by GVR Corcillo
He leans back and sits against a boulder facing me. His movements seem cautious, making me wince.
“Sorry if I hurt you,” I offer.
He just kind of shakes me off. “What about you? Other than the scratches, are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.” I hope it’s true. I didn’t really get much of a chance to test my ankles or anything when he hoisted me off the ground and moved me away from the rocky slope.
“Yes,” he says, closing his eyes, “I recycle.” He sounds tired. “It’s your turn.”
My turn? Quid pro quo, Doctor. My hand flies to my face. “Did you poison me?”
He opens his eyes, and he’s got this wolfish smile. Okay, maybe not wolfish. And maybe he’s not even smiling. But I’m pretty sure one corner of his lip tilts up a fraction.
“Lisa,” he says, “I want some answers. It is all right if I call you Lisa?”
His nod to propriety after everything I’ve done to him this afternoon makes me lower my eyes. Where do I get off not giving him an explanation?
I breathe in deeply and exhale a shaky breath. I can do this. I can tell him my plan.
“Why were you chasing me?” he asks.
Oh, thank heavens! I don’t have to explain. All I have to do is answer questions. “You knew I was chasing you? Then why—”
“I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were another fast-packer.”
“Me?” I say on a laugh. “You thought I was fast-packer?” I have no idea what a fast-packer is, but I’m sure I would never intentionally be one.
He shrugs. “Generally, people from class don’t chase me up mountains.”
“But fast-packers do?”
“Some fast-packers’ll challenge any fast-packer they run into.”
“Oh,” I say. “So that’s why you were going so fast? You thought it was a race?”
Pause. “Yeah.”
But he hesitated for a second. I heard him do it. My scalp gets hot. “You weren’t really going that fast, were you? For you, it was a leisurely pace, wasn’t it?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he says instead. “I think I’ll ask the same one since you haven’t answered it yet. Why were you chasing me?” Jack’s voice is quiet, almost bored-sounding, but his sharp look pins me like a butterfly.
I swallow. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?”
I know I just have to say it. Quick with my eyes closed, like when I had to take cough medicine as a kid. I know I have to. I do. I know.
“Lisa?”
I know, I know. I just need a sec.
“Lisa, just tell me.”
Okay. Okay.
“Lisa?”
I suck in a breath, then just blurt it out. The whole stupid truth. “I want to get brave.”
There. I said it. But just like with the cough medicine, I have that yucky taste in the back of my throat, threatening to make me gag. Jack stares at me like I’m…pathetic.
“It makes perfect sense,” I rush to explain. “You leap tall mountains and jump off high ledges into raging rivers. You sleep hanging from cliffs and race big vehicles at incredibly dangerous speeds. You don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. You even told your rich family to kiss off. Can you deny it? Then you started your very own company from scratch. No family money at all!”
“What the—” He looks confused. Angry, even. “How do you—where do you—”
“I, on the other hand, have no problem with free money. Don’t you get it?”
“What?” he squawks. “No, I—”
“I’m afraid of everything!” I cry. “Heights and deep water. Fast cars and big animals and loud noises. How to dress, walking into strange stores, grinding my own coffee beans, what my mother thinks of me! You can fix me. I’m sure of it.”
Jack shoots to his feet. “Fix you?”
He looks so appalled, but I know I’m onto something. Something big. I stand up, too, facing him head on. “You do scary stuff all the time. You can help me get brave.”
He takes a step back and speaks softly, like I’m a rabid bobcat or something. “Lisa…Lisa…look…”
My heart pounds so wildly I can hardly speak, but I have to do this. I have his attention. This is my chance. I stand tall, feeling the steel snap into my spine. “I know it’s a crazy idea, but I think it can work. We could help each other out.”
His gaze narrows. “How could you help me?
I lift my chin. “You have your own company. I have money to invest.”
“Into the Wild is employee owned. It doesn’t work like that.”
“I thought you were adding a charitable donation facet,” I counter, unable to give up. “I thought that’s why we’re in the same non-profit classes.”
Jack raises a brow.
Holy mackerel, Batman! I think I’ve made a point he’s considering!
“Into the Wild doesn’t need your Burger Barn money.”
His voice is so flat and unyielding that I get angry fast, on principle. “Are you mad at me for getting money because their drive-thru fell on me?” I demand.
His jaw tightens. I actually see the muscles clench and wonder if I should warn him about TMJ. But he’s looking at me with this blistering intensity, so I don’t say anything.
“Into the Wild doesn’t operate on corporate money.”
His tone sends chills down my back, but I manage to speak. “My money isn’t corporate money. Yes, I got it from a corporation, but it’s mine now, and I’m not a company. I’m a person.”
He looks at me. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We aren’t going to take donations. We’re going to make them.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that?” I shout. “Or did you feel that you just had to make a point about how my money is from Burger Barn and I was just an out-of-control fattie who got what she deserved because she wasn’t slim and petite enough to fit into a wedding dress?”
