Stephanie Dunn

You wait, just another tourist with awkward tan lines preparing to jump off the famed cliffs behind Rick’s Café, a hotbed for tourists wishing to escape their luxury resorts in lieu of cheap local thrills. Ahead of you, a pudgy teenage girl peeks over the cliff’s edge and, face to face with the 30-foot drop, backs out of line. Moments later, a full-grown man sheepishly does the same. You marvel at the blazing sunset – Rick’s offers some of the most spectacular views in Negril – and half-joke to the stranger behind you that you hope it’s not your last. You’re next. Peering at the foamy turquoise pools three stories below, you realize the water is teeming with tourists. What if you hit one? Worse, what if you hit rock bottom? What were you thinking when you decided to jump off a damn cliff? But it’s too late for questions. Your bare feet launch you from the craggy limestone, your mind goes blank, and a split second later, your body collides with the water’s surface with a sharp slap. Adrenaline numbs the sting, and you’re ready to jump again.