Take Me With You

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

  “Hard to imagine getting enough of this.”

  “Well,” Seth said. “I think it’s like what you told me about the hoodoos at Bryce Canyon. ‘Until you know them so well you can see them in your head when you close your eyes.’ ”

  “Good memory.”

  “When you have that much Niagara Falls in your head, August, you say the word. And we’ll make our way back to Yosemite. And then home.”

  Epilogue:

  AUGUST IN LATE AUGUST

  YOSEMITE

  August opened his eyes, then the blinds over his bed. He sat up and stared out the window at Yosemite’s big granite walls through the trees.

  It was the first full day Seth was gone climbing. Climbing with his friends, August started to think, then corrected himself. Three of his friends from home had shown up. Two of them had looked up at The Nose route on El Capitan and decided to take a nice drive up through Tuolumne Meadows instead.

  For several days August had been purposely postponing walking, or taking the shuttle, or asking Henry to drive, so he could look up at the climbing route on El Capitan. This was the second in what could be as many as five days of climbing for Seth. Or it could be longer.

  He watched Henry putter in the kitchen, making breakfast. It was such a familiar routine. Now that the summer was nearly over, August dreaded the moment he would have to let it go.

  “I think today’s the day,” August said.

  “What day would that be, August?” Henry asked without looking up.

  “The day we go as far as we can out into that meadow and sit in our camp chairs and look through our binoculars and my zoom lens and watch those little ants go up that big wall.”

  “Hmm,” Henry said. “Sure you’re ready for that? This is not Moonlight Buttress. That’s small compared to this. Moonlight Buttress is like a thousand feet. Or maybe more. I forget. But less than fifteen hundred. El Cap is over thirty-five hundred feet. You sure you can handle watching?”

  “I think I need to see it. It’s a big deal for him, and I can’t just look away. I think I have to handle it whether I can handle it or not.”

  Henry hiked out and set up two chairs in the field for them while August waited in the rig, parked in a space along the curb of the main drive. A space they’d had to wait a long time to get. He also carried out water, and hats, and sunscreen, and took Woody along for the walk. Then he came back and got August, and they picked their way carefully through the grassy meadow together.

  August stopped at the chairs but did not sit. “I think we should go closer. Don’t you?”

  “I didn’t want you to have to walk too far.”

  “I’ll manage. I want to have half a chance of seeing which one he is.”

  “I doubt we can get that close.”

  “Well, let’s get as close as we can, anyway.”

  So the three of them walked quite a bit farther, Henry wrestling both camp chairs, which fortunately had slings for his shoulder, and the water and the camera and the binoculars and Woody’s leash. He didn’t complain or seem as though he wanted to. In fact, it was August who wore down. But he kept walking anyway.

  Finally, it seemed that if they walked much closer to the stand of trees that stood between them and the granite monolith, their treetops would begin to intrude upon the view. So they settled in the sun and got comfortable.

  August could hear car doors slamming, parents calling to their children, and vice versa. Few parks were as busy as Yosemite in the summer. But the noise sounded distant, unrelated to him. A couple walked through the meadow hand in hand, but all in all it felt like an uncrowded place. One of the few uncrowded places.

  August looked up at the route. “I see why they call it The Nose,” he said.

  It had a protruding vertical section, which August could only assume was the route in question. He held the binoculars to his eyes and adjusted them and could just make out little spots of climbers. Ants on the wall.

  “You were right,” he said. “There’s no way we can see which one is him.”

  “Yeah,” Henry said. “I know. But one of them is him. And we know it. Is it better or worse than you thought?”

  “A little of both,” August said. “It’s a terrifying wall. But it’s not as scary to watch it from here as it was to watch that helmet-cam footage. I guess the distance hides a lot of things I don’t want to see.”

  “I think you’ve gotten better about the whole thing.”

  “Do you? I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t really feel like I had.”

  They watched in silence for a time, though there was really nothing to watch. August could barely see climbers at all without the binoculars or without viewing through his camera on full zoom. With them, from this distance, the little ants barely appeared to be moving at all.

  “It’s really hard to imagine sleeping up there,” August said.

  “I know. I feel the same way.”

  “They’d need so much stuff for five days. How do they get all that stuff up there with them?”

  “Haul bag,” Henry said.

  But he didn’t explain how a haul bag worked, and August didn’t really feel he needed to know.

  “I guess I should just be happy he isn’t into mountaineering at over twenty-five thousand feet in the Himalayas,” August said.

  “Oh, that’ll come next. As soon as he can afford it.”

  “Oh dear God. Please tell me you’re not serious. He doesn’t really want to climb Mt. Everest.”

  “No. He doesn’t. He thinks it’s too commercial. Too much of a trash heap, you know? After all these expeditions. With all these rich guys paying for Sherpas to practically drag them up. He wants to do Dhaulagiri or Cho Oyu.”

  “I’ve never heard of either one of those.”

  “That’s exactly the point.”

  “I’ve been traveling with him all summer, and I didn’t know that about him.”

