by K Larsen
“Who? Eve or Nora?” I ask. My lips feel swollen with fever. Just let me die. Let me go.
“Drink,” He barks and pushes the glass against my lips once more.
This time, I drink.
“City, you okay?” Dallas’s voice pulls me from the past back to the present. He’s standing to my left, wearing the heavy backpack, the lighter one on the ground resting against his leg, looking between me and the rocky trail ahead.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“That word usually doesn’t mean good things.”
“I’m good. I promise. Nothing to report. Just… nostalgia, I think,” I say, picking up the pack and slinging it over my shoulders.
“Remember our deal.”
“Tell you everything,” I say, and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s go.” I force my legs to take the first step, silently reminding myself that Holden is no longer here. The only thing that remains is the ghost of him if anything—but I have a feeling even nature has forced him out. Nature is not tolerant of unnatural things.
We’ve already made it through the first gate only forty minutes into the hike, when we round a sharp corner in the trail and stop short. A coyote carcass lies in front of us, buzzing with flies, its eyes perpetually open, mouth forever hinged in a final exhale. It gives me that tight-chest, lumpy throat feeling. A telling sight, in my opinion, of a mountain that lends itself to death and decay. A mountain that has no use for weaklings. But just like the leaves, things change, and perhaps the cabin won’t be as ominous as I imagine when we arrive.
“That’s nasty,” Dallas grunts. His face is slick with sweat from our walk in the searing afternoon heat.
“That’s nature,” I reply, stepping over the animal to continue on.
“Dude, that was a little dark. You good?”
I swivel around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I’m great. I guess I’m just used to that up here. It’s natural. This is what the wild is like. I didn’t mean to come off brash about it.”
Dallas fidgets with his pack straps. “Oh. Okay. Ready for a break?”
I look ahead, up the trail, and shake my head. “I’m good. Let’s keep going.” I know the hike is hard—tedious. And I know Dallas is exhausted but I want to keep going. I need to.
I hear Dallas groan softly behind me before he pants, “Whatever the lady wants.”
It takes all my self-control not to burst out laughing, and I know that given Dallas’s current physical state, this is not the time to laugh at him.
It’s an hour later when we pass the second gate and come to a clearing lined with jagged rocks. Dallas collapses in the dew-dampened grass to catch his breath. The arduous trek proving to be slightly too much for him. I absently take in our surroundings. Spinning slowly, looking for landmarks. Slay Rock would be the easiest indicator to find. Or the river—we could follow it up mostly to the cabin.
“Why aren't you out of breath?” Dallas asks, still panting.
A hiccup of laughter leaves me and I shrug.
“I guess the wilderness hasn’t left me after all.”
“Woman, you’re making me look bad!” He jokes.
I let my pack slide off my shoulders before settling to the ground next to him.
“Oh no, you’re carrying much more weight than I am, remember?” I placate.
Dallas narrows his eyes at me playfully before reaching out and shoving me to the ground. A peal of laughter rips from me and echoes around us.
Standing, I venture to the edge of the clearing, to the rocky part, and look out over the valley below. The vista takes my breath away. My memories of the beauty here, clearly inaccurate. Degraded, yellowed proverbial photographs that do the scene before me no justice. I’ve missed this view.
“Come see this,” I call over my shoulder to Dallas.
Dallas grunts with exertion as he stands, simultaneously wiping sweat from his brow. It is hot. But the heat keeps the cold shadows at bay, and I like it. He lifts a corner of his shirt when he’s next to me and uses the material to wipe his face and neck. The sneak peek of his abs has me licking my lips. I take his hand as his eyes light up.
“Holy balls, City, this is wild. Look how tiny the town looks.”
I can’t help but laugh.
As the sun goes to bed. I pick a spot for us to set up camp. It doesn’t take long for me and Dallas to tie up the tarp, create a small rock ring for a firepit and set up our little site for the night.
