by Jen Gouthro 

Every summer, Peter faced a challenge. At the bottom of his street, amidst the jagged cliffs and thunderous Atlantic waves, lay an ominous outcropping of rock, rising about forty feet high and extending beyond the beach about thirty feet into the chilly green waters. Centuries of erosion had worn the rock into a peculiar formation, thicker on bottom and dwindling to a narrow two-foot spread on top. It rose gently in the middle and then sloped out into a sharp point. Looking at it from the beach, the structure earned its nickname, the Camel's Hump. 

As a child, Peter had no problem accepting the dare to clamber across the narrow footpath, and deftly maintained his foothold despite the jeers from his friends lined up behind him. "Don't look down, 'bye!" they shouted. He always would. Inevitably, a piece of slate would come loose and slip over the side, and he would watch helplessly as it ricocheted off the rock wall and plummeted into the dark, churning waters below. The wind seemed to sense his presence and rose up threateningly. The salt in the air mixed with the salt in his sweat, stinging his eyes. He would get distracted, but he always found his foothold. Why was it so much harder getting out there than it was getting back? Going back, he would always run the last few feet and finish, triumphant. 

At the beginning of every summer, he and his contingent of pals would head down to the cliffs to survey the damage the previous winter's winds and snow had inflicted on Camel's Hump. Every year, the footpath narrowed a little more. It was the main topic of conversation among the kids on the street. "Did ya see Camel's Hump this year? You'd kill yourself goin' out there!" Mothers would yell from their porches - "Don't be playing down those cliffs! Stay away from that Hump too!" But every year, sunny and cloudy days alike would find a lineup of tough, scrappy boys putting their courage to the test. 

One summer the Hump appeared impassable. The peak of the Hump had thinned to such an extent that it needed to be straddled in order to pass over it. The rock supporting the tip had all but disappeared, leaving a rug of battered grass dangling over the open water. It was a beaten and more precarious version of its former self. 

"Ya gonna do it, Peter?" his friend Darryl asked. "You always go first." 

Darryl always went second, in everything. 

"Yeah, it don't look too bad," Peter lied. The other boys stood around anxiously, scuffing their feet and glancing nervously at the Hump. 

"Yeah, it don't look too bad," echoed a new voice behind Darryl. It was Darryl's younger brother, Keith. He smiled widely, showing missing teeth. "What are you doin' here, Keith!" Darryl spat. "Go back down the beach, 'bye, you're not goin' out there!" 

Keith stood as tall as he could. "You used to go out there when you were eight!" 

"Yeah, stupid! But the Hump wasn't like it is now. Now it's dangerous!" 

Darryl gave Keith a shove. "Now get lost!" 

Keith marched off defiantly. Darryl said "Stupid kid." 

"Are we goin'?" Peter asked. 

He led the pack, as usual. He made it back, as usual. But there was less confidence in his step, and when he was safely back and the boys weren't looking, a serious look came over his face. He knew it wasn't like it used to be. He knew a big decision would have to be made and he would have to make it.

* * *

Peter and Darryl were playing catch in Darryl's backyard. Darryl's mother came to the window. 

"I thought you guys were down the shore" she hollered. 

"Nah, too windy down there," Darryl replied. 

"Well, Keith said he was goin' down to see you guys." 

Peter and Darryl looked at each other. 

"Shit," Peter said. They couldn't have gotten there fast enough. The grey skies whipped up strong winds to greet the boys, making the run that much harder. They could hear the crashing waves before they could see them. They navigated through and over the gravestones that lined the top of the cliffs, and stopped short of the edge. 

Keith was on Camel's Hump, almost near the tip. 

Darryl reacted. "Keith! Keith, what are ya doin' out there!" 

They watched him wobble and twist slightly. His head was turned enough so they could see his faint smile. It got wider and he shouted, "I'm on Camel's Hump!" 

"Keith!" Peter yelled, "Come back slowly! Don't go any farther!" 

But the wind caught his words. Keith continued to inch forward over the treacherous path. They both called to the young boy to stop, turn around, but he didn't hear them, or chose not to. They started moving and slid down the short embankment to the base of the Hump. 

"Keith!" they yelled, one last time. 

It happened in slow motion. A gust of wind rose up from the water, and Keith's arms shot out to steady him. He didn't have the skills to maneuver through his imbalance. He didn't know the Hump. He wagged his arms furiously as he fell sideways. He screamed all the way down to the water. Where was he? Where was he! He was still under. The boys made their way down to the shore almost as quickly as Keith fell. There was screaming and splashing as the boys forced their way into the cold waves to find Keith. 

Finally, Keith floated to the surface. Then he was on the beach. Then the frantic attempts to wake him up. Then the ambulance came. Then the hospital. Then it was over. 

* * * 

The man in the navy suit peered intensely into Peter's eyes. "So how do you feel boy?" 

Peter didn't know how he felt. The events of the last two weeks were a blur. Memories of the day itself were hazy. When he tried to think about it, there were parts that seemed dark and slow moving. It hurt his head to think about it too much. 

Darryl was more interested in drinking the Kool-Aid and eating the cookies that sat on the table. Darryl's mother came over and put her arm around him. There were lots of people in the room that Peter didn't know. "Well," the man said, "we should have a picture of the two heroes for the paper. It's not everyday that someone from Dominion gets a life saving citation, let alone two eleven-year-olds!" 

So they were heroes. Keith had a broken arm and a concussion, but he would be fine. While Darryl stayed with his brother on the beach, Peter had run to get help. If they hadn't showed up, Keith would have drowned. As the camera flashed, Peter thought about that for the first time. 

He would have died. 

Peter's father and mother hugged their son. Peter's mother said, "Just tell me you won't go near Camels' Hump again, dear." "I won't," he said. He looked over at Darryl, who opened his mouth to show him a half-eaten cookie. He couldn't help but smile. There was no need to go back.

Jen Gouthro was born and raised in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. She presently lives and works in Toronto. She writes a weekly newspaper column for the Cape Breton Post entitled "A View from Away" about her experiences as a "small-town girl living in the big city."