Musings of the Soul: Bound by Nature
Volume 1
Three stories exploring human nature meshed with physical nature.
Jacob’s Cross
~
Beagle and Sneakers
~
Mount Good Take
LK Hunsaker
©2009
LK Hunsaker
Elucidate Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Jacob’s Cross
Pausing at the sight of jagged rocks protruding above the shoreline, barely visible in the glow of the moon, Alicia shivered. A previously beautiful formation, it was now a heinous place, forbidden. She wasn’t allowed to go, to climb its slippery crevices as she had before, not since Jacob’s mom had placed the little cross at its sandy base. It had been months; how many, she wouldn’t let herself remember. After so many days of knowing exactly how many days … weeks … months he had been gone, she had forced herself to stop counting. To let go.
But it was his birthday and it had to be celebrated. She couldn’t forget that.
Leaving her sandals at the edge where damp grass gave way to sand, Alicia concentrated on the coolness tickling her feet and tried to avoid sticks and shells washed up by waves. Her flashlight assisted the soft moon glow that wasn’t much help, as there was only a sliver of it reflecting the sun’s light. Jacob had helped her understand the concept. He made it more interesting than their teacher or the textbook. He had made everything more interesting. She couldn’t refuse a grin forcing itself to her lips while she thought about the times he had interrupted to help explain things more clearly. Mr. Griffin had at first chastised the precocious boy, embarrassed, Alicia assumed, about having a student show him how to teach so they understood. By the end of the year, though, Jacob had become his off-the-record assistant. They all believed he would become a teacher after college.
College would begin in a few days – a frightening prospect. High school had been enough of a challenge, socially. Her grades were okay. She could do the work. She was afraid, though, of disappearing into the ocean of strangers, even more than she had during high school. She had known most of her classmates since childhood and yet was not a part of them. Alicia would be nothing more than a silent guppy swallowed by the more colorful and larger fish in a huge school full of more people with whom she couldn’t bear to start a conversation.
Adjusting the fishing pole lying against her shoulder, she pulled her mind away from it. It didn’t matter now. Now, she was here, alone in the dark, celebrating Jacob’s birth in the place where his life had ended. He’d been fishing in the dark, they had said, alone, on the most dangerous spot on the rocks. Why such a smart kid would have done something so foolish, no one could figure. No one except Alicia. And she kept it to herself.
The little wooden cross spurred her quest. Even from this distance, she could make out his name carved into the wood through the white paint. His mom had painted it white for purity, to reflect her hope for his eternal life. Alicia thought he would have preferred the plain wood, but then, it wasn’t really for Jacob; it was left there for those who loved him.
Inching toward the spot, her feet beginning to burn from the jagged rocks she had to climb over, Alicia heard a rattle from within the small tackle box she carried. For a moment, she felt sorry for the worms she dug up from her yard and stuck in an empty tuna can she covered with foil. She couldn’t imagine how she would make herself use them as bait. The thought hurt her stomach. It was why she had never gone fishing before. But it was Jacob’s favorite pastime. He said it helped him figure things out, to see the way nature worked.
Alicia didn’t quite understand. It was one thing he refused to try to explain to others. How could fishing explain anything?
She stopped before the cross, setting the box down in order to run her fingers along the edge of the weathering wood, yanking them back again at a sharp prick of her skin. Shining the flashlight on her finger, Alicia knew the splinter would come out easily since the white-tipped end hadn’t penetrated all the way. Still, she left it there.
The lowering flashlight flickered on a piece of yellow plastic – the police line that had marked the investigation scene. Making her way to where it was wedged under a pile of fallen rock, she leaned down to pry it out. It read “cross,” with half of the last “s” missing. She wondered if anyone else would catch the irony. Do not cross.
Carrying the piece with her, Alicia continued to the highest point of the rock formation and set her fishing pole and tackle box down, pondering what to do next. She didn’t know how to fish, and she was starting to get cold already, even in her heavy denim jacket. Fingering the dirty yellow bit of plastic, she resolved to at least make the attempt. Placing the piece carefully inside the box, making sure the light breeze wouldn’t carry it away, Alicia took out the can full of dirt and worms.