Dallas lets out a rush of air as he settles beside me, his arm brushes mine as he sinks into the grass. “It’s quiet. Too quiet. I miss noise.”
“I like it quiet,” I say softly. “Plus there’s plenty of noise, just listen.”
Dallas wrinkles his nose at me. “It smells funny too. Like water-soaked dirt and animals.”
“I miss the smells from the cabin best: cedar chests opened in winter, cinnamon shaved over hot chocolate, the smell of grass and dirt in the summer. Wildflowers and ripe berries.”
“You had hot chocolate?”
I snort. “Occasionally. Holden would heat up some milk from the cow—when we had her— and dump cocoa powder with a pinch of sugar into it for me and Laura.”
“Who was Laura again?”
“His sister.”
“Right. The one Eve was supposed to tutor.”
“Yes, the very reason she took the job.”
“She died, right?”
I nod.
“How?”
A chill ripples through me. Dallas slings an arm around my shoulders. “Eve had neglected her chores. She had also spat in Holden’s face when he tried to remind her to get them done. The whole cabin buzzed with tension that evening. And Laura reveled in it. She loved watching Holden dish out consequences. She loved a lot of strange morbid things. I heard the commotion and peeked my head out of my bedroom door to make sure Eve was okay. Holden never showed restraint with Eve and his arm whipped backward so fast, she almost didn’t dodge his swing. But she did. And behind her, Laura stood. Eve ducked and Laura got backhanded—hard. The blow sent her lithe body flailing. You have to remember, we were all too thin, underfed. We grew most of what we ate but it was hard feeding four people on what we could manage and Holden always made sure he got double what everyone else did. Laura’s head made a vile thunk as it cracked the corner of the dining table. Her body hit the floor limply. Blood seeped out around her head rapidly, it stained her blonde hair. There was so much blood . . . Holden’s scream was agony. Pure horror. Feral and child-like. He sounded like a wounded animal.
“He dropped to his knees beside her and cradled her in his arms. Laura hung in his arms like a limp noodle. ‘It was an accident.’ Eve must have said those words a hundred times in that minute that passed. Terror ripped through me. I actually peed myself. I knew his punishment would be harsh and I couldn’t lose Eve. Laura was barely older than me. Holden adored her. Treated her like a princess. He loved her and it was his hand that killed her, but it was an accident. Still, Eve was as good as dead and that left me the only person left in the cabin with him.
“I peeked my head further out of my bedroom door, tears streaming down my cheeks. Eve’s eyes found mine and I imagine our expressions mirrored each other’s. She gave me a pleading look that made me want to vomit. Eve turned and ran. She knew she couldn’t stay. I knew it too, but it didn’t stop my brain from silently screaming, don’t leave me!”
Dallas’s arm holds me firmly, reminding me that everything I’m feeling is in the past. It’s over and done. No longer a viable threat to me. I rest my head on his shoulder.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything,” I tell him.
We watch the rich pinks and oranges that stain the sky fade into darkness, in silence. It feels right. It feels like I’ve honored the memory somehow. Dallas stands and stretches before offering to cook us soup for dinner, so I take the time to write in my journal. It feels good to open the book and put pen to paper.
Dear D
,
When I returned from the mountain, people said the right things, but I sensed a clandestine look of excitement in their eyes layered under the sympathy. As if they were thrilled and even a little bit nervous to be on the fringe of the most horrible thing that could happen to a person. But I notice with Dallas that he does the opposite. He takes it all in, absorbs it as if it were his own trauma. Always asking me how I feel, to dig deeper than the surface and cleanse it all out of me. Like he’s trying to take it from me. As if he could. The sentiment is nice, but I know that’s not how traumas and scars work. You can’t carry someone else’s pain no matter how badly you want to.
In a different sense though, telling him the memories, and feelings does make me feel like the load is lighter. Somehow, just the act of sharing with him, lessens the burden and for that I am eternally grateful. I hope he knows what a gift he’s giving me and how badly I want to reciprocate it for him. Maybe I can do it without him even knowing.
