"Pinch grip to your left then slide your right foot against the crack about eight inches straight up." he called, as I clung to the side of the rock wishing he hadn't sent me up first. As always, I trusted him, and my hand and foot found just the right spots. I planted the last lead and took a bunch of easy grips up to the top. A second later Garret flew up and over behind me, like the wall was made of stair steps instead of an exhausting grade 5.12 face. As Garrett pulled up the satchel of camping supplies, I looked down and out where we had just come from. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the red, orange and yellows of the setting sun over the treetops in the distance. I relaxed into a feeling of peace that only comes from physical exhaustion in the outdoors. I could never get enough of the sublime beauty of the natural world.
"We better get the tent pitched and dinner going before we lose the light," he said as he handed me a Mango and Jackfruit jerky stick.
"One more minute, I just want to soak in the gorgeous world,” I said knowing I was being overly dramatic, and he would call me out on it.
He laughed looking at me, and teased “I’m in, all we’ll do is look at the gorgeous world, we’ll be cold and hungry tonight, and too exhausted to climb down tomorrow. Of course, that means you’ll miss your chance to present your science project “How heat prevents mating of the Hickory Tussock Moth”, like anyone can get excited about bugs doing it, anyway.”
He was laughing, but I took my science deadly serious. I thought about how I was sure more animals like my moth wouldn’t survive climate change; and how these hills would wither and die in the years to come. As I turned to help pitch camp, I silently vowed to change the world so we could have this wonder for generations.
Tory and I had been scrambling up rocks since the first day I moved to eastern Kentucky. I was 10 and soft from living in the big city of Lexington, Kentucky. She had walked up to the moving truck where I was carrying one of the last boxes for my room and asked if I wanted a neighborhood tour. It turned out Tory does not consider a neighborhood to be schools and grocery stores, libraries and houses. To her, the neighborhood was through trees, across streams and up foothills. When I returned home that day, my parents looked at my muddy shoes and dirt-smeared face and sent me to the shower before dinner. Soon I was jumping and climbing faster than Tory herself. She may have introduced me to these woods, but I made them home.
Years went by, and we were inseparable. Somedays we would swim across the river helping each other along the way. Other days we would throw each other in, jumping in after to follow up with a dunk. We were just as likely to race up the hiking paths competing to be the fastest as we were to build a hammock to share on a lazy afternoon. So much changed, the last day of summer when we were 13. We were bouldering, and she lost her footing and slid down the rock onto me. Soft. Girl. Parts. Her butt knocked me back, and I grabbed forward to control our fall wrapping my arms around her breasts. She grew breasts. I learned two things that day. I will always go second up a climb, and hope I get to catch her if she falls. I will follow Tory anywhere.
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At 16, we have freedom to camp overnight away from our homes. Our parents are so used to us being together they don’t even blink an eye. I eat dinner at Tory’s half the days of the week. We escape our homes for the outdoors nearly every weekend.
As I looked up giving her suggestions, I also took the time to enjoy the view. Man, she has a great butt, strong and round. She has great long legs that stretch out to reach the rock ledges. She can do nearly a split in the air wedging her weight against opposing walls. I have so many fantasies that involve her legs wrapped around me. I know for sure I could live a happy life wandering the world with her wrapped around me, like a book bag.
As I convince Tory to stop gawking at the scenery and help me pitch camp, I think about the science fair and school tomorrow. We are in all the same classes. In a small town in Kentucky, there actually is only one class of kids per grade. I do fine, make A’s and B’s and don’t care too much. Tory is too good for the school, acing every class and doing extra projects. None of the teachers ask for these projects and they don’t particularly want to grade them. Most teachers can’t resist Tory though, so they mentor and review and help her despite themselves. She is crazy passionate about science. It is of course like the rest of her: crazy attractive. I like to pick at her just to see the madness in her eyes as she cries out about injustice and the mating life of moths. I love to hear her descriptions of mating moths. It shouldn’t make me hot, but it does.
I grab the low impact stove, white gas bottle, water, pot and other things I need to make dinner while Garret sets up the lightweight tent, air mattresses, sleeping bags and pillows for the night. His preparations take about 5 minutes, while getting water to boil on the tiny stove is sure to take an hour. He’ll also take care to secure and store the climbing equipment, hang the ropes for a bear bag, and best of all he’ll clean the pot after dinner. I on the other hand, get to sit in one place, boiling water, cutting onions, peppers and squash to cook with beans and rice. As the sun dips under the horizon, a buffet of stars twinkles into sight. It is a moonless night, so all I can see now are points of light. Garrett with his headlamp, the stove burning, and the stars.
Garret sits down across from me tossing me my beanie with a light sewn into it. “Use a light before you burn yourself”, he says muttering under his breath about people who don’t know what’s good for them.
When it’s ready we grab our sporks and eat together from the pot. It’s just the two of us and the fewer dishes the better. Just as Garrett is cleaning up, clouds roll in to cover the stars. I rush to hang the bear bag, which is setup at the first set of trees about 100 yards downhill from our camp; and we duck into the tent just as the first few drops of rain fall.
We hear the thunder crash almost simultaneously with the lightning, so we squat in the lightning position inside the tent feeling exposed up here on the cliff above the tree line. We should have picked a better campsite location. I chastise myself for being lazy and enjoying the view. After a tense few minutes, the lightning moves off, but it is followed by hail hitting the tent and gusts of wind blowing hard against the walls. We zip our sleeping bags to each other to make a wider cocoon so we can huddle together and share our warmth waiting for the storm to pass or tear our tent apart. The energy of the storm has my blood rushing and my heart thrumming. I can feel Garrett’s heart racing as well. I look to him, trying to think of something to say to cut the tension. He looks back at me with intense dilated eyes, ducks his head toward me and his lips meet mine. Oh. Oh. OH! Garrett is a boy. He is so many things: strong, healthy, smart, hard-working. But mostly right now he is a boy. His lips feel soft but firm, blood rushes to my head. I feel his lips through a haze as I see stars inside the tent. I think: ‘that can’t be right’, for a split second before I tumble forward onto those lips into darkness.
