The Other Side of Lost Page 11

  She stops then, and turns to face me. “Are you sure?” She looks concerned, but unsure of how to get around the wall I’m steadily putting up.

  I smile. “Positive. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  She nods without saying anything else, then turns and goes slowly around the next bend.

  I stay where I am, watching until I can’t see her anymore. After a moment, it’s just me in the middle of the trail, in the shadows of the forest.

  I exhale.

  Who am I kidding, letting her think that me being out here on this trail was ever part of my plan? I’m faking it all over again, trying to be something I’m not. Trying to be like Bri. What’s worse is that people seem to believe me and I don’t have the guts to set them straight and tell them the truth. That I’m only here by accident, fumbling my way through someone else’s plan.

  I sit down on a fallen tree just a few yards off the trail, and take my pack off. I’m too tired to cry, and the forest doesn’t care anyway. It sits silent and impassive, leaving me alone with all these things I don’t want to think about as company. Which is probably how it should be. I need to figure out how to separate myself from Vanessa and Josh and everyone else, since I can’t bring myself to be honest with them.

  Any joy or pride that I’ve felt over the last few days drains away, and the shade of the forest deepens as a cloud passes in front of the sun. High above me, a breeze moves through the treetops. I can feel a subtle shift in the air, and the sound of a twig snapping makes me jump.

  “Hey! There you are,” Josh says, coming around a corner. “You okay? We gotta move. Rain’s coming.”

  I look up through the trees at the now dark patches of sky.

  “Come on,” he says, a little out of breath. “We don’t wanna be anywhere near here if there’s lightning.”

  I don’t move at first, because I’m so surprised by the fact that I hadn’t ever considered what I would do if there were a storm—or the possibility that there could even be one in the middle of summer. Thunder rumbles from somewhere off in the distance, and Josh steps toward me.

  “Mari, we need to go. Now.”

  The urgency in his voice snaps me out of my moment of self-pity, and I get up and put my pack back on. I don’t want to, but just like with everything out here, I have no choice. I have to get up and go.

  We reach the top of the ridge just in time to see a sheet of rain hanging across the sky a short distance off. Lightning flashes, and I count the seconds in my mind, waiting for the thunder to follow. Josh picks up the pace when it does, a few seconds later. He glances back over his shoulder every few minutes as we start a gradual descent into a barren area that looks like an angry giant came through and knocked all the trees over like dominoes. There is nowhere to take shelter if the storm hits here, so making it through becomes our singular goal.

  I don’t see the rest of the group anywhere, which means they must’ve gone ahead. I’m a little surprised Vanessa did, but she must’ve sent Josh back for me, like I needed to be rescued or taken care of. I don’t like that feeling, but I’m glad he’s here. I keep an eye on the sky in front of us and force myself to match his pace so he doesn’t feel like he needs to slow down for me. I don’t want to be the anchor he’s dragging, especially when the rest of the group already went ahead.

  After a few steps, I catch up to him. “What do you think happened here?” I ask as we move fast through the surreal landscape of fallen trees.

  “A storm,” Josh says, above the rising wind. “A few years back.”

  I look over at the trees toppled like toothpicks across the hillside. “Must’ve been some storm.”

  “It was,” Josh says. “Hundred and twenty-five mile an hour winds came through here. Knocked down everything for miles.”

  We push on, and I imagine the angry winds sweeping over the area we’re now almost running through. Thunder and lightning and streaks of rain threaten from off in the distance, but it’s relatively calm here now. Almost beautiful, in an eerie way. Amid the dead limbs of the fallen trees, there are signs of life I didn’t see at first glance. Tiny bits of green that have begun to push their way up through the gnarled trunks and branches.

  New growth, after devastation.

  I wish I had time to stop and sit in the middle of this place, and soak up the feeling of it. But there’s a bright flicker above us, followed immediately by a huge boom that I feel in my chest. Josh and I look at each other, eyes wide as the first few drops of rain start to pelt the dirt around us.

  We don’t have any other choice but to run.