Steeling herself against the thought of what she was about to do, she opened the bag and wrestled with a night crawler trying to escape her grasp. She watched it wriggle in her fingers, wondering if worms felt pain the way humans did. Was it inhumane to attach it to the hook just to drop it into the cold water as a trap for an unsuspecting fish? She wrestled with her conscience. But she had come out here for Jacob. How could she understand if she didn’t at least try it?
Gritting her now-chattering teeth, Alicia grasped the fishing pole and unwound the line to free the sharp hook. It was rusted, as it had been there since the last time Jacob had used it. She supposed the worm wouldn’t care about that detail one way or the other.
Positioning the flashlight in a low spot on the rock, facing it to where she could better see the hook, Alicia held her breath while fastening the worm the way she had seen it done on that fishing show she used to flip past while scanning television channels. Her stomach churned at seeing a tinge of its blood. She stopped, looked away, and took a couple of deep breaths. For Jacob, she reminded herself.
Finally securing the wriggling creature, she moved it away from her, allowing the line to dance along in the breeze. She wouldn’t look at the hook. The next step was to actually get it into the water. She’d practiced in the back yard when no one was home, with a wad of modeling clay wrapped around the hook for simulated worm-weight. It wasn’t that hard. But she hadn’t been on a rock, beside the ocean, at night, using an actual worm. And of course she hadn’t caught anything. Half of her hoped she wouldn’t this time, either.
Her third cast, after two failed attempts, seemed successful enough. The line dropped down into the water. Holding the pole tighter than necessary, she leaned to grasp the flashlight, shining it down to the point of entry. So far, so good. Shivering again, she lowered herself to the rock’s cold surface, sitting not too close to the edge, but close enough to watch the water’s movement in the moonlight.
In the silence, she pulled her mind away from what she was doing and watched clouds move along around the moon. Cirrus clouds. Jacob had explained the difference between cloud types, also. He had talked about which types were better for fishing, but Alicia couldn’t remember. She hadn’t had any interest in fishing.
A tug on the fishing pole disturbed her thoughts. A fish. With a jerk, she felt resistance and tried to calm her thumping heart. Forcing her thoughts to the fishing show, she began reeling it in, pulling it closer while rising to her feet. She stumbled once, pausing in her task until she was able to breathe again, and returned to winding the reel. With a splash, the fish jerked out of the water, then dropped back in. She yanked the rod, reeling faster.
Successful, Alicia stood, watching the flapping little fish caught on Jacob’s hook, grasping the pole tightly so she wouldn’t lose it. What would she do with it? She hadn’t actually thought she would catch anything. She had to take it off.
Touch it? No, she didn’t think so. The worm had been bad enough. But she couldn’t leave it there, either.
Gathering all the bravery she could find, Alicia moved the line closer and reached her free hand toward the fish. She pulled it back as her fingers rubbed against the cold, wet creature. Why did Jacob do this? He threw them back. She knew he always freed them and threw them back into the water. To do that, she would have to touch it, to pull its mouth out of the hook. She couldn’t.
Undecided and irritated with herself for being so weak, she stood and watched the poor creature flopping around on the line, wondering if it had been able to eat the worm which had cost its freedom. She hoped it had. The worm’s death shouldn’t have been in vain.
Alicia cried watching the fish struggle. Thoughts of Jacob struggling to maintain life after slipping from the rock into the cold water rushing to and from the shore resurfaced in her mind. She hadn’t been able to make herself attend his funeral. She hadn’t said goodbye. Of course, no one had missed her presence or questioned her for not attending. They likely didn’t notice. Alicia had never even dared to speak to him, though he had been so constantly in her thoughts. No one had any idea how much his life touched hers, how losing him had torn out a part of herself. Not even Jacob.
But it was his birthday, and she wanted him to know now, if it was possible.
The fish stopped wriggling as she pushed tears from her cheeks. She looked over at it, horrified. It was dead, all because she couldn’t make herself free him. She had ended its life, unintentional as it was.
The splinter still entrenched in her finger from touching Jacob’s cross rubbed against his fishing pole, reminding her of its presence. It was Jacob’s fishing pole, which she had rescued from the pile of garbage outside his house, at night, while no one noticed. She supposed the memory was too hard on his mom for her to be able to keep her son’s beloved object. Or maybe she didn’t realize its value. It had been hiding away under Alicia’s bed ever since.
