to attempt the high dive at our
community pool. The “clavadista” waited patiently
for just the right turquoise wave, needing it to
avoid broken bones, or worse, when his body
struck the shallow inlet so far below.
Leaping now, he sailed through the air with courage,
focused, arms spread wide, gracefully flying bird-like
into the blue Pacific. As watching boats honked horns
in merry appreciation, I turned toward my wife.
“Comparatively speaking” I said, “my commission
only sales job really isn’t that risky is it?”
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