Page 30 of Free Fall #1

I sigh and lounge back down. The next song to come up on the playlist after “Replay” ends is one of my favorite BTS songs, and I sing the lyrics softly.

“How do you know what the songs are about? In general. You know, if you don’t know the individual words?”

“I look up the translations online. The first word of this song, bogoshipda , means ‘I miss you’ and this song is about the loss of an important friendship.”

“Ah. Never experienced that. I hear it sucks.”

“It does.”

“So you have picked up quite a few words, then.”

“Of course. Hajima means stop or quit or don’t do it. And saranghae means I love you.”

“Mm.”

“Are you really interested in all this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s all pretty frivolous.”

“It makes you happy. What’s more important than that?”

“Being responsible. Making a living. Getting off my cousin’s sofa.”

“Overrated. All of it. Especially the being responsible stuff. Fuck that.”

That makes me laugh. “Remind me not to introduce you to my father. He’s all about responsibility. Spent his life on it.”

“Most men do.”

“Women too.”

“Of course,” Dan agrees. “Responsible for the men in their lives, and the kids, and their work, and so much more. Or so I hear. I admit Peggy Jo’s one of the only women I’ve ever known who’s responsible like that.

My foster mothers weren’t good for much when it came to me.

” He pauses, considering for a moment. “Though I guess Edith—my third or fourth foster mom—was pretty great. She cared about me. It’s not like she meant to get sick.

” Dan’s eyes go sad, and he shifts his gaze to the stars.

“That’s why they sent me away from her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. And when I was older, Mrs. Crawford tried to be a good parent for me. But by then it was too late, and I wasn’t having it. I made the poor woman miserable. So, I got sent off to Mr. Anderson’s, and I cut out of there as soon as I could. Never looked back.”

“You had a rough time growing up,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Can’t deny that.” He clears his throat. “It’s all right, though. Taught me not to rely on anyone.”

“Is that what this whole free solo thing is about? Not relying on anything or anyone?”

“Just me and my body against an uncaring rock wall? Which will prevail? Yeah. Something like that. It’s a battle I feel in my soul and a communion of sorts. An acknowledgement of my absolute lack of importance in the world, the meaninglessness of life. My existential crisis made manifest.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah.”

“You say all that like I say ‘I put too much milk in my cereal and now it’s soggy.’ You say it like it’s nothing at all.”

“You have to make your peace with it, you know?” Dan shifts in his bag.

“To be a free soloist, you can’t want to die, but you can’t hate the idea of dying too much either.

I don’t typically tell anyone before I free solo something, and I don’t always tell people after I’ve done it either. Some climbs I keep just for myself.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not for public consumption. Nothing I do is for public consumption. My motivations are pure.”

“Pure…”

“Untainted by the pursuit of money or fame.”

“Right. But money is good, right? It’s nice to have some things that only money can provide. Like shelter, food, and that sort of thing.”

“You sound like Peggy Jo. Of course, those things are great, but they’re for the future. Once I’ve achieved my goal.”

I push my hair back away from my face. “What goes into achieving a free solo climb like you’re planning?”

“Lots of practice and preparation. Day in and day out. This…” he motions between us.

“This is a distraction from it, to be honest. I shouldn’t be pursuing this.

I need to keep my head in the game, and instead I find myself thinking about you.

About fucking you, sure, but also just like…

what your hair looks like all down and spread over your shoulders with the sun shining on it… like polished ebony.”

“Dan, you’re a secret romantic, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. I’m just finding out these things about myself. I haven’t ever…I don’t typically…Like I said, you’re a distraction I shouldn’t be pursuing, and yet I want to. I’ve always told myself that life is about doing what you want, when you want, as much as possible.”

“You’re not going to get hurt because I’m so distracting, are you?” I feel both flattered and afraid.

He blows a raspberry in the darkness. “Of course not. I’m far too good at what I do for that.”

“What happens if you fall? Do you think about that?”

“Of course. It’s part of my training actually.

Mental training.” He sits up again and combs both hands through his hair, and then looks right at me.

“The night before I free solo anything, I spend a few hours imagining the entire climb, and typically it’s the crux—the hardest part—that scares me the most. So, I’ll imagine myself failing at it, falling, and measure exactly how long I have before I hit bottom.