Jacob had explained his view of the ancient ritual of sacrifice during history class. It was a way of honoring the role of nature. Another argued that he was missing the real meaning but she didn’t bother to listen. She adored Jacob’s explanation. She hadn’t said so. She remained silent in the back of the room trying not to attract attention.
Honoring the role of nature. That’s why he had fished. It made him part of the role of nature, reminding him of the purpose of life and death, the influence that even the most seemingly insignificant creature had on all others. He had never known the way he had influenced her life. She had to wonder if anyone felt the same about her. Maybe someone did and she didn’t know. Maybe she wasn’t so insignificant.
Abandoning her original plan, Alicia moved carefully off the wet rock and toward the little white cross, carrying the tackle box, the flashlight, and Jacob’s fishing pole still capturing the dead fish. Setting the other things out of her way, she propped the pole so that it stood leaning against the cross, finding loose rocks to hold the bottom in place. Then, with more tears warming her cheeks, she unfastened the little fish and buried it in the sand at the base of Jacob’s cross. It was the first time she had touched death, and she allowed herself to mourn.
Rising again, she pulled the splinter from her finger, noticing the tinge of blood on the piece of wood and more washing out her wound. She opened the tackle box to place the splinter inside, keeping it as she would the bit of yellow “cross” line. Jacob’s fishing pole needed to remain.
“I get it.” She said to the wind. To the rumpled spot of sand covering the little fish, she said, “Thank you. It wasn’t in vain.”
At home, she flopped onto her bed, not showering to wash the smell of the night wind and ocean spray from her body. She didn’t even wash her hands to rid herself of the evidence of holding the worm and fish in her palms. Alicia wanted it to stay with her. It was nature, and she was part of it.
~ ~ ~
Beagle and Sneakers
“Don’t you go in that water!” Running after the mutt, my new flowered-ivory Sketchers collecting half the sand on the beach, I had visions of dragging my new adoptee soaking wet and covered in green slimy algae into my freshly washed G6. A G6 is not made for an excitable lab mix. It’s especially not made for an excitable wet and slimy lab mix.
Can I sue the leash company for car cleaning since it didn’t stand up to my year-old dog for more than two minutes? No, I suppose not, and I’m not the suing type. I’m the take-whatever-comes, throw-a-huge-fit and deal-with-it-myself type.
“Lex! No!”
Why I’m bothering to yell, I don’t have a clue. Lex hardly knows his name yet, his new name. Maybe it’s not right to rename a dog you adopt, but is it right to continue calling him Smoochy because some idiot thought it was cute? Besides, the idiot also decided “Smoochy” was too much trouble and dumped him along the road. Good thing a neighbor found him and took him for adoption. I was enamored with him on first sight.
I can’t say I’m too completely enamored right now, with the mutt happily digging his nose into the water at the edge of the lake, his body nearly immersed, looking up at me like he won a dog-of-the-year award. Why did I think it would be fun to walk along the lake with my new mutt today instead of by myself as usual?
You’ve seen those movies where a woman walks, perfectly dressed and clean and shiny in pretty little sandals, her canine at her side walking oh-so-pretty-and-look-at-me-I’m-a-good-dog, right? That was the vision in my head. Lex and I bonded instantly. I saw us, instantly, having nice long quiet walks along the lake, both happy to have a companion for a change, a companion who didn’t annoy the begeebers out of us, who didn’t talk about what I wasn’t getting done or what I wasn’t getting right or how I should be doing everything or about his newest raise and praise while I’m struggling through my underappreciated role as a customer service specialist.
Specialist, right. In other words, someone who can listen to degrading insults as though I have an IQ of ten and not go ballistic on customers I know full well only wish they had an IQ of ten.
Yes, well, something smoother and much more easy is what I had in mind. The perfect companion. A quiet walk. A pulled up seat in the back of my car with an old blanket on the floor where Lex would sit nicely and wait until I tell him to get out. Right.
“Lex, please come out of the water. Please come here.” Yes, I’ve gone to begging now from where I’ve lowered onto the hot sand, dumping loads of it out of my shoes and setting them aside. He only cocks his head and goes on splashing, likely frightening a toad or a fish or whatever he’s pawing at.
“Dogs are supposed to be on a leash in public.”
