The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  I pause for more water, as his trail breaks off and the ground flattens. I see Rain Man’s tent. I run. There is no movement or noise as I approach. That can’t be good since I’m making a ton of noise as I run, the kind of noise that would wake the dead, as Mom used to say. My chest tightens from the exertion and fear. I unzip the tent without any sound or protest from inside. Inside, Rain Man is laying on his sleeping bag, completely still. Passed out. His muscles are slack in a really weird way. I shake him. No response. Pat his cheeks. Nothing. His skin is cool and clammy.

  I reach for his wrist to find a pulse, but it’s hard because my own heart is racing, making my whole body feel as if it’s pulsing in synch. I lay my head on his chest and hear his heart. The rhythm is slow and weak, but it’s there. There’s a pill bottle lying next to him.

  I don’t know how many he took or how many it takes, and I don’t care. What I need to do is laid out in exquisite clarity, like the perfect first line of a book. I pull out the sat phone he gave me and dial.

  When the operator asks me what my emergency is, I tell them. The words come easily, because I’ve heard them before, when Mom called 911 for Dad. “We have an emergency. We need an ambulance.” And when they ask my name, I tell them. Because it’s time for me to stop hiding behind my trail name. It’s time for me to stop hiding, period. If I want to be the man Dad always said he saw me becoming, I need to stand tall.

  Chapter 24

  The morning is just starting to heat up, so I’m sure we’re close to noonish, although my phone battery has been dead so long, it’s just a guess. I stand outside Rain Man’s tent waiting for the sound of help approaching. Part of me thinks I should leave and let them find him, but I’m worried that something would go wrong, and now that I’m here, with Rain Man, I feel the need to see it all the way through. Twenty minutes after I called on the sat phone, an onslaught of men and women converge on the sat phone’s coordinates. It’s utterly astounding. Some wear orange jumpsuits with yellow reflective tape and orange reflectors that have words on the back that say Search and Rescue Team. Some are in camo pants and black shirts and hats that identify them as forest rangers. Others are in dark sweatshirts, navy shorts, and black vests. They almost look like a gang in a movie, even if it’s a helpful gang, carrying packs of medical supplies, a stretcher, and more sat phones. I stand back as they swarm Rain Man’s tent. I back away as they carry him out of his tent and lie him on a yellow sling stretcher. They press stethoscopes to his chest and listen. These are practiced movements… They insert an IV. Then strap him down, six strong guys surround him, lift him, and start to walk Rain Man out of this bleak gap. Helicopter blades sound overhead. I’m glad he’ll be going to the hospital.

  “Are you the one who called it in?” one of the guys who isn’t carrying Rain Man asks.

  I want to laugh, because, there’s no one else around, so who the eff does he think called it in? It is exactly the kind of comment Emily and I would bust a gut over, but I straighten myself and hide my smirk. “Yes,” I say, soberly.

  “Do you understand where you are? What’s happening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sit here,” hands lower me to a rock.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” I repeat, but another guy wraps a blanket around me. I want to complain about it being too hot, but I’m shivering. The guys in black and navy are taking pictures of Rain Man’s stuff. Do they always do that? Is he dead?

  “Is he…going to be all right?”

  “They have IVs in him. His vitals are stable.”

  One of the guys in a navy shirt and black vest ventures over. He’s got a badge on his belt and a walk to match. It’s his talisman, for sure. He extends his hand. “Officer Oliver Stanton. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  I shake his hand. He’s got what Brad and Christian would call a “man’s man hand,” rough and callused with a tight grip. I return his handshake with one my father would be proud of. I hear him in my head. Stand up straight, Dylan.

  “Your name?”

  “Dylan Taggart.” I’m sure he knows this already, but he seems like the kind of guy who checks his facts over and over again. There’s nothing wrong with that, Dad did too.

  He pulls a small spiral notebook with a pen pushed through the top out of his pocket and flips it open. Clicks the pen and starts to write. Officer Stanton’s questions come at me fast and furious, and I try my best to answer with as much information as I can remember. It’s important to get this next part right, so I take my time.