I think about Peggy Jo and now, sometimes, Rye.

How they’ll feel. Imagine them crying. But then I imagine how they’ll move on—and they will.

It won’t take them very long even. And if something happened to me, you’d move on too.

Everyone moves on. You’ve learned that by losing your mom, haven’t you? ”

“No. I haven’t.” I feel a deep hurt inside both for him and for myself.

“In fact, I’ve learned the opposite of that.

I’ve learned that I’ll live , yeah, but I’ve learned that she’s the one and only mom I’ll ever have.

She’s the one who raised and loved me. I lost a lot when I lost her.

” I pause, reach out to take his hand and he lets me.

“You’d be the one and only Dan, you know.

The one and only Dan for Peggy Jo, and Rye, and…

well, I guess for me. Forever. I think, because of your childhood, you don’t realize how irreplaceable of a person you are. ”

“I don’t think I’m replaceable , just not that especially important to anyone at all.”

“What if you became important to someone? To me?”

“Then…then we’d have to see.”

“See what?”

“See what happened then.”

I sigh and pull my hand back. “You’re damaged goods, aren’t you?”

“Sure am, Doc.” He leans back, cupping his head with his hands and gazing up at the sky.

“Oh, man. What am I choosing to get into?”

“Hopefully my sleeping bag, because I know we said no sex, but I’m dying to just kiss you.”

I roll my eyes. “Right, sure, ‘just kiss me’.”

“Feel free to put me to the test.”

“I don’t think your sleeping bag will hold us both.”

“Feel free to put that to the test too.”

It turns out I fit, but barely, and kissing Dan until we’re both panting, rutting fully clothed together and dying to come, is an intoxicating way to spend the night.

In the end, I beg him to let us get off, and he denies me. I’m not sure how I feel about that—orgasm denial isn’t a kink of mine. But I’m too exhausted, wound up, and spun out to protest much, or to do more than cuddle in next to him throbbing with desire, tired, and finally I drift off to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I feel him leave the bag, and I wake up enough to watch him climb into mine. I’m too drowsy to ask if everything’s all right, and instead simply stretch into the room he’s left behind.

I have a moment’s wonder if that’s what he means when he says everyone moves on. He leaves, and the space is filled, and no one misses him. I open my mouth to ask him to come back over, but I’m so tired and warm now that dreams jerk me back under before I can.

We sleep separately the rest of the night, and I wake in the morning with a strange, wild feeling in my heart. I want to sleep next to him. I want to feel his skin on my skin. And I want it for a long time.

I want it today, tomorrow, and the next day.

And we’ve only just met.

Oh, God. What if I’m the seahorse?

*

Dan

Sunrise crests over the eastern view of the meadows and Tioga Pass.

It’s egg-yolk yellow and eye-wateringly bright as I blink awake.

Sejin is already up, singing softly to himself with earbuds in as he dances to music I can’t hear.

He looks like a dream outlined by the morning sun, long hair blowing in the wind, and his limber arms and legs making angles and arcs. He’s so beautiful.

I know he thinks I’m beautiful too. I’m not sure why because, objectively, I’m a little goofy-looking, but there’s just something about how he gazes at me that lets me know he sees something he likes in my features.

Not long ago, I thought he’d never gift me with that smile I crave, and last night…

well, last night I think I came close to seeing it.

It was dark, though, and I can’t be sure.

But I do know he’s starting to care for me.

I mean, we both said things about feelings that we can’t exactly take back, even if they’re embarrassing in the light of day.

I hoist myself up and onto my feet. I need to piss, and I don’t want to think about all the confessions we made last night.

Sejin’s so absorbed in the sunrise and his music, that he doesn’t notice me urinating off the cliffs behind us.

My mouth tastes disgusting, so I fetch the small mouthwash bottle from the bag and take a swig before swishing and spitting.

When I’m done, I approach Sejin cautiously because I don’t want to startle him. He’s dancing fairly close to the edge—though not too close. He’s being careful.

He must see me out of his peripheral vision because he turns, rips his earbuds out, and grins. “Look! The sunrise is amazing! I was afraid you were going to miss it.”

Holding out the mouthwash, my offer is met with a fist pump, a cute habit of his when he’s excited, and he takes it from me. He swishes too, and then spits over the side of the drop-off. “Hope no one’s down there.”