To Live and Die at La Jolla Cove

The couple climbed over the waist-high wooden fence.

Danger. Unstable Cliffs. Stay Back.

They were young, healthy, and practically invincible. Besides, the view was to die for. The cliffs surrounded a small cove where waves thrashed against rock, with water flooding its timeworn arteries. The drop was maybe thirty feet. Sunlight skimmed the ocean’s surface and shone through liquid diamonds, and farther out, the water was wrinkled like skin. The sunlight, wind, and waves—it was all propelled toward the cliffs. The couple stood at the precipice of dynamism and life, their clasped hands an unbreakable chain. The rocks were humid yet scalable. If the sea lions could do it, they could, too.

The girl was in her mid-teens, thin and self-conscious, and the man was several years older. A college guy who was great in bed, she told to her virgin friends. He had a car and apartment, and she was naïve and excitable. She’d recently proclaimed on Facebook that she loved him. And his reckless demeanor in the presence of nature, which he called bravery, was simply irresistible.

To the south, across the cove, there was an assortment of restaurants and condominiums built into the slope. Throngs of tourists and date-goers were enjoying the summer spectacle: Sea lions and pelicans lazed on the weathered rocks, trying to absorb the last rays of a setting sun. The stench was sickening; it wafted through the nostrils and into the mouth like a putrid broth, the taste of rotten fish and feces pungently perceptible. It was as if they’d licked the rocks, the aftertaste lingering for much too long.

To the north, about a mile out, the cliff eroded into shoreline and then dissolved into sand. Behind the beach, lines of houses were built on the mainland’s slope like seats in an amphitheater.

“Look,” the man said. “You can see the campfires on the beach. And past it, I see the golf course.”

“It’s so far away,” she replied, taking a picture with her phone. It was uploaded the next second.

“Imagine living in one of those houses. Just imagine it.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.”

“Nah—look,” he said and turned, pointing to the south where they’d walked from. On the boardwalk, there was a property that had been purposely neglected for decades or more; it was barely a step up from a cardboard house, with black tarps like dirty garbage bags covering its roof, faded and rotten wood, boarded windows and doors, and a weed infested yard.

“I’m going to buy you that place, someday. Tear it down and rebuild.”

“You could never afford it.”

“Sure I will. Look at it. What a dump.”

“But look at the view!”

“All I see are annoying tourists and ugly sea lions. And that smell. Nasty.”

“It’s beautiful to me. Anyways, should we turn back?”

“Just a little further. If we climb down, there’s a flat spot where we could sit.”

“It looks steep.”

“Just put your foot where others have stepped. You can see the wear marks.”

“Show me,” she said and started recording video with her phone.

“Cut that out,” he said, laughing. “Sometimes I think you’re addicted. And it doesn’t do justice to the moment.”

She knew he was right—some things couldn’t be digitally captured—but the phone was an integral part of her being. A sixth sense. As she balanced on the rocky grade, the phone held like a lifeline, her lover waited at the helm of the cliff. There was depth between their bodies, a real vacuum that pulled them together. For miles around, the ocean shifted with cobalt hues and crystal glare, and the sun was warm on her skin and bright in her eyes. The wind whistled and tickled her ears, pelicans squawked like plucked violin strings, and waves pulsed like the heartbeat of a Leviathan.

The world was so big and they were so small.

As she focused the video on her lover’s smile, a sudden gust whipped at her legs; she dropped her phone and reached to catch it but stepped on loose rocks and slipped. She careened down the steep slope, her hand catching onto her lover’s, but gravity was too strong; they slid over the edge of the cliff and into the mouth of the cove. Hitting the ferocious water, she tried to scream, but there was no air to breathe.

The phone, still recording, sunk to the blackened depths of La Jolla Cove.