The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  I don’t know much about girls or dating, but I figure when a girl tells you to hurry up and come to bed, you do what she says.

  • • •

  It’s such a bizarre chain of events that led to my body being pressed up against a girl’s, especially this girl in particular, who I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time trying not to alarm or disgust. As a result, sleep doesn’t exactly come easily. Pressing a woody into a girl’s body could go badly, or so I’ve heard from Sam and Taylor, so I’m careful to keep myself far enough away that my body’s reaction to my thought of What the fuck? There’s a girl next to me! won’t be an issue. But somehow, when I wake up, I find myself nuzzled against her. My arm is actually draped over her and her hand is on top of mine, which must mean she doesn’t hate me holding her. Weird. For the hundredth time, I wish I could talk to Emily. Hell, I wish I could talk to Brad or Christian. Not that they would believe me without a picture (if I hadn’t already smashed my sim card). They would flip out, for sure.

  Instead, I lay here, wondering if my basic early-morning hard-on will go down enough so I can take a piss, or if I’m destined to walk the earth with this part of my body pledging allegiance to Sophie.

  The light outside the tent is still weak, but there’s enough to let me know it’s actually morning. I don’t want to wake Sophie, so I carefully pull myself away from her, bit by bit, so I can go take care of business.

  After that, I grab the dishes and take them to the creek to clean. I filter and fill two water bottles and bring everything back to camp. I get down the bear bag and dive into it, checking to see what’s left. Which is pretty frightening because, among other things, we are getting super low on coffee.

  Gah. I finally get a girl to pay attention to me, and now I’m going to totally zone out when she talks and she’s going to ditch my ass the first chance she gets. I cannot focus without coffee. I can’t hike without coffee. I can’t think without coffee. Without coffee, I am all muscle and bones and no brain.

  For a second, my mind conjures images of coffee grounds, chocolate-covered espresso beans, real coffee made in an actual coffeepot. Oh my God. The first package Emily sent, before we had our fight, is waiting for me at Hiawassee, which, by my calculations is about twenty-one miles ahead of us, but I’m also not sure if she can track when I pick it up, so there’s no way I’m going to chance that.

  I check my supplies. Four bags of oatmeal, three bags of rice and beans, two bags of beef jerky, three bags of pasta sides. It’s not enough food for two people for three days of hiking. I’m going to have to make a supply run. Soon. Money is pretty dismal. If we don’t use the charge card, I’ve got $18.50, and I’m not sure what cash Sophie has. The only supply I have enough of is ibuprofen, which won’t last long either.

  Sophie starts making noise in the tent, so I peek in. She must be having a nightmare. “Shh, Sophie. It’s okay.” I pat her leg. She’s mumbling and thrashing and doesn’t wake up. I climb inside the tent and start to shake her gently when I hear rustling outside the tent. Then some banging. I pop my head out in time to catch a bear eating my oatmeal.

  All I can think of is that we need that food and that we don’t have enough, so I charge at the bear. Desperation must make me seem intimidating, because he takes off. The beef jerky and most of the bagged food is already eaten or in his mouth as he leaves the scene of the crime. I fall onto the ground, trying to pick up what’s left of our food. Some rice, a few beans mixed with a little dirt. Awesome.

  That’s when I see the rest of the damage. The coffee is scattered on the ground. Panic starts to pump my heart. Tears spring to my eyes. I realize it’s ridiculous to cry over spilled coffee, especially when I can’t always cry over normal reasons, but these are anger tears. I need caffeine, or I’m going to lose my shit on so many levels. I bend down, face close to the ground and wet my fingers to pick up coffee grounds, and yes, I eat them. I don’t realize I’m mumbling to myself until Sophie asks, “What will be okay? And what will be enough?”

  I turn to see her poking her head out of the tent, looking rather puzzled.

  Awesome. Just how I wanted her to see me. Life. Is. Good.

  • • •

  I don’t have to explain that a bear stole almost all of our food, because that’s painfully obvious. My cheeks are heated and I’m sure I’m blushing again. Sophie must know I left the food unattended.

