Meet Me at the Summit

by Mandi Lynn

  The wind at the summit is low considering the height we’re at, but enough to give me a chill. I pull my puffy jacket out of my bag and slip it on while I walk around taking photos.

  “We have to make sure we don’t stay up here too long, but feel free to take it all in,” Dylan tells me. And that’s exactly what I do. There’s no perfect way to describe the view. The mountains are rocky with distinct angles that are sharp and daunting, and the view goes on for miles, making us feel like we’re far away in another world. I look out, and I feel like I can see as far as my eyes will take me. At the highest point in Colorado, my view is unobstructed, and I’m struck with a sense of awe. The elevation is so high, there’s not a tree in sight, so unlike my home. In the rugged landscape, it’s like I’m in another world.

  I wander around the summit, taking photos of everything from every angle, until Dylan motions me to come over.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We need a summit photo to prove we were here.” He puts his hand out for the camera, and I hand it over. “This have a timer?” he asks. I point to the button, and Dylan motions for me to stand a few feet away. He sets up the camera, so it’s pointing at me while it’s resting on a rock. He clicks the shutter and runs over to stand next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I try not to focus on the fact that I’m covered in sweat as the shutter goes off and takes our photo.

  It’s an odd thing the mountains do. They can make even the most experienced hiker feel small. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you realize that some things in life are insignificant.

  I look at the photo of Dylan and me, standing side-by-side on this mountaintop, and I can’t help but think about how this was supposed to be my dad and me. He’s not here. Not in the mountain at my feet, or the clouds in the air. He’s just gone, having never been here in the first place.

  The anxiety hits me all at once. I stare at the horizon and memorize the rise and fall of the landscape, but the panic still comes, unprovoked and demanding my attention. A dark cloud is hovering over my body, and the closer it gets, the more inevitable it is that I won’t be able to fight it off. All I can hear is my heartbeat, and my eyes are focused on a summit far off in the distance, but I’m not even sure which mountain it is anymore. Exhaustion hits with the next wave of panic. I can feel myself shaking, and I take a few steps toward the nearest boulder. I reach out to sit on it, but my body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. Despite sitting, I can only feel myself getting dizzier. When I look up and see the mountains again, terror rips through me as I realize that the only way down is to hike everything again. There’s no running off into a bathroom or walking it off. The only option out is a hike that will last three hours, if I’m lucky.

  “Marly, you okay?” Dylan is talking to me, but I can’t focus. The panic intensifies when I remember I’m not alone, and all over again, I’m falling to pieces in front of a practical stranger. He puts his hand against my shoulder and I recoil. This wasn’t meant to happen.

  I think I start crying at that moment. It’s like a domino effect when the panic starts. It always starts off small, but then like an explosion, it all comes apart.

  “Marly, you’re okay,” Dylan says. His hand is on my back, his voice too close to my face.

  I want to run away and hide, do anything I can to hide the mess that I am, but I can’t find it in myself to move. My body curls in on itself, hiding me away.

  I’m not sure how long the panic lasts, but eventually, my body exhausts itself. My cries continue in a soft panic that lessens as time goes on. I’m still shaking, but now I’m not sure if it’s the panic or because the wind is picking up, and I’m finally aware of how cold I am.

  Dylan shifts next to me. His hand lifts from my back, and a cold reminder is left in its absence.

  “Do you need anything?” he asks, his voice soft. “Do you want me to get your bag for you?”

  I shake my head, and we sit in the silence; the only sounds are our breathing and the wind. I can feel myself coming back to the surface. Back to reality. I’m twisted, my face buried in my knees and arms while I sit on the ground. I untangle myself, keeping my face down as I back away from Dylan. He doesn’t say anything as I lift my face.

  The distance between us is unsettling. I try to focus on my breath and make it even. Every now and then, I feel the panic rising again, but only when I think about what just happened. So I push it away. I pretend that nothing’s happened.

  “You okay?” Dylan asks, his voice quiet.

  I keep my gaze trained on the horizon. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, blinking too much as I uncurl myself to stand. In an instant, I had transported myself to an entirely different world, and I could forget where I was. My body is exhausted, but I still have to make it off this mountain. The panic is still there in the back of my mind, threatening to come out. “Let’s head back down,” I say, trying to make a sad attempt at making my voice even. I can hear the falter in my words.

  Dylan is staring at me as he gets up. It’s clear he doesn’t think I’m okay, and maybe he’s right. But he hands me my bag. I throw it over my shoulders, and we start our hike down, my body operating on autopilot.

  The fight-or-flight instinct kicks in for me. The hike down is faster than I usually go. I’m almost running, moving without thinking, only wanting to get off the mountain. It’s easy to do with the smooth trails. There’s less worry of tripping than back home, and even at home, I had mastered the art of learning to let my body fall into the downward motion, maneuvering over roots and rocks. I think about stopping to make sure Dylan is behind me, but I can hear his steps close behind, his footing less practiced than mine on the descent.

