The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  “And.…”

  “And she was hurt much worse than we thought. I think she’s got some kind of infection or something, and a bear stole our food…and…”

  Rain Man waves me away. “I get the picture.”

  “So she’s in a hospital near the North Carolina–Georgia border, I think. And… I guess when you think about it, I really am a danger to myself and others…”

  Rain Man laughs a hearty laugh and that sort of makes me smile even though it also confuses me.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “You think too much, Dylan. Everything in the world is not your fault. You just have to do your best and hope for the best.”

  “Okay. But Sophie really wants to see you. So as I’m hoping for the best, I’m also hoping you’ll come back with me.”

  Rain Man throws water on the fire. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Dylan, and you’ve been through a lot, so you’re probably more mature than most kids your age. But you’re still a kid. And I’m staying here for a while. I’ll tell you what. I’ll write Sophie a note and you can take it to her.”

  “I know you’re planning something.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. You’re planning something that will likely make your kids really sad. You said you died after Mary died. But you’re not dead. You’re here, and I’d give anything for my dad to be here still.”

  Rain Man puts his hands on his thighs and pushes himself to standing with a big noise. “What I’m planning to do is get some sleep and then blue-blaze to the next town. Then I might catch a ride and flip-flop. All depends.”

  I want to ask, depends on what? But Rain Man has stopped looking me in the eye and I’m sure that means something. “I’m confused. I thought… I was sure…”

  “You thought I was going to leap off that mountain? Shoot myself in my tent? What, Dylan, what did you think?”

  “I thought…you didn’t want to be here anymore.”

  “Maybe we don’t get to choose that. I don’t really want to be here anymore, and yet here I am, aren’t I? I have kept going this entire year, even when I haven’t wanted to.” Rain Man’s face gets those lines that mean he’s angry. “It’s almost the anniversary of her death, and I’m still fucking here.”

  “You should be with your family.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Like you are with yours?”

  “No. But I’m a kid. You’re an adult. You should know better.”

  “Maybe my family doesn’t want me around, you ever think of that?” He shakes his head. “You’re too much.” He holds up a hand. “Stop. Now. I mean it.”

  But I can’t stop. I have to finish telling him the thoughts in my head, or I feel as if I’ll explode. “After losing her the way you did, it makes sense that you’d want to…”

  He grabs one of his pots and throws it into the forest, which freaks me the fuck out. “I’m still here, aren’t I? And nothing about life makes sense. Not one bit of it does.”

  I stare at Rain Man’s missile and its path of destruction caused by his anger. Leaves scattered. Branch bent. Bark banged on the tree trunk it hit. The air is completely changed. For the first time, I really get what it’s like to be around someone who’s out of control. My heart beats in my ears. Mine this time, not Dad’s. “Come on, Rain Man. I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m trying to help you. I’m just really bad at it.”

  Rain Man cocks his head, which should warn me of what’s coming. It doesn’t. “You need to leave. Now.”

  His voice is commanding. But his words seem sort of idiotic. I mean, can he actually kick me off the Appalachian Trail? But the ludicrousness of throwing me off federal land eludes him and he continues, shaking his fist at me. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  As if by reflex, my hands go up in the international surrender position. No one can argue with internationally accepted gestures. “I can’t. Not until you promise me you’re not going to…”

  “I don’t have to promise you anything.” He picks up his other pan and shakes it at me. “I don’t fucking owe you anything.”

  It’s not that I care about curse words, but it doesn’t match with Rain Man’s usual serenity. That serenity’s gone now, and I wonder if that is a mask he wears on the trail. Or if when you are pushed to your limits, this is how you reveal your true nature? Do you become another person? However, I don’t think Rain Man is up for that philosophical discussion.

  His voice gets louder as he paces, gesturing with the pan. “I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here. I want you to leave me the fuck alone. Do you get that? It wasn’t your fault about your dad. His doctors should have known about his heart. It was their fault. Not yours.”

  I watch this man break down in front of me. I know how he feels. And I know he just has to get out his feelings. I need to honor his wishes and leave him the fuck alone.

