East Canyon Flop

We sat. The sun beat down. The wind blew a pungent aroma. We glanced at the lake. We thought about the boat. We called our captain. And when he didn’t answer, we sat.

Phil called me at noon for two reasons. First to inform me he was in town and second to ask if I’d like to spend my Friday afternoon at the lake. Since Friday morning was spent unconscious I thought the lake trumped my day by the pool in the ghetto. I threw on a suit, grabbed my towel and stumbled into the bright sun.

On the drive up we were all in high spirits, singing along to the radio (I won’t tell you what was playing on the radio as that would be social suicide). I even impressed the boys with my tour guide knowledge of East Canyon—fishing rules, swimming rules and navigating mixed in with some special memories of the area. But once we got to the lake disappoint set in. No boat.

So we waited for the boat to show and in those two and a half hours I mentioned back flips. As in someone should do a back flip off the pier. Except that the guys heard that I would do a back flip off the pier. We walked down to the pier and I felt my sudden death. My head would crack on the pier, or my neck would roll off as it went back and the rest of my body failed to follow. Or I would create the East Canyon Flop.

Juan manned-up first and completed a back dive. Once he clambered back onto the pier he and a couple nine-year-old boys shamed me into jumping off the pier myself. I talked my way out of a back flip and into a belly flop looking dive. It’s hard to say who shined most on the pier, Phil with his shimmy, me with my flopped dive, or Juan who managed a half rotation in his running back flip into the refreshing water.