  “He still leans away from talking about the climbing around you.”

  “That’s too bad. It shouldn’t be that way. I’m going to have to figure out how to do something about that.”

  “He doesn’t like to upset you, August.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I need to do something about me. Somehow get the part of me that’s proud of him to be almost as big as the part of me that’s terrified for him. And maybe somehow accent the first part and deal with the rest on my own.”

  “That would be a very nice thing to do for him if you could manage it.”

  They watched in silence for a long time. Maybe close to an hour. Though really it was more a case of being than watching.

  “I hate to admit it,” August said at last, “but this is about as interesting as watching paint dry.”

  “Well, that’s what I thought. But you were determined to do it. We can go back now if you want.”

  “In a little bit,” August said. “It’s nice out here.”

  They spent a few more minutes just being.

  Then Henry said, “I told you I was going to ask again. Right? I warned you about that. So I’m asking. You’ve had all summer to think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  “You know.”

  “Oh. The college thing? I haven’t thought a thing about it. I told you, there’s nothing to think about. It’s a standing offer. It’s a done deal unless you change your mind for some reason. The day you graduate high school, hop on a bus or a train, and I’ll have your room ready. If you don’t have money for a bus or a train, I’ll send you the money.”

  “Think I could get to San Diego by bus for fifty dollars?”

  August estimated the miles in his head. “I doubt it. Why? Why is fifty dollars a magic number?”

  “Because I still have that mad money you gave us.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wouldn’t kid about a thing like that. When Seth went off to college, he gave it to me and said, ‘Here. Here’s your mad money from August.’ ”

 
“That same fifty-dollar bill.”

  “Same one.”

  A silence as August chewed that over. Eight years of stashing the same fifty-dollar bill. Keeping it a secret from their dad. Never succumbing to the temptation to spend it on anything else.

  “That’s a long time to have money and not spend it.”

  “It was from August.” A brief silence. Henry broke it. “That’s why things went as well as they did after you dropped us off. You know that, right?”

  “I don’t think a fifty-dollar bill can do all that.”

  “Not the money, August. You. You’re the reason things were pretty okay after that. I know you think we just went on with our lives, and I’m sorry we didn’t know you really wanted us to keep in touch. Now I wish we had. But still. It changed everything. It changed us. Whether we talked to you or not. Before we met you, we were always scared that our dad was just about to let us down. But after that summer, we knew if he dropped us you’d be there to catch us. You have no idea how much of a difference it made.”

  August looked over at Henry’s face, but the boy resisted looking back. Probably a little embarrassed.

  “Sorry, August,” Henry said. “Didn’t mean to get all mooshy on you.”

  “Way to apologize for caring,” August said.

  They sat in silence for another minute or two. August was beginning to feel that enough of watching ants on a granite wall was enough. It was one of those things that was entirely different to watch than to do.

  He thought again about the enormity of the challenges Seth bit off. How inseparable they were from his character. From him.

  “I wonder . . .” he said, but he didn’t finish the thought out loud.

  “You wonder what, August?”

  But he didn’t want to say it to Henry. Or to anyone. He wondered who he would be at the end of the summer, when the one part of his life that was so uniquely “him” drew to a close. Would something else come in and take its place? And even if it did, how could it ever be the same? Wasn’t thinking anything could replace these summers a little like telling a friend who’s just lost his wife that he’ll find another wife and she’ll be just as good?

  Or a son.

  Not everything is so easily replaced.

  “Nothing,” he said. “We should probably go back now.”

  “No, really, August. What were you going to say?”

  “Never mind,” he said. “I’d rather think about happier things.”

  It was three days later, after dark, when Seth stumbled back into camp. Henry and August were toasting marshmallows in the last of the campfire. They had the third chair out and ready, a vote of confidence that this would be the night Seth made it back okay.

  August watched him pile ropes and hardware and a heavy-looking canvas haul bag on the picnic table in the dark. Woody whimpered and pulled to get to him, and Henry dropped the leash and let him say hello.

  “Hey boy,” Seth said. “Yes, I missed you, too. Yes, I love you, too, I just love you from up here. You’re all the way down there, and it’s just too far to go. I don’t even want to bend over.”

  He shuffled over to the empty camp chair and gingerly settled in. Woody jumped in his lap.

  “Ow! Woody. Damn! Leg muscles. Leg muscles.” He patted and scratched the dog a few times, then picked him up and handed him to Henry. “Ow,” he said as his arms supported the dog’s weight.

  “Marshmallow?” August asked, and held out one he’d toasted for himself.

  “Ooh,” Seth said. “That one’s perfect.” He took the stick from August. Blew on the golden-brown marshmallow to cool it. “I am so tired of dehydrated food. And I’ve barely slept in days. I think I want to sleep for a year.”

  “Fair enough,” August said. Then he thought of something more to say. Put it away again. Took it back out. Doubted it. Finally he just forced it out. “You know I’m proud of you for being able to do a thing as big as that. Right?”

