Disposition of Remains

by Laura T. Emery

  “This is Cathedral Rock,” Misty explained as we all climbed from the truck’s cab.

  For the first time, I was happy I’d agreed to come. Whatever Misty thought Sedona might offer my particular situation was irrelevant to me. Simply being in the presence of such spectacular beauty (Sedona, not Wilbur) made me feel better somehow—uplifted. I stared upward, mouth agape, until Misty pulled me aside and whispered:

  “Do you think you can carry a small pack?”

  She motioned to a backpack in the bed of Paul’s truck.

  “Of course. I’ll be fine,” I assured her.

  Evan had made me feel helpless for years, so I was damned if I was going to actually be helpless.

  We donned our respective backpacks and locked the truck. I was surprised to see that ours was the only vehicle in the lot. I took a moment to exchange my high heels for some sneakers that Misty was kind enough to contribute to my cause. The shoes looked ridiculous with my designer pantsuit but there was no place to modestly undress to rectify my fashion faux pas.

  We crossed a small stream then began to climb. I tried desperately to keep up, but being the nature virgin that I was, I just couldn’t. Wilbur noticed my lag and came back to walk with me.

  We ascended the path for about a mile before we took a break for some water. The panoramic view that stretched out in front of me took away what was left of my huffing-puffing breath. Paul’s truck looked like a matchbox car from our spectacular vantage point. It was so spectacular, in fact, that I’d forgotten about how much my quads were burning.

  Once we were rested, we made a right turn and hiked the switchback trails around the back of Cathedral Rock’s peak. There, we crossed a fallen tree to get to the other side of a river that churned and gurgled before us.

  “Can you feel it?” Misty asked.

  “Feel what?”

  “The vortex.”

  Oh, God, here we go, I thought. I’d been kidnapped by a bunch of New Age nut bags who were all going to start chanting to Cerridwen or some other mystic goddess. I had to admit that there was something so astoundingly serene about the place, but…a vortex? I wasn’t even sure what a vortex was, but since Misty appeared to possess some great insight into the secrets of inner peace, who was I to scoff at the idea?

  “What exactly is a vortex?” I inquired of Misty.

  “It’s an energy source, like food or the sun, only it’s an energy radiating and spiraling upward from the earth. You can actually feel its presence,” Misty explained patiently. “Do you see that tree over there?”

  She pointed to a lone juniper tree.

  “See how it’s unusually twisted up?”

  “Yeah. Weird,” I contributed.

  “It’s the energy from the vortex,” Misty said. “Try this: Lie down on your back and close your eyes.”

  I reluctantly complied. I had to wonder why Misty thought I would be excited about something that would twist me all up in knots like that poor tree, but I forced myself into pretending to have an open mind. As the two of us lay on our backs, Paul and Mr. America went back to the truck to fetch the rest of the camping gear.

  As I grudgingly lay in “the vortex,” I began to sense a spinning sensation. It didn’t make me dizzy and nauseous like any other whirling motions did. I felt light and airy, almost exhilarated.

  “I think I do feel it,” I finally allowed myself to admit. I lifted my head for a moment to see if I could catch a glimpse of this “spiritual energy.” It was still just a river, rocks, and trees.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Fire away,” Misty replied.

  “You said you live this way because you’re aware of your mortality. How did that happen? Did you just wake up one day and say to yourself, ‘I’m going to die someday; let’s party’?”

  Misty giggled.

  “Hardly. I used to be a CPA. My husband and I owned a firm together.”

  “Husband, huh?”

  “Yeah, I had a son too. Jacob.”

  I had a feeling this story wasn’t going to end well, but I was clearly obligated to ask.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, we were living your typical suburban life. We worked too much, concentrated on all the wrong things—you know, material things. We didn’t spend enough time with our son. We were so caught up with the idea of getting ahead that we didn’t realize how much of our lives we were wasting. Then, in a flash, it was all gone.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?” I asked, one-hundred-percent certain I didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Nine years ago, both my husband and Jacob were killed in car accident.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, unaffected by my ridiculous apology. “A teenager drag racing. Some dumb-ass kid whose life was never the same either.”