I snap my head to the voice behind me. No uniform. Only a man, a perfectly-dressed man with a perfect tan and sun-bleached hair. I’m SO not interested in anything he has to say, unless he shows me a badge. “Thank you for the information.” I turn back, now gloating in allowing my adoptee to play freely as he likes. I figure he deserves the play time since I just forced him to the vet’s to get his shots and he really was very good there.
“You’ll get a fine.”
I don’t bother looking back again. “Guess that’s my problem. Thanks again.”
“Does he bite? Because if he bites, that’s more than a fine.”
“Look.” Shooting up to my feet, I’ve decided I’ve had enough of being walked on by now. “If I get a fine, what do you care? He was on a leash. See?” I hold up the chewed-through red string with clasp at one end. “If I can get him back on it again, he’ll be on a leash. I may have to walk leaning to one side since there’s not much left of it but I’m doing what I can, so back off, Mr. Perfect. I don’t want anymore of guys like you.”
A grin lightens his face. “Well, that’s the first time in my life I’ve been called that. And it is my business, unfortunately. I own this part of the beach and a dog that bites someone on my property could be a real problem for me.”
“What?” My jaw had to drop about twenty feet before I picked it up again. “This is a public beach. I’m always here.”
“I know you are. I see you every day at this time. It’s not, though, and … Buster!”
I follow his eyes to a jogging beagle that has just picked up one of my new Sketchers and is heading toward the water with it.
“No! Bad dog! You come here!” Mr. Perfect takes off after him, not looking so perfect while throwing his own shoes off and rolling his pants up to follow the little dog into the water to fetch my shoe. Lex jumps in on the fun, playing tug-of-war with the shoe and his new friend. Good thing I got the shoes on clearance. Otherwise, I might have to do something other than laugh so hard I can’t even stay on my feet.
I laugh harder seeing Mr. Perfect fall in the water rump first, although he does manage to finagle the shoe away from the dogs. He looks about as pathetic as I’ve ever seen a man look as he walks toward me, an apologetic grimace highlighting his soaking clothes stuck to him enough to show off a rather nice, though not perfect build.
“Dogs are supposed to be on a leash.” I can’t help it. It had to be said.
“I’m so sorry.” He stands before me studying the now worthless shoe. “I’ll pay for them. She’s horrible. Never listens. My ex says she’s as much a nuisance as her owner. Probably true. I’m sure I deserve it. Um, my house is just over there. It’s a mess but I have flip flops you can borrow.”
Flip flops. Somehow I never imagined this man wearing flip flops.
“And … an extra leash. To get your pup back to your car safe. He’s a beauty.”
“He’s horrible. Never listens.”
He grinned again. A very nice grin. “Keeps things exciting, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Let me go get the flip flops, unless you want to walk with me. I have chairs outside. We can let the dogs dry and … you like ice cream? I just bought a new box of Rocky Road.”
Rocky Road. I think I’m in love.
~ ~ ~
Mount
Good Take
Less than halfway through his thirteenth ascent, Derek lost interest.
He moved to the side, propped his hiking boot on a low rock, and studied the newest group of amateur adventurers, pausing to see which would take the lead. Mount Good Take, in his mind named by some illiterate wanderer who had found treasure of one kind or another among the trees, afforded Derek with more than a few extra dollars on an occasional weekend. It had become his own. The few people who signed up for his guided climbing expedition became his for three days.
They depended on him: first, to fuel their self-esteem by assisting their trek up the untamed mountain wilderness, then, to return them to their still humdrum, but slightly enhanced, lives and jobs.
It wasn’t much to brag about. There was no real climbing involved. His elaborate description had created a mountain-climbing expedition from a simple hike up and down a large tree-covered rocky hill. Any real climber would chuckle. But to the area grocers, bankers, homemakers, and sales clerks, Derek Myers represented a touch of freedom.
In the beginning, he had reveled in their attention, in studying the inner psyches of the everyday people he wouldn’t normally remember meeting. This newest group had potential for being semi-interesting. He had already decided which would need his help and which had only hired a guide so as not to climb alone.
