Page 70 of A Summer to Save Us

Carefully, so as not to damage the crane and the swan, I slip out of my jacket and put on the safety belt because there is not enough space on the ledge below to do so.

As I climb down the rope, my pulse pounds in my eardrums and afterward, I don’t recall how I got down. But here I am, with sweaty hands, the abyss below me. And, my God... it’s deep. So deep! The fir trees in the valley are as tiny as in a miniature wonderland. I immediately feel dizzy.

Instinctively, I move closer to the rock face behind me.

I want to call out to River, but what if he gets scared and falls?

Still heading for Lost Arrow Spire, he balances his steps with sweeping movements.

At any moment, he could fall and plunge into the valley before my eyes.

That thought alone is so horrifying that I can hardly breathe.

I shakily look at the anchor point of the slackline—a tangle of ropes, colorful bands, and pulleys.

I have no idea which band or rope has which function.

All I know is that they’re all for safety.

I carefully kneel down, examine the construction more closely, and discover two steel rings, each with a leash hanging from it.

My heart beats faster, but I’m too excited to be truly happy about it.

The depth in front of me feels as if it’s pulling everything down.

The altitude makes my body feel heavy, as heavy as lead.

I blink a few times on purpose, trying to push down the panic and concentrate.

The rear steel ring is out of reach, but the end of his leash is tied to the anchor point with a simple knot.

I quickly untie the safety rope and tie a figure-eight with clumsy fingers before threading the leash through the belt and doubling the figure eight.

For a moment, I hear the slackline fluttering in the wind like an oversized sheet, the eyelets clinking against the rock. The wind scares me, but you always feel it at this height—you always hear it. Or so River says.

I look at him. Undeterred, he moves forward, and I realize one thing clearly: as long as he’s on the line, I’m not allowed to step on it.

I have no idea how a slackline at this height will react to a second person, how much it will bow or sway.

I take a deep breath and try to control the panic inside me.

I have to wait until River reaches the rock.

I pray that he leaves the line on the other side to Lost Arrow Spire intact; only then can I start running.

At the edge of the mountain, I take off my shoes and socks and watch River as he balances, his arms horizontal.

Every now and then, he stops, moves on, and then stops again.

When he reaches the end of the slackline, he hesitates, and my heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t drop as I feared for a second. Instead, he jumps onto the flat plateau of Lost Arrow Spire.

Oh, thank God! This is my chance. “River!” I call his name out loud, but the wind from the valley rips it from my lips and carries it away. He doesn’t hear me. My pulse is racing. I have to get to him now, before he jumps or steps back onto the line.

Sitting down, I slide over the many bands onto the line. I don’t look down, but my heart is still beating so fast I’m afraid it will stop.

Heart pounding. Wind and fear. Sweaty hands. I hear River whisper.

Fear of death.

I can’t do this! I’m shaking so much; there’s no way I could ever get up on this slackline. And, of course, I look down at the valley, and my body goes rigid as fear stirs everything inside me.

Dark images of shadowy rocks, dancing, and fir trees pass me, as if I were falling.

Calm down!

I can’t.

Think of River.

Once you’ve been up there... you feel like you’ve only been sleeping until then, and you just woke up .

Words. Yes. Words are good. His words.

I look at Lost Arrow Spire and see him spreading his arms like a bird. He’s only a foot from the edge!

No, damn it!

I call to him again, but my voice is too soft for the landscape and the wind. River doesn’t look over at me.

Suddenly, I’m terrified he’ll jump before I can talk to him.

He must be completely desperate. He needs me, and I owe him everything.

He saved me and gave me back everything I had lost—not only my words, but somehow also Dad, James, and Arizona.

My future, my laughter and tears, my whole life.

At this moment, I’m filled with such love and gratitude for him that I could cry again.

I have to do it.

I slowly pull my dangling legs up and place my bare feet on the slackline. Inch by inch, I straighten, pushing through my knees while my heart gallops away with me.

And then I’m standing on the line, a thousand feet above the ground, my life hanging on a leash that now seems thin and fragile to me. I’m dying. I’m definitely dying today. River hasn’t prepared me for this kind of fear of death.

He’s still standing on the edge, looking as if he’s waiting for the right wind to fly away.

F-L-Y-I-N-G.

I take a step when panic grips me again.