  Her eyes drift to the tree where the bear canister was. Then to the ground.

  “You were having a nightmare. I… I… I know I shouldn’t have…”

  “No, I get why you… But… Wow.”

  “Do you have any food in your stuff?”

  She shakes her head. “But I have the money you gave me…except there’s really no place to resupply for, like, twenty miles.”

  Damn. I look at the remains of the food. Slim pickings for sure. One bag of noodles, one bag of oatmeal, a bag of pasta that has spilled open. I scoop up some of that and pour it into the torn bag. “I guess this will be our last supper.”

  “People can live for twenty-one days without food,” Sophie notes.

  “Yeah, but do they want to?” I shoot her a smirk.

  “Good point.”

  “We better clean up the rest of this and get going.”

  I feel the rage fill me. How could I have been so stupid? I start drumming my hands on my legs, then open my palm. The need to smack my thighs or my head is building, building.

  Sophie’s busy picking more noodles out of the dirt. Some coffee gets more scattered and I have to bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t say anything mean that I’ll regret. Sophie collects a pile of food, but I know it won’t be enough. This is all because of me. Bear Bait Taggart. Dipshit Dylan. Stupid Space Cadet.

  She must pick up on my mood. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  Funny she should say that.

  She continues. “It could’ve happened to anyone. Besides, you were trying to help me.”

  Some of the pressure within me releases, like a balloon being deflated.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” she says. “What were you doing on the ground?”

  “Oh.” My face heats. I’ve become a blushing fiend. “I’m sort of addicted to coffee, but not the way most people are. If I don’t have coffee, my brain gets foggy and I zone out and stop caring about everything around me.”

  “Okay…”

  “I mean, if I don’t have coffee, I could sit in the woods and not hike or eat or… It’s extreme.”

  “Then we better get you coffee. Stat.”

  “Yes. Stat.” I rub my hands together, like Lady Macbeth wiping off that damned spot.

  Sophie points to her tent. “I’m going to change, then we can go.” She holds the flap back, but then swivels her head to face me. “Oh, and you don’t have to confess any more of your dark secrets. Your coffee addiction was enough.” She’s laughing now.

  I should be annoyed because she’s laughing at me, but it feels good to share a joke with someone. Like when Sam and Taylor used to kid around with me. Or when Emily did, and suddenly it feels kind of good, like even though we are going to go through tough times, at least we’ll have each other. And that makes me think about when I get home. Sam. Taylor. Emily. Maybe there’s a way to fix all that? I don’t know, but it’s something to think about. And thinking about that might make the next twenty miles go by faster.

  Chapter 17

  As we hike slowly to accommodate Sophie’s foot, I think about how long we’ll have to go without food. And coffee. The hike is mostly uphill at this point, gradual, but climbing nonetheless. Before setting out on the Appalachian Trail, I would have thought hiking uphill would be harder than going downhill, having to lean into your slope, lugging your pack, but it’s the opposite, so I’m glad Sophie has less of a strain.

  The landscape shifts and we have to start a downhill cl
imb. I worry that the ACE bandage we wrapped Sophie’s foot in won’t be enough, that she’ll lose footing and slip, and that I won’t be able to keep her from getting hurt. So, I pay special attention to how Sophie sounds, not just her breathing, but the sound the walking stick makes as she places it before each step. The funny thing is that with her, I could think of a million conversations to have, just like with Emily, but I keep the silence going, careful to listen for any sign of alarm, but I’m also comfortable to hike with her and let the setting and our continued progress keep me going.

  A little clearing at the bottom of the small hill we descended feels like a good place to stop. “Hold up,” I say.

  She reaches for her water bottle and I do the same.

  “You need any ibuprofen?”

  She finishes a big swig and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Closes her bottle. “Nah. I’m going to wait.”

  It’s a really pretty day. One of those sort of gray ones with a small breeze and the sound of birds all around us. The kind of day I’d usually not pay attention to, but with Sophie’s accusation the other day, saying that I don’t pay attention to the beauty of the trail, I tell myself to do just that. To pay attention.