I glance at Dallas, sitting across from me. A small fire burning and him using one of his shirts as a pot holder for the pot handle so he can hold it over the flames.
“Why didn’t your friend’s parents or teachers ever step in and help you when your mom left?” I ask, shutting the journal and hooking the pen to the binding.
“What? Random.” Dallas stops stirring the soup and takes it away from the flames all while squinting at me suspiciously.
“Not random. The thought just occurred to me and I thought I’d ask.”
I put two metal cups next to him and watch as he pours the soup into them. The temperature is beginning to drop. The warm metal feels good against my fingers as I take mine.
His shoulders lift slightly. “I quickly learned that people have a finite tolerance for the suffering of others. Empathy only goes so far before personal comfort levels are maxed out, and they start backing away or outright avoiding you. It’s hard to witness a harsh reality and then go home to your happy comfortable life at night. It’s easier to believe that people will bounce back from hardships on their own. But that mentality only equated to one thing for me. Being alone. It left me with no adult invested in my life and no one to count on.”
He takes a sip of his soup, slurping it loudly.
“That must have been so hard. And scary.” I look at him over the rim of my mug before sipping.
“Not scary like Holden.” It’s so like him to downplay what he went through that I almost snort.
“True, but he was still there every day. Still feeding me, clothing me and keeping a roof over my head. I can’t imagine having no one as a kid and no resources to change the situation. Kids count on adults. That’s how it works.”
“Yeah,” he says, and nods. “Okay. It was scary a lot. And hard. It sucks to feel like a ghost in a sea of people when you’re trying to stand out and get help.” He stares into his mug of soup.
“You should apply for a job or volunteer at N.E.L. I think you’d find it really satisfying or cathartic. Basically, we deal with kids like you and me and help them to cope, adjust and feel loved so they can heal and have the ability to live a good life.”
Dallas abandons his spot to come sit next to me. “I love that you do things like that. I love that you notice the kids who aren’t noticed. I love every goddamn thing about you, City, from your heart and brain to your sexy ass and killer eyes.”
My brows arch. “Killer eyes?”
He nods. “Yup, you’ve got the prettiest eyes and they change color a little with your moods. I love that you wear your heart and emotions on your sleeve.”
I bite my bottom lip and just stare at him because I don’t know what to do with all that mushy information. There’s a rush of things I could gush about to him but the words are jammed in my throat.
He brushes the hair away from my face and pulls my bottom lip from between my teeth with his thumb. “Even your silence is sexy, babe.” He kisses my forehead.
“I love you too,” I breathe.
Once I have the fire going, we snuggle down together against the growing chill of the mountain at night. I watch the flames lick the air, the wood snaps and crackles. Its warmth settles on the tip of my nose, its scent and heat hovers in the air around us, hugging us. It brings a strange kind of ruminative state. A kind of breathable nostalgia for me. I look at Dallas, he seems to be in his own zone hypnotized by the flames. Now and then our eyes lock in the orangey tones cast by the fire. I feel like we can say everything and nothing with just a look, an unspoken language only understood by the two of us, kindled by the flames. Shapes of trees and branches and overgrowth seem to undulate here and there, moving with the moon and firelight. Tree frogs, crickets, snapped twigs and owls in the distance fill the night air with their sounds as we sit entranced, trading silent glances and smiles.
“I hear it now,” Dallas says.
“What?”
“The noise.”
A smile sweeps across my face.
28
Dallas
I wake up feeling restless and mildly agitated, but I can’t get up and do anything to get the jitters out because Charlotte is fast asleep, head resting on my bicep. She’s got this light nose whistle going on and it makes me chuckle. She’s pressed so close against me that it feels as if her body against mine belongs there—is a part of me. Panic flashes in me. I would do anything to make her happy, including pretending I'm the man of her dreams. I’m not sure anyone is or will be worthy of my City, but I know for sure I’m not. I have the distinct pleasure of watching it all as it crumbles around me. I know what’s unfolding. I’ve lived through it before. That’s my advantage. When she figures it out it will be too late, and that eats away at my soul because, for the first time, I care about the devastation that’s creeping its way closer. I care that it’s going to affect her. My racing thoughts lead to my heart racing, and when I can’t slow it down with my breathing, I am forced to roll Charlotte slightly to slide my arm out from under her so I can get up.