I can tell from the way he looks away that he knows what I’m talking about. He saw the tabloids – he read the stories. Comfort Food Almost Kills Her – Burger Barn’s hayloft-style drive-thru nearly crushes a distressed bride-to-be on a binge. Once I woke up, the articles had a raucous good time calling me a cow. At least that’s what Maggie was always laughing about. She said one even called me a heifer.
I can feel all of my frustration and fury rumbling like an avalanche ready to go. “Well, guess what?” I cry. “It doesn’t matter how much you make fun of me or how bad you and all of America make me feel because I don’t need the stupid dress anyway because Keith didn’t really want to marry me and he couldn’t wait for me to wake up so he could tell me! So there!” I huff and puff; furious tears pushing into my eyes.
But I can see that he’s looking at me again.
“Jack,” I say, with a little more control, “I chased you up this mountain because when I woke up from that coma, it was clear to me like never before that I had a life, a life I almost lost. So I need to get a backbone and do something with this life. Make my life count.”
When I finally shut up, the woods are quiet. I look at Jack. He looks surprised and confused, and something more, but I can’t place it. He looks me over then, from head to toe. He must see the one thigh-high that’s come loose from its garter and fallen around my ankle. The stocking sags there, irrevocably stretched out by my gargantuan thigh.
“What?” I ask, not able to stand him looking at me for one second longer.
“You have good legs.”
I tip my head, as might Benji in a similar situation. Good legs?
But Jack backpedals so fast I think he leaves skid marks. “Not good good,” he splutters. “Not sexy good. I just meant, they look strong.”
Oh, God, he’s actually talking about how thunderous my thighs are. I mean, God forbid he was saying I could possibly look tempting with RoboCop’s quadriceps. After all, for my whole life, guys and my mother have commented on my big thighs. Like in high school, when Billy’s best friend Sean got his c
ar stuck in the snow in our driveway. Their efforts to push the car out were fruitless, so Sean said, “Let’s wait for Lisa to get home. She has big legs.” How do I know this if I wasn’t even home yet? My mom told me. Then she laughed.
And yes, we got the damn car out.
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
He’s still looking me up and down, checking out my torn-up half-a-business-suit. At least I had the sense to leave the jacket in the trunk.
“Did you just decide on this plan of yours today?”
I sigh. “I heard you telling someone you were going into the mountains after class, so I seized the opportunity to spring it on you.”
“Why didn’t you just catch me at USC?”
“Just catch you?” I kind of laugh. “I tried. It took me this long to catch up.”
Jack nods, as if considering something. “Sorry about your suit.”
That’s it? That’s all I’m going to get for my sweltering effort? I suddenly feel very tired. “No worries.” I sigh again. “I have lots at home.”
And I do. All because I didn’t want to feel like a complete fraud on my first day of business school. I mean, I had to walk into MBA classes when I barely even know what the NASDAQ is. So, I decided to wear a chic power suit to look the part of the business maven I purported to be. Donna Karan, black, subtle, sensational. I couldn’t miss.
Actually, I missed by a lot. Nobody else looked so polished. They all dressed anywhere from business casual to downright grunge, and I stuck out like a kangaroo in a button factory. But I held my head high and acted as if they were all underdressed. After that, I had to wear a posh suit to every class. It was either that or lose face.
So now, I have a closet full of poseur designer business suits with matching shirts and heels. And everyone thinks I’m weird. But I look so svelte they stay away, almost as if with respectful distance. But I don’t think they really respect me.
Not yet, anyway. Not like they respect Jack Hawkins.
“Well,” Jack says, standing up, “you’re clearly no hiker.”
I blink at him. “What gave it away?”
His gaze remains steady. “But you kept up with me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. You kept up with me.
“Come on,” he says. “You won’t find your way off this mountain without me. But I’ve got more to do, so you better keep keeping up.”
I feel a beam of sunshine blast through me, swear to God. “You’ll let me go with you? And do stuff?” Everything is going to be all right!
“It’s better than leaving you here and worrying that a bear’ll get you.”
“So, there are bears?” I try to keep my voice as unshaky as possible.
“Lisa, we’re in the woods. What did you expect?”
I didn’t expect this. And I bet he didn’t either.
I’m standing at the base of a rock wall – this one really is steep – and I’ve got bleeding hands. I’m holding a shoe that isn’t mine. And yes, a pair of pants.
Windbreakery pants.
And I’m getting blood all over them, but I can’t help it. My hands don’t hurt as much when I clench them into fists. When I clench them into Jack’s pants.
I look up at the twelve-foot cliff I just rappelled down. Is that even the right word? Have they come up with a word for what I just did?
Jack’s still up there, splayed against the rocks like Spider-Man. Only his superhero costume is a windbreaker, a magic pack around his waist, and boxers. Blue plaid.
I knew climbing down the rocks with him was a bad idea. I knew it. Being that scared has to mean something, right?
But I want to get brave, so I did it. I started my descent just after Jack, and everything seemed to be okay for the first second or so. Then Jack yelled up at me – I think he was telling me to do something with the metal hook thing, but I must have done it wrong. Way wrong. Because in a flash, gravity pulled the rug out, and I was spiraling down fast. I remember seeing my running shoes glance off the rock wall in front of me as I worked to find traction.
See? I actually tried to stop myself and control my descent.