  We get to one of those Appalachian Trail signs, one of those moments I’ve come to look for. As soon as we see the wooden sign with block print, capital-letter writing, I am reminded that I am on track for this hike. The one I’ve chosen, something I don’t get to do for my school or my classes, something Mom has always done for me since, even though my brain is designed for big thinking, it’s not mature enough to make long-term decisions.

  I remember one of the meetings at school to discuss my inattention and inappropriate behaviors in class. We were in a conference room. Mom, Dad, and my teachers were there along with the school’s ESE contact, Mrs. Winters. Mom explained that Mrs. Winters would be helping us make good decisions about what we need to do to make this year a successful one. Those were Mrs. Winters’s words, and because I was sort of pissed at having to be sitting there, discussing this, with a group of teachers who didn’t like me, and Mom, who was always pissed at me, and Dad, who was quietly supporting me, I chose to focus just on those words. Successful year. Good decisions.

  Mom touched my arm. “Come on, Dylan. Help us out here.”

  But they didn’t want my help. They wanted to berate me for being who I was. And just like that Mr. Stephens spoke up. “He’s daydreaming in class. Doodling. Never has his materials for class…”

  Dad leaned forward, but he stayed silent.

  Mom asked, “Do you hear what your teachers are saying, Dylan? You need to be more involved in your classes.”

  I wanted to talk back. Give Mr. Stephens a zinger, but the truth is, that wouldn’t help anyone. So I stayed silent as Mom finished. “Every class matters in high school. You don’t see that now, but it does.”

  She meant my grades matter and that my doing the best I could in each class would create the kind of resume and GPA that would give me options for the future. But my future came to me in bits and pieces. One long-ass second at a time, at least in Mr. Stephens’s class. That’s the way my attention worked. It wasn’t something I could always control. She never understood that. But now, on this trail, free to make my own decisions, I also see what she was saying. Every choice matters. I wish Emily was here more than ever, because this kind of moment is one she’d understand, having been through all of my school crap with me. I wish I could tell Mom I understand what she was trying to do for me.

  Sophie’s hand snapping in front of my eyes draws me out of my daydream. “Hey, you still with me?”

  “Yeah, I was just remembering something.”

  “About your cousin or your dad?”

  I wiped the hair out of my face. “Wow. I’m so predictable.”

  “You asked me about my notes? I write them for myself. Maybe you should too. It could help you square things in your mind.”

  I nod. “Maybe I will.”

  Sophie rewards me with a strong smile despite her worn-out look. She points to the Standing Indian campsite. “Hey.” She nudges me in the arm, which reminds me of Emily. “I think there’s a little store here. One time, when I was hiking the trail with my parents, I got really sick and Mom got me stuff there. I hope it’s still here.”

  “You think they have an ATM?”

  “Probably not. It’s tiny. They run out of almost everything worthwhile after the first few weeks of hiking season. I think they get trucks in once a week to resupply during peak hiking season, but at other times, it’s much less and we are not at peak season yet. I can try to get money if they have a working ATM and if you think that’s safe.”

  Safe. Safe to withdraw my money from the account I set up and told the only person in the world who is supposed to be completely trustworthy: Emily. The thought of forest rangers looking for me pisses me off. All because I was stupid to trust Emily with this. She’s always been behind me, but maybe this time it was too much. Obviously it was. Emily is hard to rattle, something I put to the test often, but I guess this time I went too far. “You’re right. I guess I better stay here,” I say. “So get the supplies and maybe some money and meet me back in the woods by this sign. Say, in forty-five minutes?”

  “You won’t go far while I’m gone?”

  “I’ll find the water supply. Refill. Then I’ll come back here.”

  She looks at me like she’s not so sure about that, but she doesn’t have a choice. I hand her the debit card and the rest of my money.

  My stomach knots as I watch Sophie limp away. Sophie’s hurt and she’s got to deal with this on her own. I watch her figure disappear out of my sight, and I know I’m letting her down. As a hiking partner, I suck.

