The sun slowly draws out the colors of the Grand Canyon. Reds, oranges, and purple shades blend and reflect back combinations of untold stories. The mile long vertical drop holds animals undiscovered, vegetation left unnamed, and people whose memories are left clinging to missing person’s signs. The view is vast, the air is still, and all is so perfectly beautiful. I breathe it in and let it fill me, hoping to carry pieces of it forever. Tracking up in April’s midday sun is a blessing. The air is cool, the sun beats on my face, and the world is my playground. Kim and Joe bounce from rock to rock, dodging mounds of donkey droppings. I feel light and giddy, like when my dad used to push me on the tire swinging our backyard. The world is vast and open around me, and I am free.
As we near our first of many mini peaks, the wind begins to sway us. Clouds roll in and rapidly the canyon disappears, hiding underneath a thick blanket of white fog. We pick up the pace, but nature does too. A cool mist begins to spray my face. My hair begins to curl. Rain falls heavily, pulling me down as I fight the incline. On our descent we skipped down the path, jumping from one step to the next. Now, I hug the mountain side, feeling every corner of my foot press sturdily into mud. Any skid could land me in the pit of the canyon, just one misplaced step and I might never make it home. It’s exciting! There’s a rush over me that fuels my need to survive. My senses are heightened and despite my 40lb bag, I am agile.
Hail. Hail starts to prick our skin with it’s sharp edges pressing through our jackets. The temperature is dropping drastically as we move upward, and my hands and toes are numb. I tire from the weight mother nature has thrown on me, and I’m panting. I know I'm out of breath because I can see it in a small cloud forming in front of me with every exhale. It is cold and it is snowing.
I wear a coat of white at the top of the South Kaibob trail, and it blends perfectly with my complexion. We’re ecstatic. We made it! We’re safe on solid ground! Kim and I are shivering, convulsing almost. I can hear my teeth chattering and feel my core vibrating uncontrollably. As we hop on the bus Kim reflects a shade of blue, and I a yellowish green. We strip off our wet clothes, transitioning to new dry clothes from inside our packs My head hurts, my eyes, I feel dizzy. I start eating nervously; a protein bar, cliff bar, chocolate, a whole bag of jerky. I need the energy, without it I might never warm up. Joe is cold, but not like us. He wraps himself around us, transferring his body heat to me and Kim. No one says anything. I hear Kim’s teeth colliding and hope they don’t break. I lose the erratic rhythm of my breath. There are other people on the bus headed to the Visitor’s Center, but I can’t see them and wouldn’t turn to if I could.
Joe beings to sing Hallelujah in this raspy, blues-like voice. “Once there was a God above, and all I ever learned from love…” I don’t think he fully knows the words, but the sound is soothing and there is beauty again in a moment hopelessness. It caries me away from my soft, wet seat, from the gray, meek bus, from my frail and freezing body, all the way home. To my parent’s bed. To my mother, who radiates heat when I lay next to her. This tiny woman floating in my father’s tank top and summer shorts, curled up and sinking into the pit of their queen size bed. She rolls up so tight, like Albert when he used to hide in the dryer. She’s the size of a child but this heat seeps out of her and forms a forcefield around me. It’s a shield I hide under when the winter chills pierce my bones. It wraps around me and could block out any force of nature, any gunman, any bad dream or thought. I can feel her soft, clammy hands pulling me closer. I remember her chest lifting and dropping against my back, and I know we are still connected. My shoulders drop, my jaw stops moving, and finally, I can relax. I’m not going to die, not today. I let go of my anxieties and physical anguish because I know that one day, maybe not soon, but one day I will be there again with my mother, warm and protected on my safe little corner of the bed.
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