  “So, how did you handle it?”

  “My whole world fell apart, as you might imagine. I tried to maintain the firm and go on with my life, but it just didn’t work. I didn’t care anymore. I realized that I’d wasted so much of my time pursuing useless endeavors. I did all the things society dictates we do. I was existing, not living. So I sold the firm and decided to actually live my life. I did it out of respect for John and Jacob, because neither one of them had a chance to live theirs.”

  “So you’re a boozie with a master’s degree?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Hey, cocktail waitressing actually pays pretty well, and it’s totally flexible. My manager, Max, lets me take time off whenever I need to. There’s always someone wanting to pick up more hours. When I leave work, I don’t give it a second thought.”

  “How does Paul fit in?” I asked.

  “Paul feels the same way I do about life. He owns a little construction company in Flagstaff. He loves his work, but he knows when it’s time to play. This is the first place we went together after we met in Peru. Right here in this vortex. I think that’s why we like to come here so often.”

  “Do you plan to get married?”

  “No, actually. I think because we don’t live together and don’t see each other day in and day out, we appreciate each other all the more. We cherish the time we have together, and don’t take each other for granted. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  I pondered what Misty had said while I continued to soak up the energy of the vortex by the stream at the base of Cathedral Rock. She was the first person I had ever met who seemed genuinely content. But what a price she had to pay to get there. The mere thought of such magnanimity made me feel incredibly selfish. It must be infinitely more painful to lose your child than your own life, and to lose a husband as well. Of course, I could only imagine.

  At times, I had secretly hoped that Evan would just disappear. My mind wandered back to the time when I had first met him. I was still in a relationship with my high school sweetheart, Michael. By that point, Michael and I had been together for four years—an eternity in teenage terms. He was the only person I’d ever had sex with and we had our entire lives planned out by the time we were nineteen years old.

  Michael and I met while taking Renaissance Art History at Las Vegas High, and we were both crazy about it. After high school, I enrolled in nursing school and he was studying to become a teacher. It was our dream to move to Italy. We spent countless days concocting our plan. I would obtain a travel position as a nurse, and he would teach English abroad. Our hope was to land jobs in Florence. Our plan was perfect. But then my mother got sick. I continued with school, but my motivation began to fade. The idea of going to Italy seemed foolish, and Michael and I drifted apart as I began to devote all of my spare time to caring for my mother.

  It had been suggested by my mother’s doctor that I seek out a probate lawyer and acquire power of attorney while she still had her wits about her. It was very painful for me. But Evan Altman, Attorney at Law, came highly recommended for his compassionate advice. I met Evan while his practice was still in Las Vegas, before he moved his offi
ce to Los Angeles. He seemed so understanding as he drew up the papers for me. Evan was the master at compartmentalizing his behaviors.

  Evan pursued me heavily right from the start. He was this big, strong, handsome, older man. He managed to take care of everything for my mother and me, and at the time, I found his presence very comforting. I broke up with Michael to be with Evan, and I’m certain that my doing so hurt Michael deeply.

  I began to wonder what Michael might be doing at that very moment, as the vortex’s energy continued to engulf me. I pictured him lecturing to a crowd of rowdy Italian fourth-graders. I imagined him feasting on me with his eyes and smiling, all while flipping his hair out of his face, as he always did. Finally, I had an image of the two of us in bed. Michael was tenderly caressing my shoulder when I became aware that someone was actually shaking me. This time it was Paul.

  “Are you hungry, sleepyhead?”

  Good Lord, it had happened again! Somehow I had developed narcolepsy. I rubbed my eyes and sat up.

  “I could eat.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I was actually hungry, but it felt good to be a part of something, even if that something was sitting by a river with three strangers in the middle of a vortex.