  Feelings swirl inside me, all of them vying for my attention. Sadness. Regret. Anger. I settle on the last, because it’s the easiest to pinpoint, and it feels the best to unleash. I’m pissed. Really pissed at Emily. This is all her fault. Like an attorney in a courtroom, my arguments become a trial in my brain as I start to remember everything she’s ever done wrong in our friendship. Line up the evidence like I’m conducting an indictment.

  Sam and Emily dated for a while, and there were times I lied for her so she could stay out with him. I was always covering for them. Sure, after Dad died, I ran away to New York and she came to find me to make sure I was all right. That got her grounded, and she almost missed one of John’s big events at school. But for the most part, I covered for her. She owes me.

  But more than that, we were always supposed to be there for each other. And she ruined that with her “I’m telling.”

  It wasn’t only Mom she said she was telling. It was the police. If they catch me, they’ll force me to go to that awful school. Because of her. And they could keep me from saving Rain Man. Because of her. People’s lives could be ruined. His kids, assuming he has kids. I mean, don’t most people? And if he has kids, then maybe also they have kids, his grandkids? And pets. They might have pets. And I know this is too much and too big, and I know I’m making it all too much, but this is how I get sometimes. Emily knows this. And still she got mad and betrayed me.

  That’s what hurts the most. It’s like Ron or Hermione turning in Harry. It’s plain wrong. And she let Mom sell my boat. If she were here, I’d tell her I hated her.

  I storm back into the woods, not looking for white blazes, not looking for anything, just walking, my face hot with tears, my throat swelling with the rage that wants to pour out of me.

  Dad is dead. Dead. And now that Emily and I are broken, I am alone in the family. No one will want me back because I am the reason Dad died, and even if they don’t know I am to blame, I do, and I’m sure on some level, they suspect it.

  Agony fuels my climb to a lookout, where I scream down into the abyss, “I hate you, Emily. I hate you. I hate you.” But I know it’s not Emily I hate. It’s myself
. I hate myself for not recognizing the pattern. The stupid fucking pattern. Dum dum blip. Dum dum blip.

  “I should have known. I should have known. I should have…” All of a sudden it’s like I’m in the auditorium that day. There were tons of kids there. Bodies bumping into each other. All of the sounds echoed off the wall. Kids were laughing, and there was a drumbeat in the background, building and building, and it sounded just like Dad’s heartbeat, and it felt like everyone knew. They knew and I couldn’t stop myself. Like I can’t stop myself now. I strike out, like I did that day, my hands hitting the walls of the auditorium. Right before they emptied it. The sound surrounded me: laughter, screams, jeers. I should have known.

  I punch the tree I’m standing next to, the rough bark scraping my knuckles. I punch the tree, again and again. I know I’m on the trail and not in the auditorium. I know this because the auditorium walls were smooth, but here on the trail, now, the tree fights back, the bark assaults my hands. I don’t care. I punch and punch and soon I hear Sophie yelling, “Stop, Dylan! Stop!”

  I look up and she’s standing there, staring at my hands. They are a mess and there’s all of this blood. Slowly, I start to feel the pain in my hands. Horrible pain. What did I do? What did I do?

  “Oh, Dylan. I think you’re going to have to tell me about your dad.”

  I’m crying. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”

  “We need to get you to a stream and clean these hands.”

  “I know,” I say. “I did this. I know.”

  She doesn’t answer. It’s like she understands the medicine I need is quiet support and leadership. Like that day at school when Emily led me to the courtyard while all of the kids were forced to evacuate. How the administration shouted for her to get away from me, but she yelled back, “He’s my cousin! He won’t hurt me.”

  Then Emily said to me, “Dylan, tell them you’re okay. Tell them you won’t hurt me.” She was crying, and I guess maybe I was too, because I knew I could never go back to that school after how I acted. They’d told me this was my last chance there, and I knew they wouldn’t let me stay. And I was embarrassed that they saw me cry, which is so fucked up because I should have been embarrassed that I acted like that to begin with, but the heartbeat was the thing that did me in, and I wanted to explain that, but I knew that no one would understand that. Mostly because I’d never admit it was my fault.