Page 52 of Free Fall #1

Sejin

“W hat time is it?” I murmur, feeling draggy and strange.

There’s no answer from the other side of the bed.

“I think my alarm didn’t go off, but, fuck, I’m still so tired,” I whimper, and I push my foot out to touch Dan’s leg. All I feel is cool, smooth bedsheets. I sit up and squint through my tangled mess of bedhead. He’s not there.

Coldness seeps through me.

But before I panic, I listen carefully for sounds in the house. Is he making coffee? Doing kettlebells or a club bell workout in the living room?

I hear nothing. Not even the sound of the cats bounding around looking for breakfast.

Shifting to find my phone on the bedside table, I check the time and see that it’s just after six. My alarm is set for seven-thirty, so I haven’t missed it. I climb out of bed and pull on some sweatpants, hoping Dan is just out in his van doing some hangboarding or reading, or God knows what.

But I already know.

As I open the front door and stare at the empty space where Dan’s van is supposed to be, my heart seems to slow, along with my breathing, and the cold morning wind lifts my hair and races over my bare shoulders and chest. Romeo slides past me out into the pearly glow of dawn, and I don’t try to catch him.

He’ll be back meowing for breakfast before long.

But will Dan be back at all?

I feel like I should have a stronger feeling about it all, some sort of sick dread or wild terror. Instead, I feel an almost deathly calm.

I shut the door, retreat to the bedroom, and pull on a t-shirt and a blue hoodie. I make eggs, but I don’t eat them. Muggs jumps up to the counter to try for a few bites.

I put him down on the floor and go to let Romeo back in before scraping the eggs into the cat bowls and putting the bowls on the floor for them to pounce on.

I turn and stare through the windows at the Sierra-Nevadas outlined in the rosy glow of morning.

The clock over the stove says it’s nearly seven now.

I’m supposed to be at the preschool by eight-thirty, and I imagine myself there, singing songs with the kids, dancing, as Dan climbs—alone and ropeless—up Heart Route.

I’ve paid more attention to the route than he thinks. Studied the maps when I’m alone in the van. Even taken a peek at his notebooks, scanned his plans, his comments, his strategies, seeing no mention of me in his journals anywhere.

It was wrong to look. I’ve invaded his privacy. But I needed to know his chances in his own eyes.

He feels they’re mostly good. But when it comes to the cruxes, he’ll need to have a very good day. The best day of his life. In his notes, he said he’d wait until he felt a strong certainty that such a day was ahead. It seems like he must feel that way today.

How can a man know if he’s going to have the best day of his life in advance?

How can he be willing to risk not having a tomorrow here with me? With these dumb, finicky cats? To risk attaching his death so closely to the day of Peggy Jo’s new grandbaby’s birth? How selfish is that? How can he…

I rub my hands up and down my arms. The hoodie feels nubby against my palms.

Without much thought, I put on my coat, socks, and shoes, and grab my car keys.

I don’t have a pair of binoculars, but I know that climber aficionado Tom Reed will be in the Meadow by eight in the morning to note and track the climbers on El Cap, and if I leave now, I’m sure he’ll let me use his telescope.

It’s not that I want to see Dan climbing.

It’s that I need to confirm for myself that he’s still climbing. That he’s on that wall, alive and well, breathing and sticking.

According to the app on my phone, the temperatures are supposed to remain low today, but the sun will start baking the upper part of the Heart Route before long, making it more treacherous and slippery.

I’m not sure if I can stomach watching whatever’s left of the climb, but I know I can’t stomach sitting at home feeling dead, numb, and strange.

I can’t go to the preschool and dance like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

I have to go see for myself.

*

Dan

On the wall, ascending without the weight of gear or an audience, my senses dial in to the highest degree.

My breath is like an ocean, rushing in and out with a heaving effortlessness that relaxes me.

The wall of rock in front of me is huge, yes, but every inch of it seems perfectly outlined in my mind.

A hold that’s no wider than a matchbox edge seems enormous to me, plenty of stability to hang from.

The nubs I rest my toes against appear giant and secure.

Each movement is accurate and strong. A peace settles over me, and I can see every shadow and edge on the wall, and even the rock itself seems to breathe along with me.

I’m in the flow zone. It’s all easy.

I’m easy.

I’m free.

