Meet Me at the Summit

by Mandi Lynn

  “I have an idea,” Dylan says.

  I twist around to face him, the apprehension in his eyes clear.

  I can feel my face drop in response, already dreading what he’s going to say.

  “I think you need to do the last part yourself. It’s always been you and your dad. And I want to be here with you again to do this hike next year, but if I’m not, I want to know you’ll still be here doing it on your own.”

  His words slam against me like a wall.

  “You’re not coming?” I ask, my voice a whisper. Dylan has been my crutch this entire trip. He’s the reason I’ve made it this far, so why is he giving up on me now?

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Dylan says. He hugs me, whispering so I’m the only one who can hear, “I’ll wake up with you, make sure you have your food and water, but you’re going to leave alone. You’re going to get to the summit. You’re going to see you can do it all alone.” Dylan pulls away just far enough to look at my face. “You need to do this so you can see what I see. You’re going to see how brave and strong you are, okay?”

  I stare back at him, not comprehending at first. For so long, I have avoided the thought of this hike. I didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to get to the top and not see my dad standing beside me. But now I can see it. I can picture myself there at the summit, standing in the bright morning colors, lost in a solitude I never asked for.

  “I don’t think I can,” I say, looking up at Dylan and silently begging him to change his mind.

  “Do you have your headlamp?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Your GPS, map, and compass?”

  I nod again.

  “And you’ve hiked this same exact trail too many times to count?”

  I nod again, a nervous, sad laugh coming from my lips.

  “I know you can do it.”

  When I look at him, I see how much he believes that his words are true. I want to prove to him that he’s right, but the anxiety is lurking in the corners of my mind, just waiting to fracture, and I fear that eruption will come when Dylan isn’t there.

  “I’ll be right behind you. I’ll meet you at the summit, okay?”

  I blink, pushing the tears away. “Okay,” I finally answer.

  Chapter 30

  The sky is black when I wake up. Dylan slept in the bunk above me, but he’s whispering in my ear when I open my eyes.

  “Marly, wake up.”

  I turn over, and on the other side of the room, I see a tiny flashlight and other whispers as another group of hikers sneak out to catch the sunrise without waking anyone up.

  “Your bag is all packed and ready. Leave your sleeping bag here. I’ll carry it,” Dylan says. He grabs my hand, helps me out of bed, and ushers me out of the room. Once we’re out of the sleeping area, there are lights in the main dining space as other hikers talk quietly, eat snacks, and check their gear before they head out.

  I walk in a fog, my brain not fully awake yet. Dylan hands me my hiking boots, and I slip them on.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping into the bathroom to wash my face. The water helps spur my mind, but part of me is thankful for the fog that still lingers. I let that distract me.

  When I walk back into the dining area, Dylan is sitting at my dad’s table, backpack propped up next to him. He hears me coming and turns, a smile on his face like he thought I would sneak out one of the bathroom windows.

  “You ready?” he says, handing me my backpack. I throw it over my shoulder and clip myself in. Dylan reaches into his pocket and pulls out my headlamp. I take it, slipping it over my forehead.

  “Meet me at the summit?” I ask.

  “I will,” he says, leaning down to kiss me quickly. “When you get to the summit, open the small, top pocket of your backpack.” He pats the spot on my bag. “But not until you get there.”

  “Okay,” I say, too tired to think about it much.

  Dylan walks me out the door, and I zip my coat up for warmth. It’s not windy today, at least not yet, which feels like a small stroke of luck.

  “Be safe,” he says, my mom’s words mirrored in his voice.

  I stare back at him, my mind much too awake already. I nod and try to smile. “I will be,” I whisper, saying the same thing I always told my mom as I walked out the door.

  I turn away from the hut and flip my headlamp on as I start walking into the darkness. I promise myself I won’t look back, and I don’t. Instead, I focus on the trail in front of me. Off in the distance, two other headlamps bob up and down, which I assume are other hikers. I use them as a beacon of where to go even though I could find the trail even without my headlamp.

  Hiking the alpine zone in the morning darkness is a different level of quiet, similar only to the experience you get when hiking in the snow, where every sound is dampened. There are stars in the night sky still visible even though the sun will be saying good morning soon.

  The secret to this hike is to never stop moving. When I hike with others, even Dylan, we always stop to catch our breaths. But I don’t stop today. I keep my feet moving, always watching for the rocky terrain of Mount Washington. It’s easier to hike such a familiar trail in the dark. It makes it less known, and it feels like I get to rediscover the trail again.

  I have no one to talk to on the hike, only my thoughts to propel me onward. It’s an odd sort of thing, navigating through the blindness. I let my instincts kick in, guiding me forward. I’m aware of the anxiety that’s creeping in, but I don’t let it overpower me. It’s there, just waiting. I don’t think about what I’m doing, or where I am. I just walk forward.

  One mile is all I have to hike, and I’m both powerful and powerless, doubt and confidence competing for my attention.