  Our backpacks bounce wildly as the full force of the storm hits, fierce and cold. Lightning flashes directly overhead and sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. Josh must feel it too, because he immediately picks up his pace. Together, we run—faster than I would’ve thought possible, over the flats, and down into a wide open valley. Racing the rain in the fading afternoon light.

  She’s Not Here

  WE SIT INSIDE the Mule House Café, soggy but ecstatic over the feast spread out on the table in front of us. Burgers, sandwiches, shakes, fries, sodas—you name it, we ordered it. The restaurant is packed with hikers seeking warm, hearty meals and refuge from the rain. The staff bustles around cheerfully, serving plates heaped with food that everyone inhales almost as quickly as it appears. A palpable energy dances around the tables of the tiny restaurant, and though we look bedraggled, we are a happy crew.

  I take a bite of a thick burger dripping with cheese then wash it down with a gulp of Coke, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I can’t eat fast enough, and it makes me feel like some sort of savage, but I don’t care. I look around the table, and we’re all inhaling our food, manners be damned.

  “You guys,” Beau says through a mouthful of cheeseburger, “this is the best goddamn thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Favorite hiking day yet,” Colin says.

  Jack sets his empty milk shake glass down and reaches for Vanessa’s. “Dude, that storm came out of nowhere. That was crazy.”

  “Hey,” she says, reaching for it back. “Not crazy enough for me to let you have my shake too. Here—try this instead.” She hands him a piece of pie and slides her chocolate shake back so it’s in front of her.

  Rain pounds on the windowpane next to us, and I watch the water stream down it, more thankful to be in here with them than pretty much anywhere in my life.

  “Man, I’m glad we’re here,” Josh says, like he can read my thoughts. “Can you imagine being stuck out there in that?”

  I take a sip of my own chocolate shake. “No. I would . . . I don’t even know what I would do.”

  Beau reaches for the ketchup bottle. “You’d find some damn shelter and pray you didn’t get struck by lightning, that’s what you’d do.”

  “And gear up,” Colin says. “You have rain stuff, right?” he asks.

  “I . . . um . . .” I don’t actually know. “Yeah. I think so,” I say, trying to sound confident.

  “What do you mean, you think so?” Vanessa asks with a laugh. “You packed some, didn’t you?”

  I play with a straw wrapper on the table. This is a chance to be honest. To tell them about Bri, and this being her backpack, and her trip—all of it. I can lay it out on the table right now, and feel better for telling them the truth. But when I look at their smiling, happy faces, I hesitate. I don’t want to make myself and my story the center of their attention.

  “I’m sure I did,” I say with more confidence. “I just don’t remember exactly where I put it. I was gonna go through my stuff later and find it. Make sure I can get to it easy next time.”

  “Speaking of later, anyone wanna pitch in for a cabin tonight so we don’t have to put our tents up in this crap?” Colin asks.

  Everyone but me balks.

  “Who even are you?” Vanessa asks with a laugh. Then she looks at me. “This guy is the cheapest bastard you’ll ever meet.”

  Colin grins. “I said pitch i
n. It’s not too bad if we all split it.”

  Vanessa whispers something to Jack that makes him laugh. “We’re good with our tent,” he says.

  Beau winks. “I bet you are. Especially after a shower.”

  She smacks him.

  “What? If I had a girl, and we got to get all cleaned up after a week of walking around steeped in hiker funk, that’s what I would—”

  “Can I get you kids anything else?” Our waitress looks around the table at all of us and smiles.

  Our meals have hit us, and we’ve all slowed down a little on the food. Everyone leans back in their chairs, bellies full and unaccustomed to so much food at once. Jack and Colin have the top buttons of their shorts undone.

  “I think we’re good here,” Josh says. “But where can we pick up our resupply packages?”

  “That’s gonna be just over there, in that building.” She points out the window through the rain, to a line of hikers outside a small redwood building.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure thing. You best get in line as soon as you can because the office closes at five today, no exceptions.”

  “Will do, thank you.”

