I made it up the cliff and I feel good about that, but I’m still terrified of what’s to come. If I add obsessing about my near-death climb into the mix, I’ll end up a morass of nerves.
“I’m scared,” I say with honesty.
“I nearly shit my pants back there. It’s okay to be scared.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Who’s they?” Paul asks.
“People.”
“Doctors, you mean?”
“Yes, doctors, parents, friends, and now strange boys I meet on mountaintops. But everyone tells me to walk around like there’s nothing to be afraid of. Then they drop dead or something.”
“I’m sorry about that quip, about daddy’s girl.”
“You didn’t know.”
“It’s funny how people just drop dead one day. My mom died when I was ten. I remember the scent of her hair. Strawberries. That’s what I remember most about her.”
“My dad shot himself in the head. I just think about blood when I think about him. He used Old Spice. Blood and Old Spice. That’s what I remember.”
We just stand there for a few moments taking in each other’s histories. We are so different and yet so alike, I think. We both lost a parent.
“Do you suppose they think we’re dead?” He breaks the silence.
“I don’t know, but I think my mother would be pleased I finally met a guy.”
Paul laughs out loud.
“Did you find a guy, Solis? That’s nice to know.”
Chapter 24
Less than an hour later, in the middle of a crop of slab-like stones, we find a small cave. Inside, the ground is dry and the wind is blocked. It is short and tapered, so we have to have our heads at the entrance.
“As good as it gets,” Paul says after inspecting the cave.
I can feel the cold air circulating around the opening of the cave and I fear the exposure could be too much.
“Is it enough?” I ask.
“It has to be. It’s all we’ve got.”
We unroll our sleeping bags and lay them side by side. Our shelter is snug and the ceiling at the apex couldn’t be more than four feet.
“Take off your boots and socks and gloves,” Paul says. “Socks in your bag, boots underneath. Put on the dry pair; we’ll rotate each day if we can.”
I nod in agreement.
“We’ll get in my bag, then pull this one over our heads. It’ll be warmer this way. Unzip the jacket so our bodies will heat each other more efficiently.”
My embarrassment hardly registers. I do everything he’s asked and slide down into the bag. He’s opened his jacket and I can feel the warmth off his chest. He reaches down into the bag behind himself and pulls out the two plastic soda bottles he had underneath his jacket all day.
“Did they melt?”
“Mostly, yes.”
I take a long pull from the first bottle. And then a short follow-up. I hand it back, knowing he must be dying of thirst too.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”
“It’s okay, but don’t drink too fast-when you’re this thirsty, you can heave it back up. That wouldn’t be good.”
He takes a long pull himself and hands it back to me. “Good system; I’ll refill in the morning.”
I take a few more swigs, feeling the water flood through my body, and then, reluctantly, I hand it back so he can finish it off. Hunger kicks in as I watch him finish the water.
“We have Raisinets and three energy bars, right?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“So let’s eat the Raisinets and we split one bar a day.”
“But you’re so much bigger, it doesn’t seem fair,” I say.
“Honorable of you, but I’m fine.”
He’s reaching into his bag, and for a moment, I think he’s going to ask me which kind of bar we should choose to eat tonight, but he doesn’t. He just rips one open, breaks the bar in two pieces that are roughly the same, and hands one half to me.
“Cheers!”
“Eat slow,” I say. “That’s what my mom would tell me.”
“I miss my mom. I would fight and scream about cleaning up my room. Then she died and I missed how much she took care of everything.”
“How did she die?”
“Cancer. Breast cancer. Her dad was a two-pack-a-day man.”
“Sorry,” I say. “What about your dad?”
“My dad didn’t care about anything after my mom died. He threw himself into his books and work and left my brother and me to fend for ourselves. There were weeks at a time when Will, he’s my brother-he’s dead too-cooked dinner. We only knew how to make two things: grilled cheese and scrambled eggs.”
“That sounds horrible. I mean about Will too; I’m so sorry.”
“Cancer. I prayed for him every night and day and absolutely nothing happened. He wasted away in less than a year.”
I stare at him. It is dark, so I’m not sure he can see me, but I’m sure he senses me.
“It wasn’t so bad before he got sick. My dad and Will, they got along. Will loved to read what dad was reading. I hated reading. I’m dyslexic or I was, and was probably ADD, too.”
I touch his back and tell him I’m sorry.
“We haven’t spoken in two years. My dad and I. I was flying home to see him.”
“Why?”
“Was I flying home?”
“No, why haven’t you spoken to him?”
“Will died,” he said, and there was a pause and what I thought was a little sniffle, but maybe not. “And I didn’t want to go to college. My dad said I couldn’t stay home and live with him. If I wasn’t going to school and seeing a shrink with him, I’d have to make it on my own. So I went to the shrink with him for a year or so and the doctor sided with my father on everything. I mean he didn’t say it directly like that, but everything always got twisted up and about me. And just before I left for good, we had a session where Dr. Klein, that was his name, kept hounding me about doing homework and chores and whatever my dad wanted me to do and I exploded. I jumped at him, but my dad held me back. After that I just left.”
Paul shifts his arm and reaches out and touches my face, then my hair.
“Sorry,” he says, “I need to know where your face is; I was disoriented.”
“It’s okay. It felt nice,” I say.
He strokes my face and hair again.
“I flew out west with the money I had. I work as a ski instructor in the winter. In summer I surf in Cali. That was almost two years ago.”
“And you’ve never spoken?”
“Nope.”
“Nothing-not a text?”
