Falling off a cliff in a Blue zone

“That’s it! I’m done! I’m out of here. It’s like I’ve been living in a wind tunnel for the last 4 months.”

Those were the last words said to me by my very good friend, Tom, before he left the high school track where we walked and jogged on and off for the last 25 years. I never heard from Tom again, until I received a letter from his attorney letting me know that Tom had suffered a fatal accident. He had fallen off a cliff in one of his Blue Zones.

Upon reading the letter I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry. Seriously. I knew Tom better than anyone else in this world. Better than his wife or his seven children. Better than his dog, or mine for that matter, even though we used to go on long walks up in the hills. just he and I and our two dogs, Butch and Cassidy.

Knowing Tom the way I did, he would be most upset if I cried so instead, I called my wife while she was at work and gave her the news. Rita immediately broke out in tears. I tried to console her, but it wasn’t possible.

“He died doing what he always wanted to do,” I said in a failed bid to stem her tears.

“He never wanted to fall off a cliff,” she replied intelligently.

“No that’s true,” I was scrambling for any consoling words, “but it was in his Blue Zone. He could’ve fallen off a cliff not far from here, but he did it where he always wanted to live.” “Costa Rica?” Rita asked. “Rachel never wanted to move to Costa Rica. She was really upset they were moving there. I had a few drinks with her the night before they left, and she told me the only way he would get her on the plane was if she was drunk. And oh boy she kept her word.”

“Wow!” was the only word that came to mind.

“Where was the letter sent from?”

“New York, that’s where his attorney is, I guess.”

“Oh, I thought you got a letter from him.”

“That’s silly Rita. How could he possibly send me a letter once he had fallen off a cliff.”

“I know that!” Rita replied sharply. “I just wondered if it were something he had asked his attorney to send you after his death.”

I looked at the letter again just in case I missed something, but no I hadn’t. He had fallen off a cliff on the coast of Costa Rica near Guanacaste. “Guanacaste!” Rita replied shrieking slightly. “Guanacaste!” she repeated and I acknowledged her first attempt at the word. “Isn’t that where we went one year?”

“Big place,” I replied, “but yes, it was. We liked it there.”

“No, we loved it there and we were going to move there. Now aren’t you glad we didn’t?” “You mean I could’ve fallen off the cliff?”

“Not me,” replied Rita trying to make me feel guilty.

“Or you,” I agreed. “Or I could’ve saved Tom from falling.”

“How? By flying off the cliff yourself and catching him on the way down? Don’t be silly,” continued Rita, “you can’t fly and you’re afraid of heights anyway. You wouldn’t go anywhere close to that cliff.”

“That cliff!” I repeated as if Rita knew which cliff. She wisely ignored me because she knew that after 30 years of marriage, I enjoyed trapping her and then she would have to lash out in order to retain some sort of decorum. “What time are you coming home?” I finally asked changing the subject.

“You don’t seem upset at your best friend’s death,” she replied.

“Well, I was at first, but then I realised Tom would want me to rejoice. So, I stopped being sad.”

“I wonder where they’re going to bury him.”

I hesitated for a second because I hadn’t told Rita everything that was in the letter. Finally, I did. “They didn’t.”

“What they didn’t?”

“Bury him.”

“Cremated?” she asked her voice rising slightly.

“Nope, not that either.”

“Washed out to sea?”

Ok, I better tell her. “They didn’t find his body for a while because where he fell off the cliff was kind of remote and when they did, there wasn’t too much of him left.”

“What do you mean by not too much of him left?” Rita interrupted me. As always, she didn’t have much patience.

“Well, when they did and I’m trying to tell you as gently as possible. His bones were picked over.”

“Oh my goodness!” interrupted Rita again. “Poor Rachel.”

“And the kids,” I interjected.

“Well, they’re all grown and have families of their own. But Rachel, she must be there by herself. So, who or what did that? Howler monkeys?”

“No, I think it was the buzzards and their friends.”

Rita was silent for a few moments. I wasn’t sure if she was done on the phone or if she was going to continue the conversation. She was going to continue. “I guess I should call Rachel and offer my condolences, shouldn’t I?”

“Good idea,” I replied believing it was the end of the phone call. But I was mistaken. “I don’t have her phone number with me, can you give it to me please.”

“I don’t have hers, but I do have Tom’s do you want to try that?”

“Ok,” she replied and I sent it to her. She hung up.

“Bye,” I said into a dead phone. I went back to what I was doing before, getting my breakfast ready.

I had just returned from the high school track. The wind had died down in his honour. I was in the middle of getting the containers out of the fridge when my phone rang. It was Rita. I took a deep breath and let it out in a rush of air. “Did you get hold of her?”

“Yes and no,” she replied. Strange answer I thought but I knew that was her way of asking me to explain herself.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, she did answer but asked me to call her later on her phone.”

That was strange I thought. “How did she sound?”

“Pretty good,” Rita replied. “She was on her way out to get a drink with some friends.”

I was silent for a moment. “Where is she?” I finally asked holding my breath.

“Home,” was Rita’s one word answer.

“Home here or home Costa Rica?”

“Home here,” she replied.

“Home here where?”

“With her son in California.”

“I see,” I replied. Ok, I was hungry, “I’ll talk to you later. I guess you shouldn’t be sad anymore especially when she isn’t.”

“I think she is. She said she was going out to drown her sorrows.”

This is early in the morning I thought to myself, but California is a strange country. They do things differently out there. “Maybe he should’ve stayed here and fallen off a cliff not far from here. In this way we could’ve gone to the funeral.”

“You’re right,” replied Rita, “at least the crows wouldn’t have got to him.”

“Or the Howler Monkeys,” I added.

“I thought they were vegetarian.”

I hung up the phone. My breakfast was more important than another inane conversation with Rita. I knew she wouldn’t call back. She would wait until she got home later that evening to chastise me for hanging up on her. But by that time, I would’ve had a few drinks and I couldn’t care less. The only thing I was upset about was that the thought of going to Costa Rica had vanished from my mind.