A Sheltering Wind

I teetered off the face of a mountain, and I wasn’t afraid to fall.

No tragic endings, or flirtations with danger.

Just a gentle, well-timed release, and a reward better than the majestic view, glittering with possibility and grace.

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Beads of sweat from the late October sun trickled from under my cap. Gear on my back, my hips and calves in flames, I lagged a bit, unable to tear my gaze away from tiny clusters of Bellflower, its periwinkle blooms the remnants of a too-brief summer.

“Hey, Georgia! You still with us?” Marcelo stepped aside as the group filed past. Snatches of whispers floated on the breeze.

“Yeah.” I exhaled and pressed my elbows onto my knees. “Just need a minute here.”

“Is this the first time you’ve been here since…” He crouched beside me, a glint in his warm brown eyes I barely met.

I nodded, and the pendant’s stone clanged against the vessel stuffed in my pack’s pocket. “It’s more beautiful this morning than I remembered.”

The breeze cooled my nose and parched lips, like a whispery breath before a kiss. “I get it, but don’t stay here too long, G.”

I tapped the toe of my boot on a small boulder. “After I start up again, I’m gonna go up a little higher, to Kelsey Peak. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, two tops. I’ll be just above the camp.”

Marcelo shook a curl loose from his forehead.“I wouldn’t advise it, G. But, this isn’t your first rodeo.” He winked and slid a protein bar in my hand. “I know you’ve got this, but the minute anything changes, start down. No pushing it. Deal?”

“Deal.” One I had no intention of keeping.

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The spot on my heel pulsed, but I didn’t stop. Grit scratched the corners of my lids. I shuddered when a shadow crawled across the rock and tugged my jacket tighter.

Too far up to turn back, I fixated on the flag atop the next peak, tattered and upright, a whispered challenge in the wind. Pain tap-danced across my knee, and I gnawed my cheek until copper mixed with silt in my mouth.

Four steps, three, now two.

Almost there.

Then, another gale blew and dropped fat raindrops onto the ground. My boot skittered over a rock, and I bashed my nose against a boulder, right on the edge of the peak.

Shit.

I sniffed and mopped rivulets of crimson from my upper lip. My ankle throbbed against the inside of my boot and outpaced my knee pain

An ombre of pale violet and brilliant tangerine stretched across the horizon. I dragged myself toward the rock, but I needed to get just below the yellow flag for my device to send a signal.

I inhaled and sank my elbows into the dirt. My stomach swooped, and bile nipped at my throat. Slivers of agony shattered across my shoulder blades and thighs as I clawed with mud-caked nails and slithered to skirt the larger rocks in my path.

A chill raced down my spine, fiercer than the wind.

It wasn’t your fault, Georgia.

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“Hey, G, what’s shaped by wind, older than time, and a guardian of trails where explorers climb?”

“What? I don’t know, a rock wall?”

“What? How? A wall isn’t shaped by wind? What are you on, Georgia?”

“Damn, Bea, I’m not on anything. Just tell me!”

“A mountain ridge.”

“How?”

“Because it’s the part between two peaks. You gotta use the ridge to get higher or lower. Also, the ridge is your friend. You can rest there.”

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My eyes slipped shut.

The peace I craved didn’t wash over me, and I was losing feeling in my calves, the only uninjured part of my lower body.

Maybe I should just wait here, hidden from predators. Or, maybe they were already in place, ready to strike.

I looked up, and the horizon appeared, painted in a deep burgundy violet. Was that a fair or stormy weather sign I'd read about it in one of her almanacs?

Tears drifted down my cheeks.

I can’t do this, Bea. I just wanna stop, forever.

But..

There’d be no more climbs, no more breeze on my face at dawn.

No more memories…

Keep moving, Georgia. Now.

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“OK, but can you get this one? ‘I whisper around peaks, howl through canyons, but you can’t see or touch me? What am I?’”

“What? Let’s just get down from here, it’s getting darker and I’m cold, so why don’t you save the jokes for la-”

“AHHH! G, help me, I can’t-”

“Ha, ha. Joke’s on me, let’s go. Bea, just come down.”

“Georgia! I can’t hold on!”

“What? Bea, honey, I’ve got you. Hang on!”

“I can’t. It’s OK, just go.”

“Nooo! I can’t lose you, hang on!!”

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Why didn’t you wait? Why did you let go, Bea?

Why should I hang on?

I want to let go, too, of nightmares and tears on my pillow.

Because I couldn’t help the one person who’d do anything to save me now.

You have to save yourself now, Georgia. It’s the only way.

But I can’t.

Find your center and stay low, but never stop. Movement is life.

I summoned every bit of strength in my core, built with crunches and planks we’d do, every morning, for moments just like this.

Then, my thighs joined the tortured dance, out, then up. My pack bounced and threatened to split my lower back in half. I passed the flowers and a flattened Shasta lily—a survivor.

But why didn’t you hang on? You were meant to be here with me, Bea.

I’m still with you. Always.

When the camp flag appeared, I breathed in the sweeping gust, sweet and crisp like her lavender scent.

I lifted a shoulder, then an arm. Help me, Bea.

Look up and trust that you’re strong enough. If you must look back, know that we conquered everything together, because you always walked toward the light.

Stand up, Georgia. Walk toward the light.

I braced myself against the wind and lifted the urn, resplendent in the waning beams.

Then I released it all, a prayer on my lips. Thank you for loving me. Keep her in the palm of your hand, in perfect peace.

I didn’t fall or let go, because I owed her that, and so much more.