As Derek guessed, the burly butcher stepped up to the lead, throwing him a look of superiority, assuming their leader was tiring, Derek assumed. He wasn’t, but he had no interest in proving anything to the guy who cut up animals for a living. Not that he was a vegetarian, and Derek realized his own hypocrisy in eating meat and holding it against the butcher for preparing it, but something inside churned whenever he looked at those hands. The butcher, in return, snarled within his smiles when they turned toward him.
The teenaged twins, celebrating their eighteenth birthday with this journey “into manhood,” asked if they were to keep going. One of them asked. Derek knew their names but not which was which. They said they weren’t identical. Everyone in the climbing party raised eyebrows at that story. It could be true, Derek supposed. There could be something not apparent that differentiated them, other than a slight difference in the pitch of their voices and curvature of their eyebrows. But to him, they were close enough to identical that he only referred to them in his mind as the twins. He couldn’t even pick out a personality difference. That bothered him.
They threw similar sideways grins as he answered that they should, by all means, keep going.
The girl went by next, not looking over at him, but not snubbing him, either. She was young, and had come alone; a strange thing, Derek thought. He’d had other female participants, but never alone. And none so young. Her application stated she was nineteen. If she was truthful, then she was small for her age. Tiny. He worried about this one, though she seemed fit enough. He was also most interested in her reasons for joining the climb. She had merely stated, “because it’s there” and nothing more. He knew, though, that there was most definitely more.
“You should have become a shrink, if you know so much,” his wife had told him on more than one occasion. Maybe she was right. His current job, designing and building furniture, was fulfilling. He loved the aloneness of it, and the creativeness of it, but he often yearned for more. More conversation. More interaction with others. More … something of which he wasn’t even sure. He supposed his wife would be happier to tell others that he was a doctor, even a doctor of psychiatry, than to have to say he was merely a laborer.
His laboring was successful, though. It had afforded him the ability to build his own house in the woods, off away from the snooping townspeople, and still retain the townhouse his wife refused to leave where she was in amongst the circle of society, as she called it. He couldn’t stand the city, where windows overlooked the windows of neighbors. He couldn’t stand the noise of daily life, with its revving engines and screeching garbage trucks and shrieking women yelling for their wayward children. He tired of hearing the one name he knew would be called every evening for dinner. If it was called only once an evening, Derek could have lived with it. But the child never stayed where he belonged and never came at the first call. He mused that a good, strong swat on the rear could end that pretty damn fast, if it were his kid. One time would do it before the kid got the picture of just who was in charge.
He supposed he shouldn’t judge, though, since he had no children, and his wife had no interest. Derek wasn’t sure he did, either, although there were times he thought he might have … eventually. At twenty-eight, he guessed he would be too old for it by the time he grew up enough to want that. He and his wife had never really talked about it before their marriage and hadn’t since. Just as well. They didn’t talk about anything else, either.
But then, he came from a family of talkers who never actually said anything to each other. There were no issues resolved, no sage advice for the younger members, only daily chit chat that held no function other than the pretense of being acknowledged. Personal issues remained private. No one interfered, even to try to help.
So he had married the woman who fit in with the insanity of pretense. Four years of marriage had done nothing to change that.
“She is doing better than we all expected, yes?”
The voice drew him back to the present, and Derek waited for an explanation of the sudden conversation. The wife of the married couple, in their late forties. She nodded at the young girl ahead of her. For some reason Derek hadn’t yet ascertained, they were becoming temporary foster parents to the girl, regardless of the fact that she didn’t seem to wish for their guidance. She did, however, seem to enjoy the company of the little dog the couple had brought along, without permission. Derek had given in and allowed the extra body since it was small and friendly. He was glad he had, since it was the one thing that made the girl smile.
Why he cared, he didn’t know. He never got involved with his climbers, other than silently, within his own head. He didn’t join in their conversations that didn’t specifically involve the reason they were all together. With the right group, he would agree to relate a story or two of earlier journeys. But most often, he listened. He was in charge; the leader, and he had to remain separate.
Two-thirds of the way to the peak of the mountain, Derek called for an end to the day’s trek. He assisted in setting up the little tents and taught them the basics of a good campfire, asking for volunteers to help him pull fish from the pond created by a meandering mountain stream. He stopped for the night in the same clearing on every trip. Eventually, he told himself, he would gather three or four of the better climbers and explore an unknown path. Not with this group, he wouldn’t.
