by Leanne Baugh
“You kept saying no to me and then went slutting around behind my back, didn’t ya? No girl does that to me without serious payback.”
“Leave me alone!” I try to pull away from him, but he twists my arm and it feels like it’s going to snap. The rage inside me burns and builds.
“You’re not going to say no to me now, Abby. But it’d be way better for me if there was a bag over your fucking-ugly face.”
I fight to get out of his grip. Swing my good leg as hard as I can and kick Mason in the crotch. My foot hurts like hell. He drops to the ground. Moaning. Calling me a fucking bitch. I run towards the path—right into Liam.
“Get him away from me,” I say to Liam, my voice shaking.
“What the hell’s going on?” Liam looks from me to Mason, who is now standing.
“That little bitch just kicked me in the balls,” Mason says.
“Only after you tried to assault me,” I say in as loud and confident a voice as I can. “In case you’ve never heard, no means no, Mason!” My whole body is trembling. I lean up against Liam to steady myself.
“This isn’t over,” Mason says, with hatred in his eyes. “Not by a long shot.”
“Get lost,” Liam says to Mason.
“Go fuck yourself, Liam. Because I doubt you’ll ever want to fuck her again.”
He staggers around us and heads down the path.
“You okay?” Liam asks, looking me up and down.
I shake my head. I feel too numb to cry. “Help me find my phone? He threw it in the woods.”
Liam dials my number and turns on his phone’s flashlight. The whistling ringtone “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” echoes through the trees.
“Same ringtone, huh?” Liam says. I used to drive the hiking group nuts singing that song at the top of my lungs on the trails, ironically to scare off bears. I downloaded that ringtone for Liam’s number.
We step over logs and branches and soon find my phone. The screen is cracked, but at least it still works. We walk back out to the clearing.
“I’ve got to find Grace. I really need to get out of here.”
“You shouldn’t go back to the fire. Mason might lose his shit. Text Grace and I’ll stay with you until she comes.”
“Thanks.” I send Grace my SOS text.
We make our way down another path to the road. We arrive to where Rusty is parked.
“Can we talk?” I ask. I unlock the doors, and we get in the car.
“I get it why you don’t want to be with me anymore, but can we at least be friends?”
He shakes his head and looks away from me. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Why I can’t be around you. Why I can’t talk to you. Why I can’t even look at you.”
“I thought it was because you just wanted to move on.”
“Move on?” He looks at me. “How can we move on? Tell me that, Abby. I mean, with everything that’s happened, have you actually been able to just move on?”
“I meant you moving on from me. From us.”
He looks away, clenches his jaw. “Don’t you see? There’s no moving on. Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat. I hear you screaming. That horrible, terrified scream. Every single night.” Tears well in his eyes. “And every time I see you, every time, I’m reminded of what a fucking coward I am.” Tears run down his face. He wipes them off with his sleeve.
I’m in total shock. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw it. The whole thing. When the grizzly had you in its mouth. Flopping you around. What did I do? I ran. Some boyfriend, eh? I ran away as fast as I could, like a fucking weakling.”
“But the bear went after you, too.”
“Yeah, but I hardly got a scratch, and the bear went back to you for another round. I left you and did nothing to help. How’s that for courage? How’s that for integrity?” Liam shakes his head. “How’s that for love?” Now he’s sobbing. Tears and snot run down his face. “I was only thinking of saving myself.” He covers his face with his hand. I put my hand on his arm.
“It was a perfectly natural reaction to run away from danger,” I say. “I probably would have done the same thing. What happened to me is not your fault, Liam. Shit happens, you know that. You can’t blame yourself.”
“You could have died, Abby.”
“But I didn’t die.”
“Well, I wish I did.” His body shakes with each sob. Grace walks toward the car. Liam opens the door and gets out. He wipes his face one more time and disappears through the trees.
***
“With Mason at the party, I should never have left you alone,” Grace says as I drive her home.
“It wasn’t your fault, Grace.”
“If Liam hadn’t come along, who knows what could have happened.” She looks really worried.
“As I’ve told you, I can handle it.”
“And speaking of Liam. Ho-ly shit,” Grace says. “He’s been keeping everything bottled up this whole time. It’s been bubbling and simmering for almost a year and then like a volcano, he exploded all over you.”
“It sure explains a few things. I don’t know how to feel right now. Relieved? Worried? Angry? Guilty?”
“Don’t you start feeling guilty just because Liam does. He’s going to have to figure it out himself. But if he carries it around for too much longer, he’s going to crack up.”
Grace is not only sweet but a pretty wise soul.
By the time I turn down my driveway, I feel physically shaken and emotionally beaten up. Mason and Liam mega-trauma in one night. Way too much to deal with, and I’m exhausted. When I drive up to the house, I see Dad through the window. I wish he’d already gone to bed. After I park, I breathe deeply several times and try to hold it together.
In the living room, Dad’s sorting through all his hiking gear that’s strewn on chairs, the floor, and the couch.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Hiking Ribbon Creek tomorrow.”
