by Mandi Lynn
“What’s on the itinerary tomorrow?” Dylan asks.
I’m six hours into driving on the second day, and I should be there in another hour or so without traffic. “Onondaga Cave State Park,” I say.
“You going in solo?”
“Yes, but with a tour group. I’m all about hiking, but being underground? That’s just… unpleasant.” I cringe a little thinking about it. Lori talked up the tours, positive I’d love the caves because they’d be fun to take pictures of, but I have my doubts.
I can hear his soft laugh through the phone. “How long you staying?”
“I have a campground booked for the next five days, and then Lori still insists that I go to North Carolina or something, but I don’t want to go farther south. I told her I’d drive to the coast and then stay on the shoreline on the way home, making a bunch of little stops.”
“That sounds good,” Dylan says. “You excited to be home soon?”
I think about it for the first time, realizing the answer isn’t as simple as it used to be. I miss my bed in the apartment, but the thought of going home and figuring out the job situation sounds so unappealing that I wonder why I ever wanted to make that work in the first place.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. My GPS on my phone starts talking before I have the chance to say anything else. “Dylan, I have to go. I’m getting close to the campground; I’ll text you when I get there.”
“Okay, drive safe.”
“I will.”
The next day I find myself in a group of at least ten people huddled in a very large, very dark cave. They’re exactly like the pictures I’d seen online, but it’s chilling to see it in person. As I walk through the tour, I’m constantly on edge, waiting for someone to pull a jump scare. The good news is that the caves have been made tour-friendly. And by that, I mean there are lots of flat surfaces to walk on and railings to hold on to. And lots of light. Most of the large stalactites have lights pointing on them to give them a more ominous feel.
Taking pictures in caves is a new challenge for me. I’m used to working in the sunlight and taking photos in a dim area presents its own problems. The biggest issue is getting the ISO settings right so the photo doesn’t look grainy.
I’m one person in a large group of people, so I’m constantly surrounded by others, which helps dispel the feeling that someone might jump out from behind me at any moment. Every now and then, I find myself lagging behind because it takes me so long to adjust the settings on my camera. When I look up to notice the group is ahead of me, I usually start sprinting forward, afraid to be left in the dim lighting alone. The man in charge of our tour walks through the cave, pointing out things as we go. I lag a little further behind in the group, taking photos as I walk, trying not to depend on the flash of my camera to capture how it feels to be in the caves.
The stalactites are stunning. They take on a life of their own, looking like fingers, constantly reaching and growing over hundreds of years. In some corners of the cave, the ceilings are high above, and you can look around and feel like you could fall into some deep hole, never to resurface. It’s humbling and terrifying all at once.
We walk as a group, exploring small and confined places. As the tour guide talks, an uneasy echo goes through the cave, making the hair on my arms lift a little.
There’s a pool of water as well. Lights are shining down from the stalactites, and it creates an eerie mirror image on the water even though we can still see clear through the water to the bottom.
The tour lasts just over an hour, and it feels like an odd passage of time since we walked underground and now back into daylight. When I’m at my campsite for the night, I’m happy to settle down in the bus, which suddenly feels much cozier in comparison. I text a photo of the bus in tonight’s camping spot to Ethan, along with a few photos that I took in the caves.
Staying in Missouri for a couple of days, I send.
A few minutes later he responds. Proud of you, kid. Keep it up.
§
The Mark Twain National Forest isn’t the same as the Rocky Mountains, but it still has some trails to explore. I make a joke with Dylan that I went from hiking 14,000 feet to 1,700 feet. Taum Sauk Mountain is the highest point in Missouri at a whopping 1,772 feet. After exploring caves, I spend the next day exploring Mina Sauk Falls Trail, a loop that’s 2.9 miles and has 433 feet in elevation.
The goal for Taum Sauk Mountain is to spend the day anxiety-free, so the lesser physical challenge is a welcome change of pace. Wildflowers line the trail at the beginning, which makes for a beautiful hike. The trail is clearly marked and has plenty of rocks to make you feel like you’re working for the view. I chose this specific trail because of the waterfalls, which are beautiful, mainly because they’re different. They aren’t tall or wide. Instead, there are many small, narrow falls, with bits of running water that stream down through rocks. Together, they form one massive wall of water.
When I reach the summit, it’s a small patch of flat land with a view of rolling hills off in the distance. I pull out my phone and call Dylan’s number, as promised. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey,” he says, his voice making me smile.
“I’m at the summit,” I say.
I can almost picture him through the other end of the phone, the way the edges of his lips curl when he smiles. “How’s the view?”
“Just some rolling hills. Practically a flat field compared to what you’re used to, but it’s good. An easy hike,” I say, turning to take it all in as I talk to him. It’s still a good view in its own way. Everything feels open and free.
“No anxiety?” he asks.
“None. Not that my heart rate got high enough to break a sweat,” I tell him, smiling.