  “I found him in his tent. No, sir, he wasn’t awake.”

  “Do your parents know you’re on the trail?”

  “No sir. My father’s dead. My mother doesn’t know where I am.” I’m surprised at how easy these questions are to answer, how good it actually feels knowing that after all of this, I’ll be going home. No matter what that means.

  “Did you know the man in the tent?”

  “His trail name was Rain Man and his real name was Gary. I met him a few times on the trail, and he was always very nice. He cooked for me and Sophie.”

  “Who’s Sophie?”

  “She’s a girl I met on the trail. She’s in a hospital near the border. She got trapped under a tree and hurt her ankle. I’d like to see her and see Rain Man, if possible.”

  Officer Stanton stops writing to look me over. Like I’m a math equation that needs to be solved. I let him stare, not giving him my usual smart-ass attitude, hoping it’ll help my case. He gives a slight nod, and I wonder if he’s agreeing or it was just a twitch. He clears his throat and starts up again.

  “Where was Gary from?”

  “North Carolina. Near Wilmington, I think.”

  “Does he have any family?”

  “His wife died on the trail last year. Right here.” I point to Rain Man’s tent. “He said he had kids, but I’m not sure who they are or where they are.”

  He flips his notebook closed. Looks at me. “Are you capable of hiking out of here?”

  “Yes. I just need some more water. My filter…”

  He hands me a bottle of water that I down in seconds flat.

  “You okay to move?”

  It’s then that I remember I’m sitting. “Yeah. Fine.”

  “Where’s your gear?”

  “Oh.” I turn around and around. “I must have left it by the creek.”

  He motions to some other guys who go after it.

  “Follow me.” I follow him up the incline, all the way out of the woods, to Dicks Creek Gap, where a squad car is waiting for us.

  • • •

  I sit in the back of the one of those Jeeps with police markings on it. My gear is stashed in the back. My head is pounding, and I wish I could get some Dramamine.

  The front passenger door opens. A guy, not the one who interviewed me, a different one, hands me one of those disposable hot coffee cups.

  “I guessed sugar and cream, that okay? We’ve got a big thermos full if you’d rather have it black.”

  “No. That’s perfect.”

  He smiles. “I also brought you this.” He hands me a glazed doughnut, still warm from being in the car. “How long have you been on the trail?” he asks.

  “A few weeks, I think.”

  Someone calls over and he looks up, motions, then turns back to me. “Be right back.”

  I eat my doughnut, drink the coffee, and slowly feel my mind refocusing. I can see my memories of the trail. The boots hanging in the trees in Neels Gap. The creeks. Sophie.

  I hear the first officer talking into a phone. “Dylan Taggart.” He spells it, pauses. “Yes. Seventeen and a half.” Pause. “Will do.”

  I put the empty cup in the cup holder in the back and lean back against the seat. I put the pad of my thumb on my forehead, as if that will erase my mistakes. I knew this would happen once I gave them my name. It’s not l
ike they wouldn’t have found out anyway. The jig is up, I guess, and I deserve whatever repercussions come next. However it all goes down, I just wish I could see Sophie again.

  Officer Stanton returns to the car. “We’re going to take you to the hospital. It’s protocol.”

  I nod. Rest my head on the headrest behind me. “Which hospital?”

  “Smart boy,” he says. “Did you know Rain Man is a legend around here? Damn shame about his wife.”

  I guess that means he’s okay. A huge wave of relief floods me, but on the heels of that feeling is a growing fear of what comes next for me. The rhythmic movement of the police Jeep paired with my full belly and the warmth of the coffee, and the letdown response after the adrenaline rush from racing to get to Rain Man in time, drags me to a deep cavern of sleep. I go willingly.

  Chapter 25

  The jerk of the car transitioning into park wakes me. My head snaps to attention, even though my eyes are not yet processing what they see. Bit by bit, the image clears. We are parked at a hospital.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” Officer Stanton’s partner says. “We’re here.”