  A silence radiated. August couldn’t see Seth’s face well in the dark. But he watched as Seth took a tentative bite of marshmallow and clearly found it too hot.

  “I didn’t know that. Actually.” More silence. “What about the part of you that’s scared to death over the whole thing?”

  “Oh, that’s still there. I’m just telling you about the good part.”

  “Oh,” Seth said. “That’s nice. Thanks.”

  They sat in silence for a time.

  Then Henry said, “I’m going to bed. For a guy who says he wants to sleep for a year, you sure are awake.”

  “Yeah,” Seth said. “I haven’t come down yet. I’m down, but I’m not down. You know how it is.”

  “Well, I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  “You won’t see me in the morning,” Seth said. “I’ll be sleeping for a year. Well. You may see me. But I’ll bet I won’t see you.”

  Henry shook his head, handed the dog to August, and disappeared.

  “You probably want something more to eat,” August said to Seth.

  “I’m thinking about it. But right now I can’t get beyond thinking.”

  “Where’s your friend? Your climbing partner?”

  “He wasn’t about to go a step farther than his own tent, and I don’t blame him. Toast me another marshmallow, would you please, August? I can’t bear to get up yet.” Then, while August was threading it on the stick, Seth said, “It was nice of you to say what you said.”

  “No. It was wrong of me to not say it sooner.”

  “Don’t say that. That’s not true. That’s just you. It’s how you are. I had this big revelation while I was climbing. I thought about how your fear is just you, like climbing is just me. And I shouldn’t try to talk you out of being afraid any more than you should try to talk me out of climbing.”

  “Well, there’s one big difference, though, Seth. Fear isn’t something to aspire to. It’s not something I really want.”

  “Still doesn’t mean I can’t be patient. So, what do you want to do? We’ve got six days left. You want to spend them in the park? Or have you had enough summer? Would you rather just go home and have more time to get ready for school?”

  So there it is, August thought. The end. The summer is over.

  He questioned whether he could possibly have enjoyed it more while it lasted. But there’s always room for improvement on that score.

  “That’s up to you,” he said.

  “No, I want you to decide. This is your summer.”

  “It’s been a good one. I have to say that. I’m sorry it’s over, but . . . we really covered a lot of ground.”

  “Yeah. No kidding.”

  “Do I even want to know what the gas came to?”

  “No. You don’t even want to know. That’s one thing we’re going to have to do differently next summer, August. When school starts, you’re going to have to start budgeting for gas like you used to. Because by the time we’re ready to head out again next summer, I can just about guarantee you I won’t have paid off this summer’s gas yet. Not to mention the payments on the rig.”

  August sat still with those sentences in his head, trying to figure out if there was any way they could mean something different from what they appeared to mean. Before he restated it out loud, he needed to be sure he wasn’t wrong. But the examination just left him confused.

  “Next summer?”

  “Yeah. Next summer we’re back on your dime.”

  “We’re going out again next summer?”

  “Of course we are. How did you not know that?”

  “You never said it.”

  “I thought it went without saying. This is you, August. This is what you do. What makes you you. What’s that thing the French call it? Your . . .”

  “Raison d’être.”

  “Right. The summer we don’t come pick you up and take you out on the road is the next summer after we come to San Diego for your memorial. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be morbid. No offense.”

  “None taken.
We all have to go sometime. I didn’t know this was ongoing. I thought this was my last summer.”

  “Oh come on, August. We wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “It could get harder, you know. I could end up in a wheelchair.”

  “So? We strap the thing to a bicycle rack on the back ladder and off we go. If we have to carry you up the back stairs, then that’s just what we do. Climbing muscles,” he added, flexing for August in the dark.

  They sat with that for a while, August readjusting his head to the news. Restructuring his entire future in his brain.

  “You don’t get to pay me for the rig, then.”

  “I have to pay you for it.”

  “You don’t get to. I won’t allow it. Get serious, Seth. It’s as much use to me this way as it always was. I’m lucky I don’t have to pay a fee for the chauffeuring.”

  “Well, I guess I hadn’t looked at it that way. I need to go to bed. I’ve had it. So when do you want to go home?”

  August reached inside and found that the idea of home had gone completely neutral to him. It no longer stung to think of going home. Because it was only temporary. It didn’t matter when they went home at all. Because it was only home from this summer.

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “I’m done when you are. Sleep for a year, and when you’re ready, I’m happy to go.”

  Seth stayed stuck in his chair, though, and did not go off to bed as he’d said he must. Instead they watched the fire together until the last of the embers winked out and died.

  In the morning, when August woke up, Seth was wide awake, sitting up in his bed on the folded-out couch, looking worn down but happy. Watching Henry make breakfast.

  “Hey there,” August said. “Thought you were going to sleep for a year.”

  “Yeah, I was slightly off on that. Turns out I’m going to eat for a year. Henry is making scrambled eggs and sausage and pancakes the way he always used to do when I’d been climbing.”

  “That sounds good,” August said.

  “How many eggs, August?” Henry asked over his shoulder.