“You? Hiking?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Who are you going with?”
Dad smiles as he rubs a wax sealant into his hiking boots. “A woman I met downtown for a drink.”
“You had another date and didn’t tell me?”
“Can’t a man keep anything to himself around here?”
“Nope. I have to report back to Jeannie and Gramz. I’m the eyes and ears on your dating life.”
Dad shakes his head. “Okay, in a nutshell, I like her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Angela.”
“And…”
“And she’s thirty-nine, divorced, no kids, and she’s the executive director of a nonprofit organization that promotes environmental concerns.” Dad pulls the old, worn laces out of his hiking boots.
“Does she look the same as her profile pic?”
“No.”
“What? Not her, too!”
“She looks even better in person.” He smiles again as he unwraps a package of new laces and weaves them through his boot.
“That’s promising.” I pick up his daypack and sniff it. “Pretty musty-smelling.”
“Hasn’t been out of the basement in years.”
“Well, it’s about time you air it out,” I say and then pick up a camping knife. “And this sure is rusty.”
Dad looks up. “I hope I’m not too rusty on the trail. Can’t remember the last time I did a strenuous hike in the mountains.”
“Let’s hope Angela the environmentalist goes easy on you.”
Dad nods.
I pick up the hiking map from the table. It has Mom’s writing on it—GPS coordinates. Right beside the map is a can of bear spray. It might be the same can that I couldn’t get to fast enough.
“Same old, same old. For some reason I thought things, people, would be different a year later. But not much has changed.” Obviously that’s not entirely true. No way can I tell him about Mason, or he’d surely call the police. Besides, I handled it. At least I think I did. And I don’t want to tell Dad about Liam—at least not right now. He wasn’t at all impressed with how Liam suddenly cut off all communication with me at a time when I really needed him.
“And yet so much has changed for you,” Dad says.
He doesn’t know the half of it.
“Yeah, it sure has.”
“Oh, a letter came for you today from Dr. Van der Meer’s office. I put it in your room on your dresser.”
“Thanks. I’m heading to bed. Have fun on the hike, and, by the way, I’ll be wanting a full report tomorrow night.”
“Roger that. Nite, kiddo.” Dad whistles as he picks up his other hiking boot and brand-new lace.
Haven’t heard him whistle since before Mom’s death.
I flop onto my bed and hold my arm, still sore where Mason clamped his firm grip. I shake my head, trying to chase away any thoughts of what could have happened. Instead, I replay the scenes from the night all wonky and out of order: Liam getting in my car, Mason’s face right in mine, me trying to wrench my phone from Mason’s grasp, tears pouring down Liam’s face, Mason telling me I slutted around behind his back, Liam calling himself a coward for running away from the bear, me kicking Mason’s crotch with all my might, Liam convulsing in sobs, Mason telling me he’d need a bag over my face to have sex with me.
I sit up and open the letter on my dresser. My next surgery is scheduled for eight a.m. on July 17 at the Foothills Hospital. I stuff the letter back into the envelope. I look in the mirror, run my fingers over the dents and bumps on my face that remind me of a topographical map. I try to imagine what I might look like with a cheekbone, and maybe more grafted skin over all the scars. Will I be transformed into a different person? Someone who likes and accepts herself a whole lot more?
TRUST
In my dream I’m alone, hiking through a forest, looking up at the massive pine trees, breathing in the smell of fresh air and damp soil, listening to the birds. I see her up ahead, pawing at the ground, searching for bugs and ants to eat. Her cubs are wrestling with each other close by. She looks up and sees me. Doesn’t move. Just stares. Instead of feeling terrified like I usually do, I feel a strange sense of peace as I slowly walk toward her.
I open one eye and look at my clock. Seven fifty-three. In the morning! Saturday morning! I shut my eyes again and think about my dream. After the night I had, why was my dream so serene? I’m usually terrified in my bear dreams—running, scrambling up the tree, tearing skin on my hands and legs, flying out of the tree, my body being dragged in the bear’s mouth.
I pick up the bear carving from my bedside table. The smooth wood feels soothing in my hand. For some reason, it looks different today, joyful even.
***
I drive west along the Elbow River Valley, right in the foothills, with the Rocky Mountains in clear view. Only sun and blue sky ahead. I have a tightness in my chest, obviously my chickenshit association with mountains is still alive and well. Not sure why today is the day, but I feel ready to face my fear. My mind teleports me into the mountains. Hiking. Rock climbing. Backpacking. Excitement. Fun. Love. Liam. Bear. Fear. Anxiety. Sadness. Loss. Liam.
Before I left the house, of course I checked the bear report, and, as of this morning, no bears have been sighted anywhere near this area. Although it’s not a guarantee, it’s some comfort at least. I avoid the provincial park campsite with its wall-to-wall RVs, dirt bikes, boom boxes, and too many screaming kids. Instead, I drive slowly down a remote, bumpy road—praying I don’t bottom-out Rusty—to an out-of-the-way picnic area that Liam and I had discovered. We mostly came here as a private place to make out.