  After we ate the sandwiches that Misty had packed, we devoted a few hours to setting up camp next to the river. I ducked into my designated tent and changed into some of the clothes that Misty had brought for me. Wilbur and Paul embarked upon a strenuous hike to the peak of Cathedral Rock while Misty explained to me the entire vortex phenomenon. Though I didn’t fully grasp the content, I began to realize that she wasn’t just some spiritual loony-toon. She was just very in touch with herself as well as everything and everyone around her. I felt deeply grateful to have met her.

  By the time night fell, Misty and Paul had arranged a bunch of flashlights as a makeshift “campfire” around which campfire stories could be told. It turned out that actual fires were prohibited in the area. It was as if the Vortex Authorities, somewhere, worried that perhaps the vortex would convert a fire into some sort of nuclear explosion. The idea didn’t seem inconceivable to me, seeing as my reality was shifting so fast.

  While sitting around the relatively tepid “fire,” we chatted lightly about the events of the day. Since nature was our toilet, and was also calling, I grabbed a piece of the “kindling” and walked off a bit to make my mark. I wasn’t fond of the idea, but I was trying to embrace the whole camping experience. Just as I’d located an appropriate tree, I smelled a horrible scent flowing downwind. I had waited too long to go and was verging on desperation, so I ignored the ghastly odor. I pulled my pants down, squatted, and finished my business as quickly as possible. It was then that I spotted some type of porcine creature peering curiously at me from the brush nearby. Upon shining my flashlight in his direction, I could make out that he had some friends. There were at least four sets of eyes watching me. I dared not move.

  I tried not to chuckle at the absurdity of it all. I’d never dreamed as I lounged on my couch less than thirty-six hours earlier, that I would soon be in the company of total strangers in the middle of nowhere where I’d be stalked by Porky Pig while peeing on a tree.

  “Guys!…Hey, guys!” I whispered as loudly as I could.

  One of the creatures charged in my direction. I tried to move, but my pants were still around my ankles. Suddenly, I was knocked over by something else entirely. The furry, tusked critter missed me by an inch and rammed headfirst into the tree. Apparently bewildered, he and his companions then scampered off.

  “That was a herd of javelina,” Wilbur said from above me.

  At that moment I was more disturbed by the fact that Wilbur was lying prone on top of me with my pants down than interested in the weird pig creature’s name.

  “Oh, really? You don’t say,” I spat sarcastically, trying to squirm my way back into Misty’s pants under the weight of Wilbur’s robust physique.

  “They can’t really see well, but they will charge blindly at an odor.”

  “Mmmm…great.”

  “After you left, I could smell them by the camp. I’ve always heard you can smell javelina before you see them, but I haven’t really encountered them before,” Said Wilbur, chuckling.

  “That’s all very interesting, and I don’t want to seem unappreciative or anything, but do you think you could get off me now, so I can pull my pants up?”

  “Oh…uh…sure,” Wilbur mumbled as he dismounted me.

  Scuttling away from our awkward encounter, I couldn’t help but fixate on the fact that Wilbur thought I had an odor that might have attracted the javelinas. I had no idea where I was going and despite the flashlight, I really couldn’t see. Wilbur called out from behind me.

  “Stacia! This way!”

  He grabbed my hand and guided me back to camp. I was surprised by how pleasant it was to be touched by a man who wasn’t just trying to get his jollies before zonking out for the night. It had been a long time since Evan had shown me any genuine affection.

  When we got back to the camp Misty and Paul were hiding in their tent. They poked their heads out and grinned.

  “Are they gone?” Paul asked.

  “No, I brought them back with me. Would you like to pet one?” Wilbur joked.

  “We’re gonna stay in here…just in case,” Paul laughed, as they retreated back into their tent. Wilbur examined me with a look of curiosity. I didn’t know how to interpret it, so I just said, “I think I’ll go to bed as well.”

