Chapter Thirty-One
Sejin
One week since free solo attempt
“M r. Sejin!”
The chorus of small voices brings a smile to my lips and brightens my spirits. In seconds, I’m nearly mobbed by the kids at Tater Tots, all of them pressing little drawings and glitter-covered cards into my hands.
“They’re for Dan,” Jeanie says, her hands on her hips and her red curls shaking.
We’re having classes inside the building now that the weather has started to bluster.
The walls are covered in letters and numbers, and the corners are full of enriching activity centers.
The center of the room is currently dotted with unrolled yoga mats.
“I see that,” I say, as I peer down at a card signed by Jeanie herself.
It depicts a silver, glittery cliff wall, and a painted man dangling from the edge of it.
The word “ HELP ” is in a speech bubble by his mouth, spelled correctly.
I assume the director, Heather, hasn’t had the time to check everyone’s work, but this is… hilarious.
And horrifying.
I can’t help laughing a little.
“Are you back to teach us?” Griffin cries out, clinging to my thigh and gazing up at me with pitiful eyes.
“Miss Heather makes us do yoga with Mr. Chris when you’re gone. It’s boring,” Holland complains, and looks only a little chastised when she catches Heather’s eye. “It is!” she insists, not willing to back down.
I know Chris Taggert pretty well, and he’s an all-right yoga instructor, but he is boring. I’m sure the kids would rather dance with me to KPop songs any day.
“I’m not back quite yet,” I say, and I’m met with a chorus of boos and whimpers and even a sob from Lila in the back. I go to her and pull her into a hug. “It’s all right. I’m coming back tomorrow. I just need one more day at home before I can be here for you the way I need to be.”
“Did your boyfriend die?” Tanner asks matter-of-factly, his arms crossing over his chest like a little football coach as his brows furrow up. I can’t tell if it’s with judgment or worry.
“He didn’t die, no,” I say.
“That’s why you made the get well soon cards, Tanner, because he’s going to get well ,” Heather says, before mouthing sorry at me and continuing, “But we want him to heal up as fast he can.”
“Why?” Holland asks. “Why can’t he take a long time to get better?”
“He can take as long as he wants,” Heather says, her tone baffled. Despite owning Tater Tots, sometimes she still seems surprised by the things kids will say. “But most people don’t like feeling bad, and I’m sure Dan would like to feel better very soon.”
“My mom says he’s an idiot,” Marshall says, and another few kids agree.
“My dad says he’s cool,” Holland offers in dispute.
“My dad said he just had a bad day, and I can be like him when I grow up,” Natalie says.
“Well,” I say, and I weigh my words. I want to defend Dan, but I also don’t encourage these kids to copy him or think he’s doing something they should emulate now or at any point in the future. “Dan is both an idiot and cool.”
Heather laughs, and I smile at her before going on. “I think it’s fair to say he did a very dangerous thing and, unfortunately, there were consequences to that choice.”
“Oooh, consequences,” Holland says with her cute little lisp. “Those are always bad.”
I refrain from arguing the point, though it’s tempting because consequences can sometimes be good. I need to clarify things about Dan. “See, Dan almost died. Even now he’s very badly hurt.”
I crouch down and several children, including Jeanie, crowd in to hug me. “He’s in a lot of pain. So even though what he did was brave in one way, it was stupid in another. You never know which way fate will go, do you? It can reward bravery or punish hubris.”
“Fate? Is that like the devil?” Griffin asks, tilting his head. “Or the boogeyman?”
“No,” I say, but before I can explain Jeanie asks, “What’s hu-bris?”
“Arrogance,” Heather answers, standing over us, watching me hug the children. “Pride.”
We’re way off track now, so I simply say, “None of you should try to be like Dan. I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing.”
Though I really have no idea what Dan would say. I’ve never asked him how he feels about the idea of someone following in his footsteps the way he’s followed in Alex Honnold’s.
“Sejin,” Heather says, pulling me away from the group after the kids tire of me. “I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know if you’ve heard about everything that’s going on in the climbing community right now to try to support Dan?”
I shake my head. My phone’s been set to notify me only of texts and calls from my favorites list. I’m avoiding all the journalists, reporters, casual acquaintances, and other climbers who suddenly want to pretend to give a damn about Dan.