Breathe. Find your center. Don’t be afraid, but show respect, Sweet Alabama .

The abyss gapes beneath me like the green soul of the mountain, which absorbs everything without releasing it again. My instincts and my mind scream at me not to go any further. What if the eyelet is worn out? Or the belt?

I take a deep breath and concentrate on the feeling of the slackline under my soles and the cold against my arms as I stretch out. I feel the air beneath me, the air that brushes against me and makes the line vibrate like a guitar string.

Just move, don’t think.

I feel my consciousness changing. Suddenly, everything becomes clear—sharp, yet distant. I put one foot in front of the other. I am focused on the coolness under my feet, the taut rope, and the wind at the same time.

Adrenaline floods every cell of my body. I am wide awake. Now. Here. The panic follows me like a shadow, but I can’t let it in.

Oh God, it’s so high!

Find a fixed point!

I fix my gaze on the dark figure with the rolled-up trouser legs, and River finally turns.

He sees me!

The moment is as intense as the first cry of a newborn, which is also the first breath it takes. It almost makes me fall.

River stares at me.

His face shines brightly in the morning light, as do his bare forearms and calves. “Tucks! Have you gone mad? Go back immediately!” His words are carried to me by the wind. Anger resonates in them, but also fear.

Hesitantly, I shake my head, as if any sudden movement could make me stumble. Now River does something absolutely insane. He comes back to the line, crouches down, and slides over the straps and supports.

Don’t do that! But the scream stays in my head.

He nimbly stands up and stretches his arms out to the side, balancing himself. “Go back! Immediately!” With dark eyes, he glares at me.

I want to start crying, but I’m too scared. What if I stumble and he falls? Stay away! Go back!

My whole body tenses up, which can be fatal when you’re supposed to stay soft and flexible.

“You never should have come here,” he calls to me.

He’s a good runner and moves just as well as without a harness.

The line descends downward because he’s getting closer, and then, all of a sudden, he stops.

His eyes widen. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, and in a moment of shock, I fear he’s hallucinating and thinks I’m June.

“What is it?” I whisper, but of course, he can’t hear it. Maybe his dad or a ranger team is standing on the rock plateau.

For a few seconds, he’s paralyzed, and then he slowly shakes his head and puts one foot back.

“Do you remember the night on the line before we fled from my friends? How you ran to me?” he calls out.

I nod. Something is wrong. Maybe there is someone on the plateau.

“Come on!” He waves me over, standing so calmly yet still as white as a sheet on the line that I can hardly breathe.

“Come on, Tucks, come on. Everything is okay.”

Why is he talking to me like I’m an injured wild animal? I take a tentative small step and then another. He smiles, but his eyes are full of fear. Only now do I realize that he’s standing very close to the edge. Did he run backward?

“Do you remember how to catch the line if you fall?”

“Yes,” I whisper tonelessly, nodding slightly.

“Good!” He balances for both of us, holding the line steady. My knees are soft as butter. I’m dying. I’m falling. I can’t hold on. Panic rises in me, and everything blurs.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“Tucks, breathe! Please! Please concentrate!”

However, I can’t. For seconds, I forget what’s up and what’s down, left and right.

“Don’t stop! Keep moving! Don’t stop!”

I don’t even know if I’m moving anymore. All I can feel is the racing pulse in my ears and the pounding of my heart. Scarlet panic flutters before my eyes like the wind.

“Come on. Yes. That’s good.”

And then, somehow, somewhere, I feel a hand grabbing mine. We’re almost at the end of the slackline, near the edge in front of Lost Arrow Spire.

“Tucks, I’m with you. Everything’s fine.”

I take a deep breath as if I haven’t breathed in a decade. Only now do I see that River is standing on the mesh of bands. He has much more support than I do.

“You’re crazy. Completely crazy!” The fear in his eyes turns to anger.

Nevertheless, he leans forward and kisses me.

The touch is so familiar and what I have longed for, that I want to cry.

In this moment, despite his anger, he is River again—my River, who taught me how to build a bridge from my silence out into the world, no one else.

I love him so greatly that it hurts me so much that I want to die when he does.

“Your leash... you didn’t tie the knots properly again. It wouldn’t have held you,” he says now.

As if numb, I stare at my safety line and let River untie the first figure eight.