  I don’t ask where here is because it hardly matters. Here is where Mom will come collect me. Here is where my adventure ends.

  Officer Stanton, the serious one, looks at me over his sunglasses, adjusts the rearview mirror so I can see his eyes. “You ready, Sport?”

  God, I hate stupid nicknames, but telling him that isn’t going to get me anywhere good. “I guess.”

  “We’ll take you through the emergency room, and they’ll process you.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “We have to do this. You’re a runaway. We have to have you evaluated before…”

  “Before my mom comes for me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “May as well go then. It’s inevitable.”

  The second officer, the nice one who gave me the coffee and doughnut, opens my door while Officer Stanton takes off his sunglasses and puts them on a clip in his visor. It takes him a few seconds to catch up to us despite my lethargic stride, but he overtakes us as he pushes the button on the side of the door that makes the electric doors swing open. He cups my neck with his hand, loose enough to not feel threatening, but tight enough to let me know he means business. I will not escape on his watch. The two officers walk me to the intake desk, and a nurse asks me a slew of questions starting with my name, age, date of birth, and insurance.

  I don’t know how to answer that, but Officer Stanton says, “We’re processing him,” and she must get what that means because she types on the screen in front of her, nodding as she does it.

  That done, she takes my vitals. I must be fine because she doesn’t look too concerned. They show us into a room in the ER that has a hospital bed, another blood pressure machine, and a bunch of medical stuff on the walls, like those red, plastic containers for collecting needles. It’s weird that none of this hospital stuff freaks me out with all of my other issues, but it just doesn’t. I guess even God could only cram so much hysterical thinking into one person.

  A guy comes in dressed in blue scrubs. “Come with me,” he says.

  My police guard raises his eyebrow, and the guy says, “We are going to have him shower before we deal with him.”

  “Good idea,” Officer Stanton chuckles.

  I follow the scrubs guy to a room that’s marked as a patient bathroom. I figure there will be a sink and a toilet, but to my surprise, there’s also a shower, and a bank of cabinets. The guy opens a cabinet and hands me a towel. I stare at the shower, and that’s where my anxiety issues come in. The sounds reverberate in the tiled room. They build. Like that day in the auditorium. But also since this isn’t my bathroom, I envision all of the other people who have used it. I poop in the woods? Okay. Take a shower in a hospital… Um, no? It might not make sense, but I can’t help it.

  “Do I have to?” I try to seem casual, but my heart is beating like mad, and the sound of it builds in my ears.

  “Suit yourself, but I thought you’d like to look and smell better if they have to take you to court. It’ll go way better for you if you don’t look all nasty and woodsy. You wanna shave? Look a little less Unabomber?”

  I run my hand over my scraggly beard. He’s not wrong. Mom will probably be easier to deal with if I look like my normal self.

  “Here’s a shaving kit.” He places it on the counter.

  The guy peels back his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of the letters AT with 2015 going through it. “Did the entire thing in 2015. Never got to eat with Rain Man, though. Hope maybe next year I can. Heard he’s doing okay, by the way.”

  I stare at the shower.

  “Look. I know it’s hard to reacclimate.”

  “It’s not that. It’s… I have issues.”

  He stares at me.

  “Phobias, sort of.” My eyes go to the ground. I know this makes no sense. I showered in the hostel. At camp, once, but that was awful. Somehow being a hospital makes it seem germier.

  The guy opens a drawer and pulls out a clipboard and passes it to me. “It was just cleaned at three today. No one has used it since. Enjoy.”

  He leaves a towel for me and a wrapped bar of soap. Also a plastic bag with the instructions, “Put your clothes in here.” He opens another cabinet and grabs a plastic bag with a pair of brand-new scrubs in it. “These should fit you.”