  “I am fine.” He smacks himself in the chest. “I am fine. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I should have gone after Mary after our argument, but I didn’t. We had a fight and we were both being stubborn and she died and I didn’t. It’s fucked up and stupid, but there it is. And now I’m done.” He walks to his tent, then stops. “I’m going to sleep. I’m beat. Go home, Dylan. You want to save someone? Start with your mom. She needs you. I need my sleep.”

  The tent zips up and I’m standing there, completely unsure what to do next.

  Chapter 22

  Not once did I consider I could be wrong about Rain Man’s intentions. I saw the signs, I came to find him, and I talked with him so he would change his mind. It was the only logical thing to do.

  But here I stand, wondering what I was thinking. I am nothing to this man. He is nothing to me. But, he said he’d write to Sophie. He sort of promised. I stand in front of his tent and listen for settling-in noises, going to sleep noises. But it’s silent, and I wonder if he is laying there, listening to his heartbeat, like I do when I’m worked up. So I soften my voice and say, “Rain Man, Gary, you said you were going to write to Sophie. Don’t you at least want to do that?”

  Rain Man opens the front of his tent. He takes a notebook and a pen out of his backpack. He scribbles a few lines and then thrusts it in my hand. “Now go, Dylan. Or things will get ugly. You don’t want that. I don’t want that.”

  But I can’t. This can’t be the end. “Rain Man—come on, man. I’m sorry. I know you’re mad, but I was trying to help.”

  He puts one of his beefy, calloused hands on each side of my face. “Go, Dylan. I need to be alone now, but I will see you later. On the trail.”

  “I can’t leave you. Not if I’m worried about you.”

  Rain Man face gets pissed looking. I can tell by the fire in his eyes and the way his hair is sticking straight up, but he doesn’t bother to smooth it down. I can tell by the timbre of his voice. “What is wrong with you?”

  He doesn’t say, “What is wrong with you, son.” And that omission, just one missing one-syllable word feels like a knife to the gut. So I strike back with sarcasm. “The doctors don’t know, sir. The tests aren’t back yet.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  Rain Man sort of staggers away, like a bear I’ve annoyed. He grabs for his backpack so aggressively that I’m forced to take a step back. He rifles through what looks like clothes until his hand closes around a sat phone, the twin to the one he gave me. “I will use this and turn you in. Leave me alone. I’m not kidding. I’ll turn in you in without thinking anything of it. I’ll tell them you kidnapped Sophie. I’ll say you were the reason she got hurt, and that you forced her to hike with a hurt leg. I’m not fucking around, Dylan or Wild Thing or whatever you are called.”

  He’s waving the sat phone. His eyes are kind of bugged out, and his face is bright red. He looks like I must have looked that day in the auditorium. And in this condition, he is definitely a danger to me and others. If he turns me in, I’
ll get sent home and will never see Sophie again. I need to tell her I’m sorry and give her the note Rain Man shoved into my hand for her. But mostly, the only way I can find her and see if she’s okay is if I go back to where they took her to the hospital. I turn and walk away.

  Rain Man yells at my back. “Get out of here and leave me be.”

  I can tell by his volume, the sheer force of his shriek, that this man isn’t drugged or drunk. He’s old and tired and angry. I should know. I’ve spent most of my life pissed at someone.

  But it’s his tone that seals the deal for me. He is not going to listen. He sounds like Emily did when she said that she was going to turn me in.

  Or like the assistant principal at my last school, who’d clench his jaw and look at me like I was a piece of garbage. Or how Mom looked at me when she picked me up after my outburst at the assembly. She wouldn’t talk to me on the way home. I wanted to tell her Dad’s death was my fault, but I was too emotional to say anything.

  Or how Sophie is going to look at me when I see her again.

  Sophie. I put the note Rain Man gave me for her and throw my stuff in my pack. Then I turn away from Rain Man. I twist to take one last look at him, now lying in front of his tent, his head using his backpack as a pillow, his eyes searching the sky, not even looking at me.