  My pace slows once we get out of the alpine zone and we’re back in the cover of trees. I stop to breathe, and Dylan is behind me, his own breathing heavy. My knees are shaking from exhaustion, and I’m wondering how visible the motion is. I try to focus on getting my knees to stop, but it only seems to make it worse. I try to force my body to relax as I lean against a tree, letting my cheek skim across the rough bark.

  “Are you okay?” he asks again.

  I turn to face him, and when I do, all I see is pity. All I see is how people looked at me for months. The girl with dead parents. The girl who cries when she thinks no one is looking—the girl who has no idea what to do with her life anymore. I hate it.

  “Stop. Asking. That,” I say in a shaky voice, the words coming out desperate and quiet. I turn back toward the tree and take another step closer until my forehead is against the bark. I lean into the tree, focusing on the texture of the trunk, feeling like I’m one step from falling to the ground. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to take back my words.

  Dylan doesn’t say anything, maybe because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s hovering close like he’s waiting to catch me if I fall.

  I try to push myself upward. I’m exhausted, but not from the hike. I push off from the tree and walk forward again, continuing our descent. I’m not running now. I can barely walk, but I put one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the way my knees shudder. According to my watch, we have about two miles to go. But the steepest parts are behind us now.

  Dylan steps relaxed as he follows me in silence. We’re going too slow to keep me distracted, but I can’t push myself any faster. My mind starts to wander, and that familiar blanket of panic is hovering over my body again.

  “Can you talk about something?” I ask, the last word hanging on the edge of hysteria. The words come out as a demand, and I hate myself for the way they sound.

  “I can tell you embarrassing stories about Stacey,” Dylan says without missing a beat. And so that’s how the rest of the hikes goes. Dylan does almost all the talking, and I chime in only every now and then to keep him going. It gives me something to focus on, and as the time goes by, the panic almost disappears. But it’s never fully gone. It’s always there. L
ingering and waiting.

  Chapter 14

  When we get back to the trailhead, it’s around 2 p.m. Dylan walks with me back to the bus, and I unload my gear, throwing my backpack onto the floor in front of the couch and under the table. When I take my bag off, my muscles are still shaking from the panic attack and hike. I lean against the bus to hide the movement, but I end up losing balance. I put both hands against the bus as I kick my hiking boots off, my feet feeling immediate relief when I didn’t even realize they were sore.

  “You did great,” Dylan says, but the words are off. Whatever happened on the summit hangs between us, but he doesn’t bring it up.

  I look at him and shake my head. I laugh a little because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. I crawl into the bus and sit on the couch, pulling my dirty socks off. I reach under the table where I’d stashed my pair of flip-flops and slip them on.

  “You did,” Dylan says again, this time smiling at me as if nothing happened.

  “Thanks,” I say, but the words make me feel defeated when they come out of my mouth.

  “Where are you camping tonight?” he asks.

  “At a campground a few minutes away,” I say.

  He nods, satisfied with the answer.

  “Text me when you get back so I know you’re okay,” he says.

  I nod and get up from the couch to close the door to the bus. Dylan walks back to his truck and opens the back door, kicking his own hiking boots off to exchange them for a pair of sneakers that were sitting in the back seat.

  The panic rises as soon as he walks away, and so does the exhaustion. I don’t want to be alone, not now, not after everything. And calling Lori would only be a Band-Aid. I can feel my body on edge again, itching and jumping to do something. Something to make this stop.

  Before I’m fully aware of it, I walk over to Dylan’s truck. He’s already in the driver’s seat, and his backup lights are on, but when he sees me, he puts the truck back into park and puts his window down.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I’m an idiot. What the hell am I doing? But I say the first thing that seems somewhat logical in this moment. “Do you want to go get ice cream?” I ask.

  He smiles a little. “Do you know a good place?” he asks.

  I frown because, for all I know, the nearest ice cream place is an hour away. “No,” I admit.

  “Well, good thing I do.” He smiles wider, and I can feel my body relax. “There’s one not too far away. Hop in. I’ll bring you back to your bus afterward.”

  “Okay, just let me lock up and grab my stuff,” I say. By the time I come back to his truck, I realize what I did. Or at least, what I think I might have done. If Lori were here, she’d convince me that this was a date, but seeing as we’re both covered in sweat and dirt, I’m not sure if that’s entirely accurate.

  It feels like my body sinks into the seat of Dylan’s truck from exhaustion. We don’t talk on the drive, and I think it’s mostly because Dylan can tell how exhausted I am. It’s about a half-hour of driving in silence, me trying to stay awake until we pull up on the side of the road. I was expecting an ice cream stand, but Dylan pulls up to several food trucks parked in a circle with picnic tables in the middle.

  “Do you still want ice cream, or are you in the mood for something else?” Dylan asks as he puts the truck into park. He gets out, and I follow, examining each food truck. There’s every kind of food here. Gourmet mac and cheese, gyros, barbeque, and even seafood. But in the center of all the trucks is an ice cream truck painted bright and colorful. There are cones on display on the small counter, and the side of the truck lists out a long line of flavors and toppings.