Initially.
But then I just panicked and screamed—a lot—and down I went, the rope sliding through my hands at blistering speed. It really hurt, so I screamed more, and more loudly. I tore at Jack as I slid over him, trying to grab hold of something to slow me down.
That’s how I ended up with those windbreakery pants, not to mention his shoe. In my own defense, though, his pants wouldn’t have come off if he’d been wearing jeans. And I did slow down enough to land safely on my butt.
I look down at my bleeding hands, then back up to Jack. He’s descending the rest of the way, as quietly as a tarantula, one shoe and all. I do not say anything. He does not say anything.
The forest is so still I don’t even hear branches rustle or varmints chirp. The silence of damp earth and fallen leaves is almost creepy. Jack touches ground, so he’s standing next to me, wearing his windbreaker and boxers. One socked foot, one shoed foot.
“Here,” I say suddenly, thrusting the crumpled pants at him and dropping the shoe. “At least they’re dark green, so the blood stains won’t show so badly.”
“Thanks.” He takes the pants, steps into them.
I’m surprised he can get them on over his one remaining shoe, until I see the reason. A long rip along the outside seam. So, there Jack stands in a pair of pants slit all the way up one leg, making him look like some sort of lame-ass trying to be a harem princess for Halloween.
Oh yeah, and he looks like he’s wet his pants. The bloodstains from my hands turned out as dark patches against the hunter green, seeping across his crotch and down his inner thighs. He picks up his other shoe and slips it on.
“Let me see your hands,” he says next, holding out his to take mine.
I place the backs of my hands in his palms, and then slowly unclench the fists. Owww.
He makes a noise like an extended oh then I notice a deep cleft form between his brows. He pulls his hands away, reaches into his pack, and rips open two more wipes.
“This,” he says, and looks right into my eyes, “is going to kill.” He lays an unfolded wipe lightly across each of my palms.
I breathe. “It’s not so bad.”
“Now make a fist with each hand.”
I look to him in panic, but I see that he’s not kidding. Holding his gaze— I don’t dare look down at my hands— I clench both sets of fingers into tight fists, squeezing the medicated wipes. I do not break eye contact with him, but I swallow hard about a million times.
“Okay,” he says, gently tapping at my fingers so I’ll unclench my fists. He takes away the bloody wipes, then squeezes a mound of hypericum cream into my palm and tells me to rub my hands together. He turns away from me to retrieve his gossamer-thin rope, now red in some places.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About everything.”
Jack stops what he’s doing to look out into the woods, as if contemplating how exactly to tell his teenage son the facts of life. Not that he has a son. That I know of.
“Lisa, I can’t do this. We’re done.”
He puts the rope back into his pack then strides off.
“Let’s go,” he calls back to me.
I run to get slightly ahead of him, backpedaling so I can face him. “Done?” I say. “For good? That’s it? But I can do better. Try harder.”
“Lisa.”
Jack stops so suddenly that I tumble backwards as though someone’s pulled a chair out from under me. He stands over me as I sit in a bush, my legs sprawled like Bambi’s.
“Lisa.” He looks around, then back at me. “You’re totally inexperienced.”
I scramble up. “I never said any different!”
“You can’t tag along with me. You don’t know what you’re doing. On top of that, you didn’t even listen to me.”
“I tried. It all happened so much faster than I expected!”
“Gravity is like that.” Deadpan. Calm. He’s not changing his mind.
“I’ll replace your pants,” I say, showing him how contrite I am.
“Fuck the pants! If you’d let go of that rope, you could be dead now. Don’t you get it? That’s the trouble with Goddamned beginners! You just don’t get it!”
“Then why did you let me try in the first place?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Well, Jack?”
“We have to get off this mountain before it gets dark.” He pushes past me.
I scramble to get in front of him again.
“Answer me, Jack.”
He stops. “I don’t have to answer you. Now let’s go or you’re spending the night. And by the way, there are mountain lions up here, and they hunt after dark.”
He takes off.
I chase him, but at least it’s downhill this time.
“You must have had a reason,” I call after him. “You must have thought I was worth it.”
He stomps on in stony silence. Well, silence except for the actual stomping. That part makes a lot of noise.
“Jack, you believed in me,” I shout. “I know it!” I can feel my case building strength, even as he starts to growl at me.
“Lisa…”
I’m straining to hear over the crunch and snap. “What, Jack? Tell me. I know we can make this work. You had faith in me.”
“I felt sorry for you.”
I take the direct hit. Right in the throat, apparently, because I can’t say a thing. Jack just keeps on going.
“Sorry for me?” I finally rasp. “Listen, Ace, you don’t have to feel—”
“No kidding! You’re a millionaire! The world is your Goddamned oyster and you’re whining about it!”
“I’m trying to change my stupid, average life!”
“By chasing a guy you don’t know up a mountain and risking your neck?”
“I think our partnering up is a good idea.”
“Our ‘partnering up’ is a dangerous idea.”
I stop in my tracks. “I thought you were supposed to be brave!”
He stops.
Uh-oh.
He turns.
Um…
He’s walking back toward me.
I can’t move.