  I walk for close to an hour, until I’m back to white-blazing. I’m numb. I’ve got to get to Sophie. I’ve got to tell her we were wrong. They’ll be plenty of time to talk with Rain Man. Not that he wants to speak with me, but he’ll speak with her, I’m sure.

  I’m NOBO now, just like when I started. I pass a cooler marked as trail magic with bottles of water, oranges, apples, and a box next to it with spiral notebooks and markers. I grab one of each of the fruits. My grubby fingers don’t feel clean enough for the pristine notebook pages, but I hesitate. Emily always said I should write my story. Sophie said that writing the notes to her Mom help her. That maybe I should try that also.

  So I grab one of the notebooks and one of the black Sharpies (my favorite), and I keep moving. I walk another hour, then settle into camp because it’s dark, and I’m not up for night hiking. My body aches and so does my heart. As I eat my orange, I stare at the notebook in front of me. I think it’s going to be hard to start writing, but it isn’t, and soon I’m pouring my thoughts out onto the page like it’s something I do every day. Eventually, I turn off the lantern and roll over. I’m asleep before I know it.

  • • •

  A bird call wakes me, and suddenly I want to know the name of that bird. It’s the same feeling I had when I learned the name of the stars. I know I’m a few miles from Dicks Creek Gap, where I could resupply and grab a book on birds. It never occurred to me that I could substitute birds for stars or stars for birds. It’s the kind of revelation that seems important, and I consider writing about that when the desire to draw Rain Man’s campsite hits me. I’m not a great artist, but I’m okay, so I start to sketch the fire he made, his tent nearby, the trees where he threw the pot, and finally, his backpack. I try to capture the feeling of it all, but my drawing ability is not at the level of my writing. So I switch to words and start labeling everything in the picture. I make arrows that point to Rain Man’s tent and the scorched earth from the illegal fire. I make another arrow showing Rain Man’s backpack, which I am proud to say I was able to capture in pretty good detail. Even how soft and slouchy it looked. That’s when it hits me. His backpack was slouchy. Empty. Like Sophie’s was when she was out of food.

  No way Rain Man runs out of food. He said he was going to keep blue-blazing, then do a flip-flop hike, but he’s got nothing left in his pack. And every hiker knows you need food on the trail to eat. No one goes hiking without food on purpose, unless they are trying to starve themselves…or do something worse.

  Then I remember the note he wrote to Sophie, so I reach inside my pocket and root around for it. For a truly terrifying second, I think I’ve lost the note, that it has somehow fallen out of my pocket on the trail, but then I find it pressed up against the lining of my pants. I pull it out, unfold it, and stare at the words.

  Live your life, Sophie. Parents always want their kids to go on after they’ve gone.

  I try to extract meaning from those words. Context matters. They tell you that before you read any passage in English class, don’t they? Out of context, this seems like an innocent note, but with Rain Man’s wife… And how weird he was acting…

  Drugs or sleeping pills could account for his erratic behavior like throwing the pots and cursing. He might have been able to counteract the effects just by sheer adrenaline. I’m a huge student of the adrenaline rush, I should’ve known.

  I walk around my campsite. I walk around and around, and I’m sure I look wild, but I need to think, and moving helps me think. I could call the rangers, but would they believe me? And by the time they find him, would they be able to do anything for him.

  I want to go find Sophie. Everything inside me is telling me to do that. To let whatever adults I can find handle the Rain Man thing. But the thing is, I’m on the run, so if I do tell people about what I think Rain Man is up to, they’ll haul me away before I can go see Sophie. This is the only way I can both see her again and help Rain Man. I have to find Rain Man, call for help, if he needs it, hike my way out of there faster than they can find me, and then go back for Sophie.

  I turn myself around and get back on the trail, hiking SOBO again. I go back to find him and stop him if it’s not already too late, because sometimes people say they don’t want help even when they need it. Just like I did all of those times at my school, the times I convinced Emily I was okay, and all the times I told Mom I didn’t need to see a therapist or go to a special school.