  She tears our ticket off her book and slides it to the center of the table. “You kids take care. And get here early tomorrow if you wanna beat the breakfast crowd.”

  “We will,” Vanessa says, reaching for the check. “Thank you.”

  We decide to split the ticket between the six of us, since we all kind of ordered in a frenzy. Vanessa figures out the tip, and we throw our money in, then head out to get in line for our resupply packages.

  Outside, the air is cool and fresh, and the rain has turned into a slight drizzle. The line moves quicker than I expect it to, and soon we’re at the front of it. I watch as Jack and Vanessa, Colin and Beau each sign a log and claim their boxes like the prizes they are. Anticipation rises in my chest, and I can hardly believe I was thinking of quitting just a few hours ago. Josh gestures for me to step forward, up to the counter.

  “Thanks,” I say, trying to suppress a smile.

  “Hello,” the woman at the counter says. “Name, please?”

  “Mari Turner,” I answer without thinking.

  She scans the list in front of her. “I don’t see any Turner here. When did you send it?”

  “Oh—I didn’t send it, my cousin did. Maybe it’s under her name? Bri Young.” I start to get nervous as she scans the list again. Maybe Bri never got a chance to send the package.

  “Ah,” the woman says. “Bri Young.” She looks at me, and then over my shoulder. “I’m just going to need Bri, her ID, and signature to claim the package,” she says with a smile.

  My throat tightens. “She’s not here,” I say.

  The woman purses her lips. “Well, it’s her package, so she needs to be here to claim it. I’m sorry, but I can’t release it to you.”

  I try to keep my voice calm. Reasonable, even though it feels harder to breathe all of a sudden. “But I’m her hiking partner. Look.” I reach for the crinkled permit that I’ve kept in the front pocket of her pack since I started, and then smooth it out on the counter in front of the lady for her to examine. I point to my name. “See? Mari Turner. That’s me, right there. I can show you my ID too.” I take the pack off to dig out my wallet.

  “But your name isn’t on the package.”

  The others’ conversation trails off as they notice something is off, and I feel Vanessa step up next to me.

  “Could we maybe call her?” she asks politely. “She didn’t end up making the hike, and—”

  The lady takes a big breath and lets it out in a way that communicates her exasperation. “I guess that’d be all right,” she says.

  “I can’t call her,” I say, but they don’t hear me.

  “You can use my phone,” Vanessa offers.

  I shake my head. “I can’t call her,” I say.

  And then I take a deep breath and turn back to the lady behind the counter. “Please. I don’t have any way to get in touch with her, but I need this box.”

  “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I cannot give you another hiker’s box without her authorization. That’s the rules. No exceptions—except if you want to call her, or have her call us.”

  I pound my fist down on the counter between us. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I CAN’T CALL HER!”

  Everyone around us goes silent, just as shocked as I am.

  “Mari?” Vanessa says softly. She reaches a hand out. “It’s okay, we’ll figure something out.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s too late to avoid making a scene.

  I turn back to the woman behind the counter and speak as calmly as I can. “Bri Young is my cousin. And she’s not here because she’s dead.”

  The tears I’d been holding back burst forth.

  “Excuse me?” the woman says.

  “She died two months ago, training for this hike,” I say, my voice thick with tears. “And these are her boots I’m wearing, and her pack I’m carrying, and . . .” I dig in the front pocket for her journal, and when I find it, I hold it up so she can see. “And this says she was going to pick up her first resupply box here. So please. Can I please just do that? She’s not coming to get it.”

  I stand there a moment, breathing hard and wiping my eyes, and then the woman nods slowly. “Of course, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappears into a storeroom lined with shelves full of boxes and buckets. I stare straight ahead, silent. I can feel Vanessa’s and everyone else’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn around. I’m afraid of what I might see if I do.

  The woman comes back a few seconds later with a large box. “Here you are. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  I sign my name where Bri’s should be, then take the package in my arms. “Thank you,” I say softly.

  And then I turn to walk away and practically run into Vanessa and the rest of the group, who have now gathered behind me as well. They all wear the same stricken look on their faces, and I can tell no one knows what to say.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble as I push past them.

