Page 106 of Free Fall

Sejin pulls his hair up and into a ponytail low at the nape of his neck. “You know some people don’t keep their promises, right? Like some people would say they’re going to be monogamous and then just not be.”

I frown as I turn onto Park Road. The brown desert and greenish-gray scrub dotted with stubby, iconic Joshua trees stretches out on either side of us. “But you wouldn’t do that, and neither would Celli.”

“I know.” He reaches out and squeezes my forearm and then slides his hand up to rub the back of my neck for a moment. “How much longer?”

“Not too long now.”

“Cool.”

Sejin turns the volume back up on the music and sings along to what I think is that girl group Twice’s latest release. It’s an autumnal-sounding song that doesn’t entirely fit the sunny-sharp weather we’re driving through, even with the dirt-brown of the desert. But it’ll be nice to listen to another time when we’re traveling somewhere with deciduous trees in the fall.

Maybe we’ll spend an autumn in Korea even…something I’ve been considering more and more as Sejin has been looking for Korean language instructors online. If he wants to go, then I want to go with him. There are some killer climbs in that part of the world.

As for the song, Sejin’s enjoying it now, so that’s all that matters.

The Hidden Valley parking lot comes into view after passing by dozens of piles of big rocks. The tall, curved, protective stone rise sits beneath a swipe of big blue sky with one fluffy cloud right in the middle of it.

“What’s the plan?” Sejin asks, taking his feet off the dash and leaning forward to look out the windshield at the half-ring of rock. There are three spires around the parking lot, and plenty more good climbing spots just a small hike away.

“For what?”

“For me. I know you’re trying to trick me into going climbing with you on this trip.”

“Not trick,” I deny. “Persuade.”

Sejin’s lips quirk up. “Alright, so what’s the plan to persuade me?”

“You’ll find out.”

Sejin puts on his sandals and shoves open the door. The arid breeze flows in, and he sighs. “Ahh. Fresh air. Dust. Sun. This is living.”

I hop out with him, and we both stand a moment looking up at the rock formations and the sky. The brown on the blue makes me think of a particular shirt in similar shades Peggy Jo wore a few seasons back and also of the turquoise jewelry a Navajo woman was selling at a roadside shop during my travels last spring.

“You’re going to be safe on this trip, right?” Sejin asks, taking hold of my hand and pulling me close. The parking lot is crowded with cars and trucks, but no one is looking our way since most people are looking at the pillars.

“I’ve been thinking about the meaning of safe,” I say, and Sejin squeezes my fingers and presses a kiss to my temple. “Do you know how many people are killed or terribly injured every year in skiing accidents?”

“Oh, no,” Sejin says on a sigh. “This again, huh?”

“Forty-five per year, and another forty-five—give or take—are catastrophically injured. How many free soloists die per year?”

“Dan, there are millions more skiers than free soloists.”

“Right, but when someone gets injured skateboarding, or skiing, or biking, people just shrug.”

“They don’t just shrug.”

“Well, they don’t sweat it every time their loved one goes out skiing or biking or skateboarding. They assume they’re coming home. They assume they’re going to be fine.”

“The chances of a single mistake meaning death are so much slimmer.”

“No, it’s always the single mistake that leads to death. The single step back that takes someone over the ledge. The single glance at a text message that causes the car accident. The single—”

“What if you sneeze while you’re up there?!”

“What if a skateboarder sneezes mid-jump? No one asks that.”

“A jump takes a moment. A climb can take hours.”