The Virginity Mission by Cate Ellink

challenging. One of the days was my hell on earth.
    We became intimately associated with ‘wait-a-while’, a vine with hooked thorns that catch onto you. It takes some manoeuvring to extricate yourself, or anyone else, from it. Walking in rainforest means dense vegetation, rocks, boulders, hills and creeks. No roads, no paths, no tracks. We have to follow maps, use our compass and cut our own path. Secateurs are a part of walking, they remain in your hand, used at least every second step—particularly if you’re in the lead.
    This particular day, travelling through the forest becomes too onerous. We are hardly making any forward progress and everyone is frustrated by the slow pace. A shallow creek runs beside, beckoning us. We decide to walk in the creek for easier, and hopefully faster, going. Wet boots are normal even without walking in water, so that is no consideration. I agree to creek walking, thinking we’ll wade in the shallows. My imagining is wrong. We rock-hop along the creek.
    Rock-hopping is exactly how it sounds. We jump from rock to rock along the creek. I’ve never done this. I’ve walked around rock platforms at the beach, with my parents telling me to be careful and to not hurt myself, but I’ve never rock-hopped. After a few rocks, it becomes abundantly clear that I’m no rock-hopper. Everyone hops happily past me, while I quiver and tentatively step from one rock to the next until I give in and wade.
    This is new and rattles me. Why can’t I rock-hop?
    The rocks become larger and further and further apart. The creek is filled with smaller rocks. I can no longer wade. I have to jump from large rock to large rock. I set myself up for the first jump. My legs become jelly snakes dangling uselessly from my body. My knees are shuddering pieces of flesh, useless to hold me up, much less catch my weight when I land. My stomach takes a nose dive to someplace as low as it can go.
    This is ridiculous. I have to move. I steel myself to jump. I call myself all manner of names. I tighten up my jelly snake legs and then Ed’s hand extends towards me. I hadn’t noticed him come back for me.
    â€œProblem, Mac?” he asks.
    â€œJust my knees.” I try to sound flippant but it comes out as a shaky whisper.
    â€œWhat’s up with them?”
    I shrug and hang my head. I hate being at the end of the group and I hate being useless. “They’re jelly.”
    â€œYou been rock-hopping before?”
    â€œNope and it looks like I don’t like it.” I try to smile but I’m sure I only manage a grimace.
    Ed keeps his hand out in front of me. “Grab my hand and follow with your feet. Trust your feet Mac, they don’t want to fall. Take a breath and trust.”
    As terrifying as it is, I have to do it. The water is filled with rocks so I can’t wade. It’s jump or remain here. My mind has a litany of questions. What if I fall? What if I twist my ankle? Break my leg? Drown? I have no answers to any of the questions my mind is screaming at me.
    I take a breath, block my brain, lean forward with my hand outstretched and leap. I land right where I wanted to without knocking Ed off the rock. Without noticing, I grabbed his hand mid-flight. My body must be working even if my mind is frozen in fear.
    â€œEasy. Just do the same for the next one.”
    Easy? It’s not at all.
    Ed leaps to the next rock and we follow the same procedure. My legs still have the memory of jelly snakes but become stronger with each leap. After a few rocks I no longer need to grab his hand.
    â€œYou have to have faith in your feet, Mac.” I nod and he goes on ahead, leaving me alone to leap and think.
    This question of my lack of confidence has come up again. First Jason. Now Ed. I didn’t realise there was a problem.
    What would Jason be like if he was here instead of Ed? Would he be yelling in my ear to keep me going? I can’t see him yelling.