I park my car at the very end of the road, look west toward the craggy mountains, and check in on my heart. Calm, steady beats. No light-headedness, no sweating, and the tightness in my chest is gone. What do you know? A first in almost a year. I walk down the overgrown path through the trees to the creek. Kick off my sandals, roll up my jeans, and wade into the stream. I remember family camping trips when Jeannie and I were little and used to play in ice-cold mountain streams. Always in the mountains.
I sit down on a patch of grass by the river and take everything in. The splotches of snow on the peaks in the distance, shrunken by the spring warmth. The giant trees lining the river. The river whooshing and gurgling over the rocks. I have an urge to hike up the ridge close by. Something has changed in me. There’s no way I could have done this a few months ago.
I look at the view around me and breathe in the mountain air.
***
When I drive up to the house, Dad is on the back porch untying his mud-covered hiking boots. So much for new laces.
“Doesn’t look like you have any injuries. Angela the environmentalist obviously went easy on you,” I say, walking toward the house.
“I did pretty well for an old guy who hasn’t hiked in a few years.”
“So?”
“So what?” Dad scrapes off clumps of mud from his boots.
“How was it?” I ask.
“You know how beautiful Ribbon Creek is.”
“Not the hike. How were things with Angela?”
“Fine.”
“Dad, fine is just not going to cut it when I have to report out.”
“We had a lovely day together.”
“And…”
“And, we’re going out for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Sounds promising. You must really like her.”
“It’s early days, but we do share a lot of interests and values.”
“And you think she’s attractive.”
“Yes, I think she’s attractive. I hope that’s enough to report out because that’s all you’re getting.” He starts unpacking his gear. Dad’s doing what he said we both should do—move forward as best we can.
I go up to my room, lie on my bed, and turn on my laptop. I check out the University of Calgary undergraduate programs. A screen comes up: Pursue Your Passion. I type in Education and check the admission requirements. An average of seventy-five percent. Check—I got eighty-five percent. Three approved courses. Check—math, English, bio (fingers crossed). Optional courses. Check—drama and phys ed. I carefully read through all the information about a concurrent degree in Education and Drama. Is teaching drama my life’s purpose? How will I know?
***
Simon and I eat pistachio caramel-swirl ice cream while finishing an Italian movie called The Invisible Boy about a thirteen-year-old boy who is shy, unpopular at school, and in love with a girl named Stella. After he puts on a costume for a Halloween party, he becomes invisible. If only it were that easy.
Simon finishes his last spoonful from his third helping and puts his bowl on the coffee table.
“Pretty decent movie, eh?” I say.
“It was okay.” He clicks off the TV.
“What’s up with you? You’re being weird tonight.”
He rests his forearms on his knees, looks down at the floor. His bushy brown hair covers his face. He sighs. “Would you hate me if I—”
“If you what?”
“If I asked Olivia to grad?” He says the words quickly then cringes, waiting for me to blow up.
“What the hell? You know Liam bailed on me.”
“It’s just that she’s new here and had to move right at the end of high school, which really sucks because—”
“You mean you’re going to ditch me for the new girl just because she shares your love of computer languages like Mouse, Squirrel, Unicorn—”
“Unicon, not Unicorn.”
“Olivia doesn’t know you worth shit compared to me. It’s graduation, Simon. This is an important milestone for us.”
“It’s just that—”
“That what?”
“I like her, okay?”
I try to quickly translate Simon-speak in my head. “You mean you like her like her?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Simon’s cheeks flush.
“Do you bounce between exhilaration, racing heart, euphoria, loss of appetite, and anxiety, panic, and fear?” I ask.
“What?”
“Do you think about her all the time? Does every song you hear remind you of her? Do you finish each other’s sentences?”
“You’re nuts.”
We’re quiet for a long time.
“But do you like her in the sexy-dreams sense of liking her?”
Simon sighs heavily. “I think so. Maybe. I don’t really know.”
I try to unravel my jumble of emotions. For me: anger, betrayal, generally just pissed right off. For Simon: relief, anticipation, happiness, hope.
“Maybe she wouldn’t mind if you came with us.” Simon’s voice is quiet and contrite. “She knows you’re my best friend.”
“I’d rather go alone, or not go at all, than be your third wheel.”
“Do you hate me?” Simon asks.
“Yeah, I do.” But I don’t sound very convincing.
UNFRAMED
I have bio, first class of the day. And my first glimpse of Liam since the bush party. Although Serena sits close beside him, he seems to be leaning away from her. This could just be my brain playing tricks on me.
An image of a human digestive tract is projected on the screen at the front. The bulgy curved stomach sits on top of the large and small intestines, which look like one long, folded-up sausage.
“The appendix is considered a vestigial organ. Can anyone guess what that means?” Mr. Jessop asks.
“It means that scientists haven’t a clue what its function is,” Paul says.
“Almost, but not quite,” says Jessop. “A vestigial structure or organ is one that’s lost all or most of its original function, or has evolved into a new function. Any other examples of a vestigial structure? Serena?”