The High Road

April 27, 2017

I look over the edge and can just see the hem of her jacket next to the rock. “Samara, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Nothing. “I’m coming down, just lie still. Don’t try to sit up.” I knew I should have made her eat something… but forcing the issue would have just set a bad tone for the rest of the morning, and I wanted us to have fun today. I’m not known for holding back, but I’ve been conditioned over time to walk on eggshells around my daughter. Pick your battles, they say.

I slip off my pack, avoiding a pokey-looking cholla, grab a glucagon pen, a couple of glucose gel packs, and some peanut butter crackers. I slip the canteen across my shoulder as I look for a way off the trail that will lead to the ledge. The raw, scratchy sound of a cactus wren scolds nearby. I remind myself that I have to stay focused if I want to help her. I see some bushy growth and wrap my fist around it, lowering myself slowly. It holds.

“I told Daddy we’d be back in time for dinner, but we may have to push that back a bit. He and Aaron can start without us or wait in the lodge and play video games. Can you hear me, Honey?” I try to keep my voice steady, despite my dry mouth. I hear a bit of a rustle below… “Don’t move, Babe, you’re on a tricky outcropping, and I don’t want you to slide down any further.” I also don’t want her antagonizing any rattlers who may be under those rocks.

Howard is going to be furious. Before we left he was already harping about making sure Sam stayed hydrated. “Don’t let her run the show, Ruthie. You let her walk all over you. Make her eat and drink and listen to you. You’re in charge. You’re the grown-up.” As though she were still a compliant four-year-old, eager to please.

I feel for footing and find a rocky mound. I place some weight on my right foot, but my balance shifts, and I start to slide as some of the rocks bounce down into the gorge. My gorge rises with their fall. I hold on and breathe through my nose, willing the nausea to pass. My vision clears, and I find a small shrub to stand on. I have no idea how I’m going to get us out of here and back to the trail. I briefly wonder if my cell even gets a signal out here.

I had wanted today to be a childhood postcard that Samara could pull out and relive with pleasure and a sense of accomplishment, a happy time we had shared to balance out the bad. I never anticipated an adrenaline-washed scenario like this. Not a born adventurer, I usually stick to the well marked trails. “Can you hear me, Sammy? I’m on my way down. I’m coming.”

“Yeah. I’m okay, Mom. But my ankle hurts like hell. I think it’s twisted. Or maybe even broken.” I can just see her face now, too pale and damp. She’s pulled herself up a bit and is leaning against the mountain supported by a creosote bush. I fear my relief will be short lived.

© 2017 Joan Cichon   All Rights Reserved