This is the state of being I live for and nothing comes close to it…

except being with Sejin. When I’m with him, I often feel high, and dizzy with affection and lust, but this hyperawareness on the rock is something different.

A solitary journey. Me against the uncaring, blank surface, and my certainty that I will prevail.

I feel like a superhero or a madman. I feel the truth of my place on earth—meaningless, pointless, a speck against the rock of this planet.

It’s freeing and beautiful.

This sensation lasts until I reach the dyno, and then as I steady myself, taking deep breaths, the hold seems like it’s just a hop away.

An easy leap. As I soar through the air, time and space stretch out forever, and yet it’s only a moment.

I grab the holds, and I’m safe. My spirits rise even higher.

I’m invincible now. I can do this. I’m going to do this.

My certainty doesn’t waver as I approach the pitch leading to the roof of the Heart Formation. I feel strong enough, so certain that I decide to bypass the downclimb to the ledge for the rest stop Rye and I had agreed on. I don’t need it. Not today.

Instead, I start up toward the roof. A rock falls from above. I don’t know where it came from or what might have kicked it down, but it hits me in the face and I wince as pain explodes on my cheekbone.

Fuck.

Sweat breaks over me, but I’m not in a good position to chalk my fingers. A hot, slick sensation slides down my face, but I can’t risk letting go or touching it if it’s blood or sweat. It doesn’t matter anyway. I have to move on.

As I surge forward, another crumble of rock from above comes down.

These are smaller pieces, more like clumps of dirt and gravel.

Despite squeezing my eyes shut as soon as I hear the rocks popping off against the wall, some dust still gets in.

I shout in reflexive pain and gravel pieces fall into my open mouth. I spit them out.

Mamaaaaa! He’s doing it again!

The memory rises unbidden, along with a flipbook of terrible recollections from each foster home I hit along the way to adulthood.

I spit and spit, unable to get the grit out of my mouth or to open my eyes.

I breathe in and out, feeling streaming tears wash the dirt from my eyes. Fear knots in my chest.

The beautiful, singular focus has slipped away from me. I have to get it back. But I can still hear that brat screaming in my brain.

Mamaaaaa! He’s doing it again! Mamaaaaa!

I take deep breaths, shake my head slowly. This isn’t the time. I’m safe. I’m on the wall. I almost laugh. Safe? Free soloing thousands of feet up, getting ready to tackle the roof of the Heart Formation? Hilarious.

I’m absolutely fucking hilarious.

I feel the edges of my peace unravelling. I can’t open my eyes, and even if I could, I can’t move forward with this mindset. I have to get my head back together.

I blink, relieved when the dirt or dust seems to have slipped from my eyes with the tears. I can see, and what I see is good news. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I know the next moves like the back of my hand.

Now I just have to make them.

So, I do.

As I move toward the second crux of the ascent, I can’t seem to shake the disturbance from the small rockfall.

My toeholds feel tenuous, the finger grips that I’ve trained on seem smaller.

Even the light seems sharper, bouncing off the granite, making my tender eyes ache.

Worse, the telltale throbbing in my forearms and fingers tells me I’m getting pumped.

Quickly, I find a familiar nub and a foothold that look secure enough to rest on so I can switch out hands to shake my arms one at a time, trying to free up the lactic acid.

Heart pounding, eyes still tearing, I gaze out at the exposure. It’s peaceful and quiet down there. The world’s oblivious to my frantic pulse and the sharpness of my fear.

The meadow stretches out all misty and beautiful, the frost shimmering in the morning light.

The river sparkles in a familiar ribbon, and the falls roar with their usual white noise that always accompanies my climbs.

I take more slow breaths. I try to pull the meadow into me. I need peace. Focus. Peace.

Mamaaaaa! He’s doing it again!

I shake my head. I try to think of something calming, something to ground me.

Sejin.

I exhale slowly. The way his black lashes touch his cheekbones in his sleep. How his eyes hook down at the inner edges. The shape of his mouth when a smile is about to break over his face. That smile.

The smile.

I breathe in deeply.

The smile that captured my attention in that photo on that stupid app and which I’ve now seen directed at me, because of me, a total of thirteen times. I’ve counted. Each one is an achievement. Each one is cherished.

As I take more breaths, I think of the lesser smiles too. The ones that are rewarding, yes, but always show that he’s holding something back—a thought, a fear, a sadness. I hate when he’s sad. And if I fall, he’ll be devastated.