Page 33 of Free Fall

During a break, I step outside to stare up at the vibrant blue sky and listen to the birds chirp. I tug my phone from my pocket and send a brief message.

Thinking about you, Dad. Want to talk soon?

A read receipt flashes almost immediately, but no bubble appears. I blink and swallow hard.

Okay then. I was right to begin with. Dad and I prefer to grieve alone.

A slew of hikers and climbers, some I recognize from prior seasons, assail the coffee shop, most of them filthy from early morning outings into Yosemite, but all of them jovial. Their voices rise and fall as we fill drink order after drink order and put together plates for their food. The way they rib each other makes me think about Dan. He doesn’t seem the ribbing type. I wonder how he gets along with these guys and what they think of him.

As I work, I drift closer to where they’ve congregated, having pushed tables together in the coziest corner of the shop. They’ve shoved the overstuffed chair over too. Bussing tables, I can’t help but listen in on their conversation.

“Y’all heard that asshole’s back in town?”

“Fuck, yeah, Lowell told me about him. He’s a fucking lunatic.”

“Who? Dan McBride?”

“That’s the one.”

They have my full attention now, and I start clearing tables more slowly, making sure they are extra thoroughly wiped down, and the chairs too, so I can hear more.

“I heard he’s sending some of the hardest routes and planning something stupendous.”

“He’s one of those fools who climbs like he’s got no future.”

“Some are saying he’s the next Honnold.”

“Nah, no way. He’s just a lil’ nobody.”

A guy wearing a green beanie scoffs. “Nobody?Ha.He free soloed Moonlight Buttress.”

Raspberries of disbelief are blown by a few guys and one girl too. “Who said?”

“Peggy Jo.”

“Peggy Jo?ThePeggy Jo?”

That perks my ears up as well. I know Peggy Jo, and she’s a total badass. Definitely deserving of being called The Peggy Jo, in my opinion.

“Yup.”

Everyone grows quiet at that until a girl asks, “Why’s she talking him up?”

“He’s her protégé, and he’ll never spray for himself, so she does it.” Green Beanie rolls his eyes. “Proud mama.”

“Proud mama? Who’s proud when their kid free solos recklessly like that? Jesus, that’s courting death.”

“It’s raw athleticism,” Green Beanie disagrees.

“It’s insane.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s both,” a different guy says.

I stop next to them with my tub of dirty dishes. “Sorry. I couldn’t help hearing what you were talking about. What’s free soloing? And why’s it insane?”

Voices overlap at first, but finally one stands out. It comes from a tightly-wound girl with a wide mouth and intense blue eyes. “It’s when you go up without ropes. No safety at all. One single miscalculation, or the rock’s a little sweaty that day, or your toe slips…” She drops her hand dramatically and slams it on the table. “Splat.”

I jolt, the dishes rattling in my tub. “Splat?”