  “I’m tempted to try more than one thing,” I say, spinning to view everything. “But judging by the plates everyone else has, these trucks don’t skimp out on portions.” There’s a family sitting at one of the tables, and a little girl has a bowl of mac and cheese. Noodles pour out over the sides, half her meal landing on the table as she spoons portions into her mouth. “What do you recommend?” I ask.

  “Well, the ice cream here is all homemade. Special flavors you won’t see anywhere else. Cones are made from scratch, and dipped in chocolate. They make everything off-site and then load up the truck every morning.”

  “Ice cream it is,” I say, taking a few steps toward the center truck.

  There are a lot of options, or maybe it’s not necessarily the amount of choices, but because most are flavors I’ve never heard of before.

  “If you want something original, I’d go for the Colorado Rockies.” He puts his hand against my lower back and guides me forward a few steps. For a second, I cringe, knowing how sweaty my back is, but Dylan either doesn’t mind or doesn’t notice.

  “What’s in it?”

  He drops his hand and crosses his arms, looking at the list of flavors. “Vanilla ice cream with bits of brownie, caramel, chocolate chip cookie dough, marshmallow, and fudge,” he says, reading off the board.

  “Okay, I’ll go with that,” I say.

  Dylan glances over and smiles, walking up to the window. “Two small Colorado Rockies in a waffle cone, please,” he says, ordering for the both of us. Which of course is very date-like. He pays for both our cones as well, before I have a chance to step forward and say anything. The girl at the counter smiles as she takes our order and comes back with two huge cones, despite Dylan having ordered smalls.

  “Where do you want to sit?” Dylan hands me a cone, placed upside down in a cup so I don’t have to worry about it melting. The cone itself smells fresh, and the ice cream is dotted with brownie, cookie dough, and everything else I love in ice cream. I start eating as I lead us to the table closest to Dylan’s truck, spooning a scoop into my mouth. Clouds cover the sky, but there are still peaks of the mountains coming through between some of the clouds. It always amazes me after a hike, coming back down to earth only to look up and wonder how you managed to be on a mountaintop earlier in the day.

  The ice cream is rich in flavor in the sort of way that only handmade ice cream can be. And for a while we both eat in a comfortable silence.

  “Can I ask a question?” Dylan says. We’re both halfway through our cones, and his voice pulls my attention. My head snaps up to look at him. I’d been lost in my own world for a bit, my exhaustion coming down in waves.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, putting the last of my cone in the cup.

  Dylan won’t look at me for a minute, running thoughts over in his mind. He focuses on his ice cream, wiping melted streams from the side of his cup with a napkin before placing it down again. Finally, he lifts his head, and his eyes are soft, the corners of his lips turned down. “Did I do something wrong earlier? When we were on Mount Elbert?”

  My body responds before my mind can. I feel myself freeze, and I want to cry. The emotions are immediate. As if it wasn’t already obvious that he noticed the entire event, but hearing him ask about it aloud is all the worse. I was happy enough to ignore the entire thing and try to forget that it happened.

  I let out a deep, shaky sigh and try to remind myself to breathe. I focus on loosening my body and relaxing each muscle, one by one. “No, you didn’t do anything. I just—” I can feel that cloud again. I would have thought I’d be too exhausted to feel this way all over again, but there it is. “I’m sorry,” I say, leaving it at that.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Dylan says.

  I want to get up, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I hide my hands under the table where my fingers fidget.

  “If anything, I should be the one sorry because I just ruined your appetite.” He points to the ice cream that I’ve abandoned on the table.

  I let out a breathy laugh. “I was full before I even got to the cone,” I admit.

  “The kiddie cone next time.” He smiles when I look at him, and I smile back, but it feels tired and worn. It�
�s one of those sad, pathetic smiles you have when you’re just trying to put on a good show.

  I stare at the ice cream, but it feels like there’s a knot in my chest, just waiting to be untied. I have no idea how to relieve it besides just letting go.

  “My dad wanted to hike my first Fourteener with me,” I say, and it feels like a small relief.

  “Did something happen?” The words are gentle, but it stings to hear them, because I wish the answer could be that he got too hurt to hike anymore, or that he just lost his passion for hiking. At least then he’d still be here.

  “My parents got into a car accident last year,” I say, my words edging into a space that feels dangerous. “They didn’t make it.” It feels final to say the words. The emotion rises deep in my chest, but in a way, it feels like I’ve released something.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  The words hover between us, and for a moment I want to cry. Not in the same, body-racking sobs from earlier, but a cry that acts as a slow, gentle relief.

  “I can take you back to the bus if you want,” Dylan says after a long silence.

  I don’t want to go back to the bus. I’m selfish in the fact that I don’t want Dylan to leave, but I also know I’m just a stranger to him. He’ll leave today and forget about me tomorrow.

  I nod, because I’m not sure what else to do to fix this.

  Chapter 15

  The car ride back to the trailhead is another quiet one, but not because we’re both tired. Dylan looks over at me every few minutes, and all there is to see is a girl curled up in a ball, ready to hide away. It feels like my body is chained to the seat. I’m not sure if it’s out of exhaustion or terror at the thought of everything he’s witnessed from me today.

  He pulls up beside my bus and puts the truck into park. I’m thankful that the campground is less than ten minutes away.