Page 15 of A Summer to Save Us

River’s gaze lingers on the words. “Aren’t we all on the run from something?” He jumps off forcefully and lands in front of me, frowning. Only the line at knee height separates us. “What do you think? That I’ll suddenly turn into Ted Bundy? Seriously?”

I turn away, then realize how stupid I’m acting. When I turn back, his arms are crossed over his chest, and his lips are pressed together. I force myself not to look away, which is difficult because his deep, dark eyes shimmer in the morning light, and I’m not used to direct eye contact.

At some point in the middle of the stare-off, he shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll tell you something about me once you’ve stepped onto the line.” He raises the corner of his mouth in a conciliatory manner.

I raise my shoulders. I don’t know.

He uncrosses his arms. “Slacklining is freedom, Tucks,” he says quietly, saying Tucks as softly as a pet name for a lover.

I’m getting hot. We stare at each other again, but it’s no longer a duel. I’ve lost my mind in the world of lovers . Why I am thinking about Rumi’s words now, of all times, is a mystery to me.

River clears his throat. “This here, this line, is just the beginning. On a highline, over half a mile above the ground, everything loses its meaning. It’s more than you can ever imagine.

Heart palpitations. Wind and fear. Sweaty hands.

An adrenaline rush, absolute concentration.

Once you’ve been up there... you feel as if you had just been sleeping and woke up at that moment.

” Something like longing colors his words, and I can almost feel the gusts on my skin and see the boundless depth.

He comes another step toward me, standing directly next to the slackline.

“Some time ago, slacklining gave me stability. It helps you re-center when you lose yourself.”

We look at each other again. I want to swallow but can’t. He is so close to me. All I can do is stare.

Suddenly, he jumps onto the line again, rocking up and down while standing, his features taking on an almost reverent expression.

“Beginner lines shouldn’t sag and are a little wider than normal lines,” he says and walks a few feet without taking his eyes off me.

“And, of course, they’re not that high up.

” My heart flutters as I watch him. There’s something about him.

It’s not just his proportionate facial features, his confident mouth, and his eyes; there’s a beauty that feels as fragile as it is frightening and strong.

As if all it would take was one last touch to either destroy him or make him completely crazy.

As if he were constantly balancing on a tightrope.

He says something about wearing a safety belt for high lines, and I want to point out how counterproductive that is if he actually wants to jump.

He clears his throat. “The most important thing for beginners is not to look at your feet but at a fixed point ahead. The best spot is at the end of the slackline.” He jumps off and comes back.

I’m hypnotized. How does he make sure I never question anything he says? Without even hesitating, I set foot on the line.

“Angle your standing leg on the line... now push off.”

I do as he says and stand with both feet on the springy line. It’s shaking... or is it my legs?

“Good. Remember what I told you about the fixed point at the end of the line. Upright posture... hips straight... don’t arch your back. And yes, bend your knees a little...”

I scream silently and jump off before I fall.

River grins. “You looked at your feet.” He pulls a hip flask out of his pocket and takes a sip. “Whiskey,” is all he says.

To wind down, I recall.

He makes it disappear again.

I roll up my jeans, place one foot on the slackline again, push off, and step up.

Again, I have both feet off the ground. Even though this height isn’t a problem, I still feel unsafe, as if my equilibrium has to collect new information.

It’s a lot different than balancing on a balance beam, something we did a lot in gym class in middle school.

I carefully stretch my arms to the side as I look at the pine tree at the other end.

“Good,” River says quietly, as if he doesn’t want to break my concentration. “Keep your arms loose. You don’t have to extend them all the way. Just stand there for a bit and wait until you’re more confident.”

I inhale deeply, feeling the rough, cool line under my soles and the slight vibration pulsing through my body. It feels odd, but I feel lighter even though standing is more strenuous.

Concentrating, I feel my way forward with my front foot, putting it down and shifting my weight. My calves are still contracting.

“Wait until you find your balance again, and only then take the next step. That’s what it’s all about—balance, centering yourself. You must be in tune with yourself—completely.”

I try to focus on myself and concentrate on the line, but I still feel how close River is to me. As if he wants to catch me if I fall.