The twins jumped up to claim fishing poles. No surprise. The couple decided to rest their feet and keep their little dog company instead. The butcher saw no reason to catch fish, but would gladly help clean them.
“I’ll go.”
Turning to head toward the stream, Derek barely heard the voice.
He looked back at the girl. She was tired and trying to brush off arguments from the elder woman to stay and rest with them. But she was determined.
Derek nodded, pushing his hand toward her, offering the last pole. He always only brought three, using the third himself only when he didn’t have enough volunteers. She took it from his hands then waited for him to lead them forward.
She didn’t need help baiting or casting, as he’d expected. It was a good thing, since the twins had never in their lives gone fishing. Derek found himself watching the girl casting gracefully and pulling out fish, unhooking them and tying them to the line he’d placed beside the water to keep their dinner alive and fresh. He wanted to ask where she’d been taught; from her father, maybe? Did she have a close family? A family that actually said things to each other, instead of talking at each other? He wouldn’t ask.
The twins led the way back to the campfire, chatting about their catches, ready to boast to the others. Derek fell back, a couple of steps behind the girl. He had to speak to her, alone this time, not as part of the group.
“Nice job today. Hope you’re enjoying the journey.”
She turned. “Thank you, yes.” Her eyes fell, pausing at his chest, then pulling away, her cheeks reddening.
He watched her jog to catch up to the twins, leaving him behind, and bewildered.
Derek wasn’t a handsome man. He knew this. His work with wood had built his chest muscles and his constant treks up the mountain enhanced those in his legs, so he looked athletic. But he was rather plain in the face and his dirt-brown hair fell straight, nothing that would attract attention. His wife was also a rather plain woman, in good shape and well-dressed, but not what anyone would call a beauty. Derek never had a moment’s thought that a beauty would find any attraction in him, so had never bothered to seek out those who caught his attention. His wife was a family friend. They fell together like raindrops landing in the same puddle, as everyone expected.
Maybe he had misread the girl’s look. Maybe it was his own perversion that made him wish she could be attracted to him.
Regardless, he told himself that would be the last time he would speak to her alone.
The following day found them at the summit, but Derek found no joy this time in watching their faces, in listening to their expressions of accomplishment. Instead, he watched the girl. She sat, simply looking out over the world below, saying nothing.
When he announced it was time to head back down, to find their camp again before nightfall, Derek ignored the protests that always came. They were always reluctant to give up their trophy, standing at the top of the world, as it felt to them. And he always “gave in” and gave them a few more moments, having included it in his schedule. The woman asked for a group photo. She had been constantly snapping pictures all the way up the mountain and Derek was amazed she had film left for another. He tried to volunteer to take the photo, avoiding the other side of the camera, but she had a timer and wanted their “brave leader” in the shot.
He gave in, again. Then he announced it was time to leave.
The group gathered around, ready for the return trek, except for the girl. She sat, still quietly looking out at the world.
Derek called her name. She didn’t respond.
The couple went over to try to “gather her” but came back saying she wasn’t ready to leave.
He didn’t have time for this. They moved slowly, with the older couple not in shape as well as the others, and he wanted to be at the campsite before dusk. After dusk, it would get more dangerous, even with the flashlights he’d required them to bring.
Approaching the girl, he stood directly in front of where she was staring. “We have to go.”
Her eyes raised to his. They were moist, but she said nothing.
Wonderful, he thought. I’m stuck up here with an emotional little girl. Taking a deep breath, he crouched, forcing his leadership qualities to go to work. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Good. Then we need to go. It’s a long journey down.”
Her eyes touched his, a few teardrops falling on her cheeks, but she remained silent.
He stood again, offering his hand to help her up. To his relief, she took it, and rejoined the group.
She refused to answer the couple about what was bothering her. And she ignored the twins joking with her, flirting, anything to get her to say something to anyone. To no avail.
He could make her talk. Derek knew he could, but he wouldn’t. It was too dangerous.
Camping that night, he didn’t sleep. His thoughts were of her; her eyes reaching out to him, the fatigue showing in her body during the descent. He’d slowed the trek for her, even slower than he had for the couple. She wasn’t as fit as she looked. It was draining her. The color that had been in her cheeks on the way up the mountain had remained there at the top. So had the spirit in her eyes.