  Josh reaches his hand out to me. “Mari, wait.”

  “I can’t,” I say, brushing him off.

  “Let her go,” I hear Vanessa say, and they do.

  Remember to Look Up

  I SIT ALONE in my tent, pocketknife in my hand, staring at the box in front of me. My still-damp clothes cling to my skin, sending chills through me as the evening air cools. Outside the tent, I can hear the jovial voices of other hikers in nearby campsites. I strain a little for any voices that I recognize, but I don’t hear them. It’s probably best that way. They’re probably keeping their distance a few sites away, sitting around a campfire, talking about how they just dodged a bullet by letting me go off on my own.

  I open the tiny blade and put the point to the center of the packing tape where Bri’s name is written in the same handwriting that’s in her journal. I take a deep breath and tell myself that opening this box is what she would want me to do. That, if I want to keep going, I need what’s inside.

  The tip of the knife pierces the tape, and I drag it down the seam where the box flaps meet, then neatly slice through each end before I open the box. There’s a piece of notebook paper folded in half. On it are written the words: Note to Self. Beneath them, a swirly, smiley-faced sketch of the sun.

  I take the paper out, and though I feel a little guilty about it, open it up to read my cousin’s note to herself:

  Dear Future Trail Self,

  If you’re reading this, YOU MADE IT! First 60 miles. Probably wasn’t easy, but you’re here, and you deserve a treat and a hot shower!

  I hope the weather’s been good and that you’ve seen all of the sunrises and sunsets, and slept beneath the stars, and jumped in every lake you passed. I hope the blisters aren’t too bad, and that the dehydrated pasta sauce was good—that stuff was expensive.

&nb
sp; Mostly I hope you feel completely at home out here on the trail now. I hope that you remember to look up. NOTICE EVERYTHING. TAKE IT IN.

  Meet people and make friends but sit with yourself and your thoughts, and enjoy the alone time too. It’s what you came for. You’ll never be as free as you are right now, so soak it up. Next box Muir Trail Ranch. Until then, STAY WILD.

  Nothing but love,

  Bri

  P.S. Don’t forget to call Mom and check in.

  I sit there, holding the letter in my hands. Rain drips from the trees onto the tent in an uneven rhythm. And all I can think is that she should be here. She should be here, celebrating making it this far, and feeling proud about a trip full of freedom and adventure, and sunrises and sunsets. Swims in lakes. Sleeping under the stars.

  She would’ve done all of that. But it’s me who’s here instead.

  I’ve seen a few of the things she mentioned, those quiet moments where the days end or begin. Thanks to the friends I made, I’ve seen the night sky and the whole universe of stars. And I’ve certainly spent time alone with my thoughts. Maybe too much. But it seems I’m in for a lot more of that from this point forward after the scene I just made.

  I set the letter down and reach for the box. It’s filled to the brim, and my trail-mind now notes the weight of each item as I pull it out. On top is a fresh pair of socks, underwear, and a tank top. I press the clothes to my face and breathe in the smell of detergent that immediately reminds me of my aunt’s house. Beneath that there is a bag of more bandages and tape, a tube of Neosporin, small bottles containing shampoo and conditioner, soap, and a baggie full of ibuprofen tablets. I pause and swallow three right then, wishing I could share them with Vanessa before I keep going through the box.

  Beneath the toiletry layer are a few more basics: an extra set of waterproof matches, more Aquamira drops, wet wipes. Then comes the food, most of it familiar items—oatmeal packets, dried fruit, nuts, jerky, protein bars, peanut butter, pasta with packets of dehydrated sauce. The ever-present ramen noodles. But she threw in a few different items for variety too. There’s a box of mac and cheese, a few hot chocolate packets, even some tortillas and salsa. Of course there are the Snickers bars too. At the bottom of the box is an envelope with a twenty-dollar bill inside. I lay it all out on the sleeping bag feeling grateful, and overwhelmed, and a little undeserving of all this.