“It’s not important how many steps you take, but how long you stay up. The more time you spend on the line, the faster your sense of balance adjusts.”

I take a deep breath, raise my back foot, and put it forward. The line shakes, and my legs turn to rubber.

Before I can even react, River grabs my hand and holds me tight. Out of pure reflex, I claw my fingers into his.

He chuckles softly. “Understood. You don’t believe in standing still, okay! Then run!” With his free hand, he pushes his hair out of his face, and I catch a glimpse of the linear scar. “Run!”

I cling to him and run to the pine tree and back again. My fingers are sweating. I’m sweating, and I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, but luckily, I’m so focused on my task that I completely forget about being nervous about River and the contact.

“Again!”

I run.

“Again!”

At some point, I stop counting how many times I traverse the line.

River quietly sings “Do You Love Me” by The Contours from Dirty Dancing, and I feel like Baby as she and Johnny are balance on the log.

River loosens his grip more and more until only our fingers are touching—very delicately, it’s more the idea of a touch.

I mind it a lot less than I expected. All of this seems natural to me.

Instinctively, I look at his slender fingers. The line beneath me sways back and forth, and I totter sideways.

River immediately grabs my arm and holds me upright.

His grip sends a throb through my bruises, but I don’t let it show.

“Wrong fixed point, I’d say.” He sounds so casual.

He laughs briefly and looks at me with his unfathomable eyes, and the laughter disappears from his face. Now, he is completely serious.

I feel queasy. He doesn’t look away, and all I feel is his arm holding me and his knowing look.

Strangely, it feels dangerous. It releases a spark inside me, something that scares me but is wonderful at the same time, like a dark glint. I dig my nails firmly into my palm to distract myself from the frightening feeling.

“Keep running,” he says quietly, still serious.

So I run.

Later, I’m sitting by the pine tree, completely exhausted, watching River on the slackline. Now I know why he was so confidently poised on the precipice of Old Sheriff. That’s why he has so little fear of heights.

I have no idea what time it is—probably afternoon—and my phone only has twenty percent battery left.

River is typing something on his phone on the slackline, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowed. My phone makes a quiet beeping noise. Mr. Spock just texted.

I can’t press charges. Mister X has a lot of influence. Every student fears his gang; even his gang fears the gang. Everyone would claim I was hurting myself. Everyone lies for him.

Then your situation is similar to mine , I text. I’ve never been this forthcoming. It must be because I don’t have to go to Kensington anymore.

River’s cell phone makes a quiet beeping noise. Apparently, he’s chatting with someone too.

Mr. Spock: Kans? How come? What’s going on with you? You’ve never mentioned that before. I thought they were simply ignoring you.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Mr. Spock: You should. Hey, you can tell me anything—or text.

I can’t tell him; I can’t tell anyone. Only losers become victims.

Simultaneously, River and I put our cell phones in our pockets, and, for a split second, the crazy idea that he could be Mr. Spock occurs to me, which, of course, is bullshit.

“Time to leave this place,” he says now, walking to a pine tree near the rear.

You said you would tell me something about yourself , I type and hold the phone under his nose.

He smiles but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he fiddles with the slackline using a ratchet. After a few movements, the line loosens, and one end flutters to the ground.

“This is the tree protector, a TreeBuddy,” he explains to me and taps the felt support surface wrapped around the trunk of the pine tree.

He is intentionally making me fidget.

He calmly removes the protector, then goes to the other side and finishes by packing the ratchet, slings, springy line, and tree protectors into a backpack next to the pine tree.

At least now I know what the stuff in his backpack was for. You owe me an answer! I put an angry emoji after it. When did I start doing that?

River smiles again and puts on shoes—black flip-flops. “Yes, that’s right. I remember!” He shoulders the backpack and starts walking. I hurry after him, half-amused, half-annoyed. He takes a different route. “I want you to think about something, Kansas.”

Damn, my battery is about to die.

“I want you to think about your Big Five.”

My Big Five? I give him a confused look. I think of the Big Five Personality Traits that James told me about, and one of them is openness to experiences. Does it have something to do with psychology?

“You know what a bucket list is, right?”