“Then come back here, and I’ll show you how to hike a real mountain,” he says, challenging again.
“Maybe,” I say, part-longing and part-sad.
“You’ll have to come back and hike another Fourteener eventually,” Dylan says. His voice is still playful, but the seriousness of his words is there.
“I will,” I tell him, dismissing the idea. “But first, I have to get off this little hill.”
“Don’t trip on the way down,” he says, laughing.
We hang up, and I start my descent, following the trail to complete the loop back to the parking lot. The trail is mostly uneventful, passing a couple people. I stop to take a few pictures of wildflowers as I go, trying to capture the minute details. Occasionally I find a flower that’s in the shadows, with the morning dew still sitting on the petals.
When I get back to the parking lot, I don’t see the broken window at first. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but when I get closer, the shattered glass is everywhere.
Small shards of glass are around the bus in tiny pieces, and the passenger window is just the frame, the window destroyed. I stand there, staring at it, my breath leaving my body. When I step forward, glass crunches under my feet, sounding too loud in the open parking lot. I pull my backpack off and take my phone out, my gaze never leaving the broken window. I look around, trying to see if anyone nearby could have done it, or maybe if there was someone who had seen what happened, but there isn’t a soul in sight. My body is trembling, and I fight to remain calm as I circle the bus.
I dial 911, desperately trying to find someone else in the parking lot despite knowing I’m alone.
“911, what’s your emergency?” a female voice says on the other line.
“I’m at the Mina Sauk Falls Trailhead parking lot. I just got back from my hike, and my car has been broken into. The window on the passenger door is shattered.”
The woman takes down my information and asks a few other questions, like how long I was gone on my hike and if I saw anyone near the bus. I answer quickly, still watching the area around me, searching for answers.
“There
will be someone there shortly to help you file a police report. Until then, I need you to take photos of the scene and make note of anything that has gone missing. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say. The woman gives me a few more words of encouragement before hanging up.
I pace around the bus before opening the doors to see if anything was stolen. My wallet is with me in my backpack, so that at least is a relief. I take photos as I work my way through the bus. The glove box is open, papers thrown everywhere. My registration is still there, and so is my proof of insurance, but I’m not sure if that means anything.
Every cabinet is open in the back of the bus. My sheets have been thrown on the floor, along with almost everything that was in the cabinets. I look under the seat where I hide my laptop, but it’s gone. I try to ignore the panic when I fail to find it and try to convince myself I must have forgotten to put it back.
“Miss, are you the one who called 911?” I hear a voice as I’m searching through my stuff.
I turn, and an officer is standing behind me in full uniform. “Yeah, that was me,” I say, stepping out of the bus.
“Did you take photos before searching through your things?”
I hold up my phone. “Yeah, I have a bunch on my phone.”
“We’ll need a record of those, and you’ll also want to send them to your insurance company. Have you noticed anything stolen in particular?”
I turn back to the bus, wondering how I’m supposed to keep track of anything when my entire life has been thrown to the ground.
“Um,” I say, leaning into the bus again. I push a few things around, but I’m not sure what I’m looking for. “I think my laptop might be gone, but I’d have to look more,” I say. I push a few more things aside, but still don’t find it. Where else could it be in such a small place?
“What kind of laptop?” the officer asks. I’m rolling my bed sheets into a ball, throwing them out into the parking lot with the broken glass while I look. My clothes are everywhere, and I push them out into the parking lot as well, searching.
“A MacBook Pro,” I say. It’s not here. I sit on the bench seat and try to quell the anxiety. I didn’t lose my photos. That’s what I keep telling myself. All my photos are backed up online, and I know that, but the panic continues to build. My laptop is gone. The only thing that has kept me sane on this trip is gone. The stupid piece of technology that I’m addicted to in order to fall asleep at night is gone.
I go through all my things while the officer continues to ask questions, and we begin the process of reporting my laptop as stolen. I take stock of every drawer and corner of the bus, but the only thing gone is my laptop. While the officer is in his car, I call my insurance and report the broken window, and after that, I search on my phone for the nearest repair shop.
The entire process takes a few hours, and after leaving the bus at a repair shop, I end up being dropped off by an Uber at a motel with a bag of my things. I get the cheapest room I can find, which ends up being a room that looks like it hasn’t been renovated since the ’70s. The walls are an orange floral pattern, and the furniture is designed to match with yellow and orange fabric. The bed sheets are white, seemingly the newest thing in the room, and they stand out in stark contrast to the rest of the decor. I drop my things on the floor, which are stuffed into my tiny carry-on suitcase I flew to Washington with. Once I’m across the room, I sit on the bed, curling my knees to my chest. I pull out my phone, the battery now at twenty percent. I dump out my suitcase until I find my charger buried in my clothes. Once the phone is plugged in, I dial Dylan’s number, feeling guilty as I do it. I know I should be calling Ethan or Gran, or some other family member, but I don’t want an adult to coach me through this. I don’t want to think about the fact that I need to call the insurance company again to give them a full copy of the police report.