  Forty minutes later, I reach the summit. Once the observatory is within sight, I start running, as the sky begins to lighten. It’s windy enough to push loose hairs into my face, but the wind is tame compared to how it can be sometimes. By some miracle, there aren’t any clouds at the summit, a rarity in itself. I walk to the eastern point of Mount Washington, past the observatory building. There are picnic tables located at the end of the concrete slab that mark the end of the “touristy” area of Mount Washington. It’s where humanity’s impact ends and the rocky terrain begins again, with more hiking trails off into the distance.

  I choose one of the picnic tables tucked up against the building, guarding me against the wind, making it the perfect spot to watch the sunrise. I open my backpack and pull out my camera, as well as another jacket. I had almost forgotten what Dylan said until I feel something I don’t remember packing as I’m zipping my bag closed. I pull the pocket open and find a rectangular, flat box, as well as a very small bottle of bubbles.

  The box is filled with old family photos. Most of them are from my parents’ photo albums that Dylan had taken, but the one sitting on top is me and my dad standing at the Mount Washington summit sign. The photo looks like it’s been folded over, and one of the corners is ripped from when I tore it down in my room. Dylan must have found it.

  I flip through all the photos. There’s one from my prom where I’m wearing a neon pink dress that I thought was gorgeous at the time, but now just looks gaudy. My parents are standing on either side of me, their arms wrapped around me. There’s another photo of me holding up gingerbread houses we’d made from scratch. Because they were made from scratch, they were warped and lopsided, but they also tasted amazing. My mom had taught me the recipe and promised we’d do them again the next year.

  There’s a photo from my high school graduation. I’m not sure who took the photo, but both my parents are smiling at each other, ear to ear, unaware that the photo is being taken. It’s the type of smile I wish I could see now.

  Dylan crammed a lot into the small cardboard box, and I flip through every photo, focusing more on the ones from recent
years. Most of the photos are from the past three years or so. We’d done a lot of things together, knowing I was moving out. My mom was a little over the top with capturing the moments because of that. At the time, I was annoyed. It was my senior year of high school, and my mom was being clingier than ever. She wanted to do paint night, shopping, and all sorts of activities that I’d wanted to do with my high school friends instead. It felt silly at the time, but I get it now.

  I find a photo of the three of us from a vacation we took a couple years ago. We’re standing on some rocky beach with the ocean waves splashing in the background. It was my mom’s favorite photo of us, and she’d gotten it printed to hang in the living room.

  I tuck the photos back into my bag before the wind has a chance to take them away.

  The tiny bottle of bubbles is sitting in my lap, and I clutch it, remembering every summer that my dad and I blew bubbles at this summit, a way of saying goodbye to summer. I’m shocked Dylan remembered. I unscrew the cap and pull out the wand attached to the underside. With one slow, strong breath, I blow a set of bubbles, watching them float away and pop against the wind. The moment the last bubble disappears, it feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest, and I want to cry in relief.

  The sun is here now, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m tired, or sad, or because the view is so beautiful, but I let myself cry. Not the paralyzing sobs I’m used to, but quiet, healing tears. I watch the sun rise over the mountains, hugging my arms around myself, the bottle still clutched in my palm.

  In the quiet awakening of the morning, between the whispers of the wind, I can imagine just for a moment that both my parents are there with me. I can imagine my mom sitting beside me, bundled up in layers of jackets trying to stay warm, her eyes open in wonder, seeing the views that my dad and I have spent most of our lives chasing. And then there’s my dad, walking up the hiking trail, laughing when the summit comes into view because we did it again. We conquered another trail.

  I feel like they’re here with me, and I’ve found them again after all this time. I revel in the moment, letting the rays of the sun warm my face.

  “Good morning.” I hear Dylan’s voice, so soft I’m not even sure he’s there. I glance over, and he’s walking toward me, hiking backpack still on. I push myself up, still holding the bubbles, and I run to him. “Did you think I was going to miss the sunrise after all that?” he says, holding me.

  His laugh is a low, familiar comfort. I turn my face toward the sunrise while I hold on to him, and he does the same. We both stand in the morning air, watching as the mountains come alive again. Dylan runs his hands through my hair and over my cheeks, wiping lingering tears away.

  “You did it,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

  “Thank you,” I say, pulling back so I can look at his face, glowing in the sunlight.

  He smiles down at me. “It was all you,” he says, pulling me into a kiss as I smile against his lips. He breaks away and follows me to the table I had been sitting at. We watch the sunrise, and I take photos while Dylan soaks in the moment beside me. I put the camera down and reach for the pile of photos that I had stuffed into my bag. I pull out the photo of me and my dad on Washington.

  “Did you know this was from last year?” I ask, showing Dylan the photo.

  “I figured it was recent. You look exactly the same,” he says, running his fingers through a strand of my hair.

  “It’s the most recent photo I have of my dad. We have another photo of my mom that was a couple of days before she died, but this was the last photo we took of my dad,” I say. My dad’s hair is graying at his temples in the photo, his hairline receding. Not that you’d be able to tell his age from that. He could still out-hike me any day.

  “Doing the thing he loved with someone he loved,” Dylan says, looking at the photo.

  I nod and put the photos back into the box. I place it in my bag and turn back to Dylan.