  I follow directions and get in the shower. At first, I’m totally grossed out by standing in this shower with my bare feet, no matter how recently it was cleaned. I imagine all sorts of nasty germs growing and wanting to attach themselves to me. I envision ants and spiders and roaches lying in wait to come up the drain. I tell myself that bugs and germs can’t touch me in the water, so I turn on the shower, full strength and extra hot. The water feels so good. The smell of this soap, Dial, regular scent, fills my nostrils. I lather my body, and I wash myself like I always do. I start with my head, lathering the soap through my hair. Emily always said I should use actual shampoo, but Dial soap has always done the trick for me. I rinse my hair and then start my routine, lathering and lathering, cleaning the back of my ears, around the pinna, down my neck and shoulders. I clean myself, head to toe, using the same method I’ve used since I can remember. Ten seconds on each step. Ten seconds times all the parts of my body that need cleaning. The feeling of the hot water loosens up all of the emotions inside me, and soon I forget about not touching the walls of the shower, and lean against the tiles, crying like a baby.

  I hear a knock on the door. “You doing okay in there? Dylan?”

  I know if I don’t answer, soon the door will open. So I say, “I’m okay.”

  I figure the shower thing should be coming to an end, but I don’t want to get out. Eventually, I decide it’s time and take one last rinse and wrap myself in a towel. The bathroom is steamy, and I breathe in the smell of clean. I haven’t smelled anything this good in so long. My stomach growls, though I’m getting used to that being normal-ish. Normal people living in the real world shower. They shave. They eat. And they sleep, in actual beds. Suddenly, Mom coming to get me doesn’t concern me so much. Because at some point, she’ll have to stop being mad at me and let me sleep. I realize I am really looking forward to sleeping in my bed again. It’s been way too long.

  I stand at the counter, palms pressing down, and I stare through the steam at the mess in the mirror. It takes a while for the steam to clear, but I just wait and look. So, now it’s just me and the mirror and my heartbeat and myself. I’m tired. I blow out a breath and it fogs the mirror, so I wipe at it. Now my reflection looks streaky and weird, which is how I feel, like a Picasso painting, the pieces of me not attached the way one would expect. I turn on the water and dispense the shaving cream onto my fingers. The menthol soothes my skin as I carefully remove all of my facial hair, only cutting myself a little in one place. I smack
my cheeks when I’m done like Dad taught me. Stand up straight, Dylan. I can almost feel the gentle reassurance of his hand on my shoulder.

  I think about what I’m going to tell Mom when I see her, even though I have no idea how much longer that will take. Memories of my time on the trail and the people I met explode inside my head, and I know it’ll be important to tell her the right details in the right order, so she’ll understand that this was a good experience for me…even if she doesn’t like how I went about it.

  There’s another knock on the door. “How’s it coming, Dylan?”

  “Good.”

  The scrubs he left me are clean and waiting. They’re two pairs of pants, and I wonder if that’s to make up for the lack of underwear, but I pull them up without too much worry. They are slightly scratchy on my skin, but I’ve missed the feeling of cotton, so it’s nice in a way.

  Another knock.

  “Coming,” I say. I pull the shirt over my head and stare at myself in the mirror. I look different than when I first ran away. More grown up maybe. My shoulders are back and my chest is high. I stand different when I breathe too. I breathe with my diaphragm, not with my shoulders, which was a bad habit that affected my swimming. I hope Mom notices. Dad definitely would have.

  Chapter 26

  The nurse and I walk back to my hospital room, and my feet are in these weird paper booties. I’m carrying my bag of nasty clothes that I’m sort of hoping Mom just wants to trash. When we arrive, a woman with a stethoscope is talking to Officer Stanton. She smiles at me and extends her hand.

  “My name is Doctor Raul. I’m here to check you out.”

  I give her a noncommittal nod.

  She starts by looking in my ears. My eyes. She taps my chin, and I open my mouth so she can look in there. I like that she’s mostly movement, not talking. She lifts each of my hands and inspects the wounds on my knuckles. She arches her eyebrow but doesn’t ask what happened, so I figure she’s cool with my not filling in the details.