I was sitting here, scratching my head, wondering what memory to write about. It seems when you truly think about memories, it floats just out of your grasp, taunting you. But when you’re fondly thinking of good times without actually trying, the memory turns into a real, solid event that you can taste on the tip of your tongue.
It took me awhile to recall a memory, but an entry from my journal triggered that past event, and it all came flooding back to me, a mixture of sunshine and vanilla, treachery and fear.
July 17, 2017
I licked a melted droplet of vanilla gelato off my spoon as we sat under the shade in Stanley Park. Vancouver was beautiful, so different from Los Angeles. The trees were a wonderful emerald green shade, and everyone moved at a slower pace. That was the sunshine and vanilla part of the day.
We went to the Capilano Suspension Bridge afterwards. This is where the treachery and the fear starts.
We were extremely high off the ground. I could feel my fear ricocheting through the wooden planks down into the river that was 230 feet below us. I gripped the railing with unusual strength that I did not possess. Life or death situation. It was that serious. The wooden planks creaked ominously below us, and, every few minutes, someone would shake the bridge to scare us.
Sad to say, it really did scare me. My father was making fun of us for being scared, but I’m almost positive he was as well.
It seemed like it took an entire lifetime before we reached the end of the bridge, and I scrambled to safety. On the other side was like a tree-house land. There were tall, sturdy trees; the same wooden planks that made up that… shudder… bridge hung between these trees. It was called the Adventure/Cliffwalk (according to my journal). That was the fun part of the day, even though scary as well, but I was dreading the return trip back. Why did we have to go back? Why couldn’t a helicopter take us back?
I honestly don’t understand how we made it back, now that I’m typing it. And as I’m typing this story, my hands are shaking. Are you kidding me? Why did I even decide to include the suspension bridge in our trip to Vancouver? My sister and I planned this trip, and, somehow, the one who fears heights (me) chose to include the bridge. I don’t understand what I was thinking; perhaps I was sleeping at the time I was writing down the bridge in our planner.
The way back was even scarier. The people were getting reckless, shaking the bridge almost every minute. And I was getting more scared than ever, especially since my adrenaline was at an all-time high, from the previous bridge walk, the Cliffwalk, and then this. I ran the entire way back. My sister ran with me, as well, so I wasn’t the only scaredy-cat. Our feet barely touched the ground – we were that scared. We collapsed on the other side (figuratively) and relieved.
Tell me, why did I go on that bridge?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m never returning.
It seems funny right now, but I can still feel the fear rushing through me. I am NOT returning to that bridge again. NEVER.
On the bright side, the view was nice! The river seemed a clear color of blue, and the green trees framing it on the side were picture perfect.
But I’m not going back.
Here’s the original journal entry… it’s kind of messy. It was also written the day after our little adventure, so there is very little detail.
Lots of love, and you should totally go to that bridge if you ever visit Vancouver, Canada because it is beautiful and one amazing/fear-filled experience,