  Chapter 23

  I’m going as fast as I can, ignoring the snap of twigs against my shins and thighs as I race through the brush to get to Rain Man. My chest hurts as I attack the incline in a mad dash, and I have to stop to drink water. My chest spasms as I gulp. I think about Dad for the millionth time. Was this the way he felt when he died? Sweat pours down my face and fear pricks at me, but I know I’m not dying. My heartbeat is as sure as it has always been, and for a minute that feels colossally unfair, that Dad could have a defect worse than all of the things wrong with me. Not one that rendered him socially awkward like I am, but one that could and did kill him.

  I replay Mom’s voice on the phone that night, calling 911. Her face melted as we waited for the ambulance to come. She was terrified. Confused. Heartbroken. Scared. It’s like all that I’ve been through on the trail, with Sophie and Rain Man, all of that finally breaks through the protective barrier my brain has placed over this memory. I feel everything like I did that day. I reexperience each emotion the same as that day. And I remember the weirdest thing. That for the first time in my life, everything made sense in real time, like everyone else experienced it. Agony did that for me. It made me process for real.

  As I stop here trying to catch my breath, trying to let go of the memories that don’t help me, I try to figure out why I care so much about this guy I just met on the trail. Or why Sophie matters to me more than my family. I just know I have to do this.

  I push myself harder. The morning’s cool air gives way to a blanket of humid disgustingness that wraps its fingers around my throat.

  I remember when Emily asked me that time on the phone when I was in Neels Gap, before I went to find Sophie. “How do I know it isn’t one of your obsessions?”

  She’s right, it could be. Sophie and Rain Man’s whereabouts and welfare might be another thing I’m hyperfocused on, but I don’t think so. My social skills teacher talked about that in group one day, and we actually role-played this thing. We learned a typical person would help a friend in danger. I know I’m right about this. I know. I get to the sign for Sassafras Gap. I start down the incline that leads to Rain Man’s tent. I run the rest of the way to where it
should be, only it’s not. I look for signs verifying this is the place, and I see the dent in the tree where Rain Man threw the pot. My fingers trail over the damaged bark. Where is he? I bend over, spit on the ground. My sides ache from a severe cramp and my head pounds. My eyes blur. I need water. I take my water bottle out and swig the last remnants from it. I didn’t refill it last night or this morning when I got up.

  I head to the stream where I filled Rain Man’s water bag. The water needs to be filtered before I drink it, but it’s hard not to shove my face in the cool stream. I hold my chest, dip my water bottle into the water, and attach the filter. I can’t get it to stay on. It slips. I swear at it, then try some again, but it keeps slipping and my hands are shaking. I climb out of the stream and grab one of those purifying pills I haven’t used since my first few days on the trail. I drop it in the water and lie down next to the bank, waiting for it to purify, only I don’t have a watch or a phone to time the half hour it takes to filter. I need to get to Rain Man, but I also need water. So I count one Mississippi, two Mississippi until I get to eighteen hundred Mississippi. My lips are chapped and my head pounds. The sun bakes on me, even through the trees, and I bring the bottle to my mouth and drink. I choke and have to lean over to regain my breath.

  And then I return my attention to finding Rain Man. Where is he now? I look for signs of him. He said his wife died two miles from where we are. The question is which way did he go?

  I close my eyes. Rain Man and I were at his campsite, about a quarter mile from here, when he talked about where his wife died. I hoist myself up and start to make my way across the trail. I stand where Rain Man had set that fire and remember how he had pointed behind him when he described his wife going off trail and getting lost. I make an arrow where he pointed out into the woods. That’s where I’ll find him. So I drink more water and get moving.

  It takes another half hour to find Rain Man’s tent, but the signs of his hiking light up the stretch of path I’m following. There are bent twigs from when he pushed through branches, some mud where he must have leaned against the trunk of a tree. I see one of the bandannas from his pack abandoned on the forest floor, and I wonder if he knows how many clues he’s leaving for me.