  As I ducked into my one-man tent, Wilbur offered, “I’m right over here if you need anything.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for saving me from the jave-wa-whosits.”

  “Anytime.”

  I realized that Wilbur was a tremendously kind person in addition to being a chiseled masterpiece, so I began to suspect that he must be married or gay. I was also well aware that people were not always as great as they seem at first. Nonetheless, I was almost afraid to go to sleep that night for fear of what my crazy dreams had in store for me.

  CHAPTER 6

  I dreamed of Michael. We were sitting in a little outdoor café in Florence, sipping coffee while delighting in the Italian jazz music resonating through the streets. We were living the life we had planned. I felt happy in my dream, content. I almost didn’t recognize the feeling, as I hadn’t experienced it in full consciousness for quite some time.

  The contentedness carried over into the next hour of wakefulness. It wasn’t the sort of feeling that makes you want to skip for joy through a meadow like a nymph in a tampon commercial; it was just a feeling that made me smile silently to myself. I arose earlier than everyone, and my reward was an incredibly beautiful sunrise. The streaks of maize-and-tangerine sunlight burst through the twisted juniper trees and reflected off the rippling river. I took a few moments to absorb the beauty in its entirety. I began to suspect that the magic of the vortex might be real. I was seeing the world through different, more enlightened eyes—like the fractured pieces from a kaleidoscope had all suddenly come together to form a perfect image.

  It suddenly occurred to me that mine had been a wasted life. I had spent so many years feeling overwhelmed and busy, trudging through mundane tasks that seemed so monumentally important at the time: delivering some indecipherable document for Evan or creating the perfect dinner, which I knew Evan would hate anyway. I never really stopped to realize the world had so much to offer, and there would be so little time to even nibble at the crust of it. I felt liberated to do anything I wanted without fear of ruining a future I no longer possessed.

  For weeks, mornings hadn’t been a good time for me. My eyes would open, my stomach would turn, and the reality of my sad truth would overwhelm me. But on that particular day, I felt good—and I was hungry. In my ravenous state, I rifled through Misty’s hippie hemp bag and finally located the tasty treats Misty had packed at the bottom. I sliced up some fruit and what looked like homemade banana bread. I felt a certain juvenile pride as I put
together four plates of food and poured some orange juice, like I was waiting for my mother to give me a quarter for my efforts. I arranged the plates delicately around the portable table Paul had brought and picked some wildflowers for a centerpiece.

  Wilbur woke up next, followed by Misty and Paul shortly after.

  “Wow, look at you! Maybe camping is your thing after all!” Wilbur exclaimed.

  “Maybe it is,” I returned with a crafty smile.

  Everyone sat and ate, quietly enjoying the crisp air of the beautiful morning. I leaned back in my folding chair and noticed that even the ants seemed to be courteously leaving to us to enjoy the moment.

  As our breakfast experience came to an end, and a fresh breeze grazed my cheek, I realized that my hair was stuck to my head. After my roll in the dirt the night before, I was feeling pretty grungy.

  “I don’t suppose there would be anywhere to shower around here?” I asked. It was a doltish question, considering there was no bathroom, much less running water—heated or otherwise.

  Misty laughed and gestured toward the river a few feet from where we sat.

  “There’s some biodegradable soap in my satchel.”

  “I’m guessing Stacia probably hasn’t bathed nude in a river before,” Paul said in a tone that suggested I was a princess or a prudish schoolgirl. He was clearly egging me on. I was going to have none of that.

  I stood up from the table, defiantly stripped off my clothes, and dashed into the river before I heard Misty shout, “We usually go in a little later, after it warms up!”

  …Splash…

  “And with bathing suits!”

  “Oh! Holy shit! Mother of vortex! It’s FREEZING!” I screamed, grabbing whatever parts of my body I could cover with my two hands. The frigid water had chilled me to the core, yet I found it strangely invigorating.

  Misty slapped Paul hard on the shoulder in disapproval.