Heather nods toward the teacher’s aide, a young woman named Evelyn who’s quite good with the little ones. Taking the hint, Evelyn immediately herds the class away from me. “C’mon everyone. Get on your mats. Mr. Chris will be here any second to do yoga with you.”
“Noooooo,” several whine, but most simply jump or hop like bunnies to their mats and wait there.
Heather steers me into her office. “You haven’t heard about the GoFundMe?” she asks, as soon as I’m seated.
“No?”
“I think your friend Rye started it, so I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”
I’m not. Rye knows everything that’s been on my plate.
He also knows how little Dan is loved among the area by climbers and regular folk alike.
Not that he’s loathed, but he’s never gone out of his way to make friends and that’s taken a toll.
I’m sure Rye wouldn’t want to tell me if the GoFundMe hasn’t actually garnered much—or any—support.
Heather sits down at her desk across from me and brings up the GoFundMe page.
I see that Rye’s set it up with a nice picture of Dan smiling as he climbs up a steep rock face.
It’s clearly Rye’s own photo taken while climbing together.
He’s written up a flattering paragraph about Dan as a person and a pity-inducing paragraph about his fall and current financial situation.
Rye’s requested twenty thousand dollars in aid, which will probably make only a small dent in the expenses Dan’s going to face, but is still a lot in the scheme of life. I also see that only thirteen hundred dollars has been raised by…I glance further down the screen…forty-seven donors.
“Wow, that’s…that’s great. I should talk to Rye about it.
” I wonder if Dan knows, but I think he can’t possibly.
There’s no way he’d let Rye even set up something like this.
Dan of the “pure motivations.” Dan of the “money doesn’t play a part in my climbing.
” Dan of the “money doesn’t matter” bullshit.
That Dan is going to find out just how much money matters soon enough. As soon as those bills start rolling in.
“It’s a little disappointing actually.” Heather sighs.
“I’ve seen some climbing accident recovery funds get twelve thousand or more just the first day.
But don’t worry, I’ve been thinking of ways we can boost this.
What if we host a fundraising event here?
With the children? They can perform their KPop songs for their families, and we can charge for tickets.
” She smiles as an idea strikes her. “If the parents agree to let the children do the selling, we can put them out front at all the local stores, like the Girl Scouts or those bell-ringing Santas. Who could say no to those cute faces? What do you think?”
My mind whirls. I think it’s not a terrible idea, but I also think that I have no idea how I can fit something like organizing this into my life when I’ve got two jobs, an invalid at home, enormous bills rolling in soon, and so much to arrange.
My chest tightens. My hands shake. I try to fan my face, but I’m getting too hot, and it’s hard to breathe.
“Sejin?” Heather asks. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “I’m a little overwhelmed is all.”
That’s an understatement. I feel like I’m drowning, and I know we’ve only just begun.
“I’m sure you are,” Heather murmurs soothingly.
“I keep telling myself to take this one day at a time, but it’s hard.
I mean, for Dan it’s like time has stopped, you know?
He’s so bored and restless. He’s never been still for this long in his life, I don’t think.
But for me, the time is slipping away, and I go to bed every day less sure than I was before about—” I take a shuddery breath.
“About what I need to do next, what the future holds, and if we can afford it. I don’t know who to call.
I keep calling the number the hospital gave me and then they pass me to the voicemail of someone who never calls me back, or if they do, they say I actually need to talk to Peyton or Mateo, but she’s on maternity leave, and he’s recently changed departments and hasn’t been replaced yet, so—”
“Sejin, slow down. It’s all right.” Heather comes around and squats next to my chair, taking hold of my hands. “Breathe. Shhh.”
Then she starts to hum one of the little tunes that she sings to quiet the children when they’re losing it over something. It also works on adults, apparently, because I start to breathe more easily, and my heart slows from racing to skipping.
“I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “It’s not your problem, and I—”
“It’s my problem,” Heather says. “It’s anyone with a heart’s problem. We want to help.”
“I know you do. I just…there’s so much going on. So many moving pieces. I did a lot of this stuff for my dad when my mom was sick, but he helped out too, and now it’s all on me.”
“Dan can’t help with any of it?”
“He’s out of his mind on painkillers or napping or…” I trail off. There’s no reason I can’t ask Dan to help with some of the phone calls I’ve been making. It’s just…hell, I don’t want him to. Maybe I don’t even trust him to? I’m not sure. “He could help. I should ask for his help.”