“Hey, you back at your campsite?” he says when he picks up the phone.
I draw in a deep breath and try to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a moan that sounds like a cry.
“Marly, you okay? What happened?” The worry in his voice is instant. When I close my eyes, I can picture his face, the way his eyebrows would furrow, and how if he were here, he’d reach out for me.
“Someone broke into the bus,” I finally say. The tears come as a shock to me. When I was at the repair shop and talking to police, I was calm, maybe because the reality of the situation hadn’t hit me yet. Talking to Dylan makes it real and impossible to ignore.
“What?” Dylan says.
“When I got back from the hike, the window was broken, and they went through all my stuff,” I say, my words getting higher-pitched the longer I talk.
“Did you call the police?”
“Yeah. I filed a report and called the insurance. The bus is in a repair shop now, but they said it might take a while because they have to wait for the window to come in.”
“Where are you now?” He seems to relax the more details I give him, and I let that fact calm me as well.
“I had an Uber drop me off,” I say, trying to let myself relax.
“Do you feel safe where you are?”
I look around the room as he talks, and nothing about it feels right. It’s fine, of course. The bed is better than the one in the bus, and there are plenty of pillows. There’s no reason for the room not to feel safe.
“Yeah,” I say, lingering on the word.
“But?” Dylan asks, hearing my hesitance.
“I don’t want to be alone right now,” I say. It feels pathetic to say the words, but it’s the truth.
“Who have you called?” he asks in an even voice. I try to focus on that. If he’s calm, then I can be too.
“Besides the insurance and car people, just you,” I say, my voice a little shaky, but calming down.
“You haven’t called your family yet?” he asks. It’s a valid enough question, but I don’t want Ethan to have to drop everything for me, not after he’s already done so much.
In another life, I could have called my parents without hesitation. Even before I called the police, I would have called them. My mom would have coached me through calling the insurance company and my dad would have been standing next to me as I filed the police report.
“I wish my parents were here,” I say, my voice hitching up an octave again.
“I know,” Dylan says. “I wish I could be there to help somehow.”
His words make me want to cry and smile all at once. “Me too,” I say, shifting on the bed until I’m lying down with the phone held to my cheek.
“Did they take anything?” he asks.
“My laptop.”
“What about your camera and wallet?”
“I had them with me on the hike.” I glance over at suitcase that’s wide open, everything thrown on the floor. In the bus it felt like I had too many things, now it looks like so little.
“You did everything you were supposed to,” Dylan says, his voice soft.
“It doesn’t feel that way,” I say, trying to keep my voice even as I speak.
“No, you did. You called the police. You called the insurance, and you already have someone fixing the window.” His voice is reassuring as he speaks, and I try to let that comfort me.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I ask. I feel frozen.
“You wait until you get a call from the repair shop about the window being fixed, and then you get back out there.”
“I don’t want to drive the bus again,” I curl my legs toward my chest.
“But I think—”
“I think I know what’s best for me,” I say before he has a chance to finish his sentence. All I can remember now is how many times people thought the best thing for me was to drive the bus and go cross-country, but now my laptop is gone because of the bus. If I was back at the apartment, I’d be watching YouTube videos
on my laptop, not spending most of the day talking to the police.
“Just take a day or two to rest. Don’t make any decisions now, okay?” Dylan says, his voice more careful this time.
I sit in silence for a while before I agree. “Okay.”
Dylan stays on the phone with me for another hour, telling me about a project he’s working on for a client. I don’t know what he’s talking about most of the time, but I let myself relax into the sound of his voice and a chance to stay distracted.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks after we’ve been talking for over an hour.
“Yeah, I’m tired, though,” I say, lying on my side with the phone pressed to my cheek.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you want to take a nap,” he says.
“I might just watch TV until I fall asleep. It’s been a while since I’ve had a television, so I guess I’ll take advantage while I can.”
Dylan laughs a little, and it only makes me miss him more, which makes me want to kick myself. I should have called Lori instead. She’s the one I should have turned to.
“Okay, sounds like a plan. Call me if you need to, okay?” Dylan says.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a whisper.
“Talk to you soon,” he says.
“Talk to you soon,” I agree, and we both hang up.
The room feels lonely the instant Dylan’s voice is gone. I stay lying on the bed for a long time, staring off into the distance, not aware exactly of what I’m doing until I fall asleep at some point. When I wake up again, it’s dark, and I have a text message from Lori.
Daily check-in! How did the hike go?
I pick up my phone and type back a quick reply. Call you tomorrow. I’m too tired to repeat everything. After a long shower, I climb into bed, fully aware of how comfy the mattress is. I fall asleep quickly, trying to ignore the question that keeps surfacing in my mind. Now what?
Chapter 20
I don’t call Lori and tell her what happened until the next day. She’s a mix of scared for me and angry that I didn’t tell her right away.