The Scale

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

Forged of iron, cast thousands of years ago, the scale is at least 600 feet high and built into the outer skin of a massive cliff. It hangs there, embedded for eons into the mountain. There are two gigantic arms with small platforms on either side, each just big enough for one person to stand on. The arm I am standing on lies at least 150 feet below the midpoint. The sheer drop of the cliff disappearing into nothingness below evokes a slight sense of being suspended in mid air. I look up. Way above me, I can see the other platform. Laura stands on it. The fog around me feels cold against my skin. I can see that Laura's side of the scale is in bright sun light.

I look down. A thick rope, tied to the underside of my platform, disappears far into the clouds below. I am almost certain that something is attached to the other end of the rope. Something heavy. Something that holds my part of the scale down. I am certain that should the rope and whatever is attached to it be gone, my end of the scale would come up and the two platforms would equalize.

'I have to get down there and see what’s on the other end of the rope,' I think to myself, as I start climbing. The rope is thick and covered in green, slimy algae. The platform is now above me, disappearing fast as I slide down the rope. Right now, I cannot see anything but fog and the cold green rope in my hands. It is as if I glide through cotton balls. There is stillness and an absence of any kind of sound. I wonder for a moment how I will ever get back up when suddenly my legs loose contact with the rope. I slow down and see that the rope has ended. I now hang on its last foot. Nothing at all is attached to its end. I realize that I have to get back up but I know that I will fall. My hands slide downward. Fear of falling from this height turns my stomach into a knot. I try to hold on to the rope but to no avail. As I fall I know that it is the rope that is letting go of me and not me of the rope. I have no choice in this.

I fall into the clouds. Faster and faster until I land with a big ‘thump’ in a huge pile of leafs. As I look up, I see my sister standing there. I’m in Germany, in a park inside a castle overlooking the city I grew up in. My sister looks at me for a moment then she helps me up and gives me a big hug. After a long time she says: “It’s okay now. I’m okay now. I’m fine.”

I can feel her words resonating within me. They are warm and comforting, like a blanket and a fire in a cold night. And then it clicks: When my parents divorced (I was 11 and my sister was 6) my sister went with my mother and I stayed with my father. For some reason I always thought I had to keep her up in the sun, make sure she’s okay, and make sure she is safe somehow. That I was down in the shadows was fine with me. “You’re okay now, and I am too,” she says. “We’re both okay.” She gives me another hug. A strong sense of relief washes over me. And suddenly I’m back on the platform of the scale. My part is still in darkness in the shadows and Laura still stands on the upper platform. I know what I have to do. I have to loosen the rope. I kneel down, untie the knot and watch it fall into nothingness.

I stand up. Slowly, almost unnoticeable at first, the massive scale begins to move and my end of it is being lifted upward while Laura’s part moves down. We are still about 300 feet apart but we are slowly leveling off.

Eventually, the two arms of the scale equal out. It is exactly at that position of the scale and only at that precise moment where it is very easy to step off. In fact, this is the only position where both can step off the scale entirely. And that is what we do. I step off. All the way on the other end, Laura steps off as well. We stand on our own side, still about 300 feet apart but connected through two walkways which meet a few hundred feet in front of us. I start walking. So does Laura. As I walk, I look back. The massive scale rests in perfect equilibrium. Behind it and way below, lies vast, open, flat dessert. A magnificent sight. As I turn in the direction I am walking, I see that there is grass around me. The path I walk on leads through lawns – green, cared for lawns. I can see the point where the two paths meet. I walk toward it and arrive there. So does Laura.

From here, the path leads into the mountains, gently moving upward, visible for miles until it disappears from sight. 'Looks good', I think. ‘Not so bad after all,’ Laura says. ‘You go ahead, I’ll stay here for a while,’ I tell her. She nods and starts to walk and I watch her disappear behind a curve further down the path. As I stand there, I suddenly hear a low crackling, splitting sound behind me. I turn. At that moment, cracks appear in the stone before me. Gaps emerge getting bigger and bigger until the massive scale brakes off the mountain where it has been set for eons. With a thunderous sound it breaks, separates from the cliff and, after hanging suspended for an endless moment, it disappears into nothingness.

10 feet away from where we stand is now the cliff. There is no turning back. There is only one direction to go towards, only one path to follow. Where I have found safety for so long, there is just an empty space. No sense to stand there anymore. And with that I turn, my eyes fixed on the path before me.

One step. And another. And another.