I stretch and pace in the early morning mist. I half-heartedly start a little fire so we can make the oatmeal when she wakes. I take a leak on a giant red-leafed bush a few feet past our site. Without her body pressed against me, the early morning chill seeps into my skin and I shiver. I don’t feel as grounded either. More adrift without Charlotte’s contact.
Sunlight breaks through the mist.
“What are you up to?”
I snap my gaze to City, her eyes are bright with curiosity. I give her a toothy smile. I’m relieved she’s awake—to hear her voice.
“Floundering,” I answer.
She props herself up on her elbows and yawns. “Oh?”
“I don’t know what to do with myself.” Charlotte giggles, the sound stays close to us, insulated by the low-hanging morning fog. “What? Is there a word for that or something?”
She flops back down prone, and groans.
“My brain is not awake enough, but I’m sure there is.”
Laughing, I grab a bottle of water, the toothpaste and my toothbrush. When I’m finished, I straddle City and pepper her face and neck with kisses while tickling her. She wiggles and squeals and laughs.
“What’s the magic word?” I ask.
“Wha—what?” she wheezes, still laughing as I tickle.
“I’ll stop when you say the magic word.”
“I don’t know it!” she squeals.
“Antidisestablishmentarianism,” I tell her, continuing the tickle plight.
“Serious—” Her laughter cuts her off.
“The magic word, City.”
Between sucking in breaths, she stutters, “—have to pee.”
“Say it!”
It takes her three tries, but she finally gets it out and I relent, leaning back on my heels while she catches her breath amid lingering giggles.
“How the hell do you even know that word?” She wheezes.
“My mom said it was the longest word and thus, the magic word that would make the tickle monster
stop and leave when I was little.”
“That is just cruel,” Charlotte says, laughing. “To make a little kid try and get that out while being tickled.” She shakes her head giggling more. “Sounds like your mom has a good sense of humor.”
I stand up and hold my hand out for Charlotte, to help her up, a wave of disappointment settling deep in my chest. “When she was sober, yeah. There were good moments like that.”
She plants a kiss before hurrying into the woods. “Nature calls!”
“Urgently, apparently,” I holler after her.
The sun is high in the sky when we reach a small clearing that runs along a river. I wanted to take a break at least an hour ago, but Charlotte said no and kept pushing onward. She is relentless in this pursuit, and I’m still uncertain it’s a great idea to be doing this. The more I learn what happened to her, the more I worry that this endeavor was a bad judgment call. How can I take care of City with all the burdens piling up on me? I want to be the King in her story. I want her heart to beat for me. I want to give her that same my-heart-feels-like-it-will-rip-through-my-shirt feeling. Whenever she’s near, all those times she whispered softly in my ear while we fell asleep on the phone together, it made me feel like I could outrun my darkness. Yet still, I know that day will come; the day when I have to make her go. She won’t understand that I’m doing her a favor—that I’ll be saving her—but that’s okay. Before that happens, I will make her see herself through my eyes. I will make her see how she sparkles and shines. I will make her believe in all the hidden best parts of herself.
As we went along—City confidently moving forward, me wheezing my way behind—she pointed out different birds and plants, telling me what greens and berries were edible and which were not. When I asked her how she knew so much about the area she told me that Nora taught her star names, big words and how to love, but Holden showed her how to gut an animal, how to whistle birdsongs and how to seed a garden—survival. And I’ll be honest it’s a strange thing to hear her stories. Moments of pure horror where I can still see the emotions she lived through in her eyes, hear it in her voice, followed by her speaking about a monster with some form of fondness, almost.