  “Thank you,” I say again, looking at Dylan, trying to put to words the feelings that are stirring around inside me.

  “I told you—”

  I interrupt, putting my hand to his chest. “It wasn’t me,” I say. I let my gaze linger on my hand resting against his chest. Dylan puts his fingers over mine, holding me there. “I gave myself a million reasons to quit, and I was also content to avoid this hike for as long as possible.” I draw in in a breath and let the air out again, the movement shaky.

  “I wasn’t happy before,” I continue. “And I had decided that was how it was going to be for me, and I was okay with that. You’ve seen me at my worst, and for some reason, you chose to stick around and…” I glance off, and the sun is above the horizon now, reaching up and over to the sky above.

  Dylan removes his hand from over mine, only to use it to guide my face back to his. He kisses me, his touch light against my lips, and pulls away, only leaving an inch of distance between us.

  “There’s one more thing we need to do,” he says. When I don’t respond, he gets up, offering a hand as he helps me up, grabbing my camera. “We’ll be back in a second. Leave the bags here,” he says.

  He’s practically running up the stairs that lead back to the observatory building. He bypasses it and goes all the way up toward the true summit of Washington, where the elevation sign is sitting in a pile of rocks. In the summer, there’s normally a long line of tourists and hikers waiting to take their photo at the sign, but the early hour means it’s just us.

  I attempt to prop the camera up on a rock, zooming in on the sign as Dylan and I pose in front of it. After the photo of the two of us, Dylan takes the camera, directing me to stand by myself. I smile, standing in the same place I do every summer, but this time there’s an empty space to my right. It’s a bittersweet moment, standing there without my dad, but for the first time in a long time, I feel more alive than I ever have.

  Epilogue

  “What about Journey Photography?” Lori says.

  I raise an eyebrow and shake my head at her suggestion. “Way too cheesy.”

  We’re sitting at the dining room table of our apartment, trying to brainstorm names for my new photography business. Though to call it a business is very generous since I plan on doing this as a side-gig until I have a better plan. Two weeks after hiking Mount Washington, Dylan went home to celebrate his sister’s birthday. Before he left, he was living out of the bus parked outside of my apartment. I offered the couch, but the bus bed is comfier. Since he’s left, we’ve talked every day, living in the limbo of a long-distance relationship. We could both move, and we could both travel, but neither of us bring it up in conversation.

  So, I’m starting my photography business. The hope is that it might become a main source of income, but for now it’s money I can make in my free time. And I have a lot of free time. Eight job applications later, and I’m still sitting at the apartment.

  “Come on. It’d be fun to come up with a name that goes along with the bus. What a cool story to tell!” Lori has a notebook open in front of her, with a list of all her name ideas written out.

  “Normally people just name their photography business after themselves,” I say. Price Photography would have been an option since it’s my last name, but Price makes me sound expensive.

  “Marly, you gotta have a little fun with the name,” Lori says.

  I’m writing down random words that have to do with photography, trying to play around with the order, when my phone goes off. I reach across the table and grab it.

  “Hello?” I ask, crossing off another name idea as I hold the phone to my cheek.

  “Hi, this is Riley from the Snapshot Café. Is Marly Price available?”

  My head perks up as soon as I hear the voice on the other end of the line, and I put my pen down. Lori watches me as I get up from the table.

  “Yes, speaking,” I say, pacing the living room.

  “Hi
, Marly, we spoke a couple weeks ago when you dropped off your photo. I just wanted to let you know your print sold. I didn’t have an address on file to mail the check, so I wanted to call to see where you wanted it to go. Or you can pick it up in person,” Riley says.

  “Who is it?” Lori says, getting up to follow me where I’m pacing in the living room.

  “That café I was telling you about,” I whisper, holding my phone away from my face. Lori’s face lights up, and she scoots closer to listen. “Oh yeah, I was traveling a lot at the time, but I’ll give you the address to my apartment,” I say.

  “Okay, and just so you know, the owners loved your work, and they wanted me to tell you you’re welcome to bring more prints by if you are interested in selling more.”

  “Oh my God!” Lori whispers, her face just a few inches from mine. “You should do it!”

  I pull the phone away again. “You have to deliver it in person.”

  Lori drops her gaze, and she takes a few steps back.

  “Hello?” Riley’s voice says on the other end of the line.

  I pull the phone back to my cheek. “Hi, sorry, I just need a minute,” I say.

  Lori glances up. “What?”

  I pace in front of the window, putting the phone on mute, hoping Riley won’t hang up on me. “What if I went back to Colorado?” I ask, pointing out the window.

  The VW bus sits in the parking lot, a bright teal highlight among the cars. It hasn’t moved from its spot since I dropped Dylan off at the airport. I had texted Ethan when I got back, letting him know he could come pick it up again when he was ready, but he told me to keep it.

  It belonged to your mom, Ethan had texted.

  The paperwork was filed a few days ago, and it’s officially registered in my name now. Ethan didn’t say anything, but it was clear he hoped I’d take it out again. When I told Dylan I owned the bus, he was excited, but he didn’t ask what I planned to do with it.