He was failing.
This trek was about him helping to enhance the lives of the people who joined him. It was all he had to feel like he was a real part of the world, that he was making a difference. And the girl’s mood had taken that from them all. Even the butcher watched her, his own arrogance dissolving with her tears.
He wouldn’t fail, not at this. Not for some emotional kid who should have stayed home with her parents.
Rising again, he grabbed his flashlight, treading over to her tent – the tent that weighed her down too much as they walked, though it was barely large enough for one sleeping bag. He’d thought about taking it for her, but the rules were clear. They had to carry their own gear. If he changed it for her, word would get out and every girl who came would expect the same treatment. He wasn’t about to do it. This world was about pulling your own weight, not expecting others to bail you out when you put yourself in positions you shouldn’t. She should have stayed home.
She turned her head at his unannounced entry. His flashlight reflected damp cheeks.
He sighed. Not again.
Looking away to gather his thoughts, he heard her move and looked back again. She was sitting, the sleeping bag gathered up around her like a cocoon. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” A sniffle accompanied the sleepy voice.
“Good.” He shifted, crouching outside her tent, holding the flap open. He wouldn’t go inside, in case anyone else was also awake to notice, which he doubted. “Look, people come up here to be exhilarated. They pay me to guide them through their personal quests to accomplish something they never have. And they did that today.” He ignored another sniffle. “But you’re bringing everyone down.”
“I’m sorry. I…”
“I’m not asking. I’m not a therapist, just a guy who likes to climb mountains. I’ve done this before and I will again, but the rest of these people won’t. Apologize to them if you wish, but then hold it together until you get home. I’m sure you have someone there to talk to.” With that, he returned to his own tent.
Still, he couldn’t sleep. Derek had still failed. He’d turned against one of his climbers.
During the remainder of the journey back toward their lives, he withdrew further. His talk had worked, though. The girl returned to her state before they’d reached the summit. She played with the little dog who stayed at her feet and returned chatter with the twins. There was no evidence of whatever had been bothering her the previous day.
Still, Derek was morose. It was wrong, and he knew it was wrong. He could give her money back, he supposed. Except that would look like an admission of guilt. Mistakes were not admitted. They were corrected, if possible, but they weren’t discussed. Nothing important….
He stopped walking, letting the others go by him. She was dragging, burdened by the weight of her gear. The twins had asked more than once to take it from her. She had refused, quoting the rules. The rules Derek had made.
He sighed. His wife had told him on several occasions that he was too rigid, that he couldn’t make people be what he thought they should be. He hadn’t been willing to discuss it.
She was right, maybe about so many things he hadn’t been willing to discuss.
Catching up to the girl, he pulled the gear from her back, propping it awkwardly over his shoulder. She stared. He said nothing.
He also said nothing when she said thank you, her eyes attempting to reach him deeper than he would allow, before she climbed into a dirt-speckled Chevy decorated with bits of rust. The driver leaned over to give her a long hug, although he had done it already when he met her to take her gear. Derek imagined they talked to each other all the way home.
**
Kicking his feet beneath the sturdy table he had built to match the style of his cabin, enjoying the quiet of his edge of the mountain, Derek almost felt guilty about insisting on spending the weekend there instead of in town with his wife. Almost. It wasn’t his fault she had scheduled an appointment she couldn’t break. Setting his steaming coffee on a sanded sliver of wood, he rattled the newspaper dated two days earlier, skimming the front page and finding nothing to keep his interest. Flipping through to the section featuring local events, an article caught his eye.
The girl. Her photo was there, smiling at him. A memorial.
He read quickly, stunned. She had succumbed the day before the paper was printed, after being fatigued from a weekend “camping trip” her parents had urged her not to take. The long-term fight with her illness could have been prolonged otherwise, but she wanted to see the top of the mountain. Another photo showed the group, smiling together, except for the girl whose eyes were turned toward their leader.
Derek dropped his head, allowing hot tears to fall onto the paper.
He attended the service. And he stayed behind, staring at the small mound of fresh dirt after all others had gone. Talking. For the first time, actually talking, to no one.
----
First published in Wanderings Magazine, Spring 2007
Find
information about LK Hunsaker’s stories and novels on her
website: www.lkhunsaker.com