Chapter 3
Love Will Mean Some Falling, and She’s Afraid of Heights
Aria
I really need to be finishing up the ordering lists for the B&B. And pronto. The deadline for the next delivery is almost past. On top of all that, I need to wash and iron all the bed linens. But I hate ironing, seriously, I hate it. All those creased lines, they never disappear, so who cares?
Yeah, so I went for a hike. I couldn’t help it.
The morning sun was shining all fall-like through a crack in my curtains right into my sleepy face.
Getting up to look out the window, I saw the mountains towering into the sky, wild and free and wonderful.
They were calling my name, and all I could think was that that’s exactly how I want to be.
That wild and that free. Maybe they can show me how it all works.
I grabbed an apple turnover from Patricia’s Pastry Shop and was off—wearing Mom’s hiking boots, which are two sizes too big for me. But that’s how I roll. I don’t fit. Not with Wyatt. Not at Brown. Not in Mom’s shoes.
The air smells of moss and the bitter scent of wood. Chestnuts and leaves. I find myself in the middle of a yellow sea of light made of aspen trees. I love it. They bloom in October, showing the colors they’ve hidden all year long. We’re all a bit like that. A touch of October in our hearts.
The earth muffles my steps, and after a few feet I hear the gurgling of a stream. Licking the stones on its way downhill, the water is surrounded by colorful wildflowers and moss. I take a photo with my phone and save it in my photo folder for special moments.
The path is steep. Coming from downtown, it follows the stony mountains over a thousand feet up.
Normally the Ute Trail is really popular with tourists, but in the early morning or late evening there’s hardly a soul.
In the past, I’d often go jogging here. The stillness in the mountains is special.
It’s almost as if I could hear the whispering of the leaves in the gentle breeze, hear what they had to say about life.
Whenever I come here, I just feel different.
As if I’d simply left my problems at home.
Pressed Stop. See you later, dark thoughts. Not today.
After a little while, the ground turns rocky.
The tiny chunks crunch beneath the soles of my boots.
Continuing upward, the crisp air cools my sweaty forehead.
My breath begins to grow heavy, and my legs start to burn.
I haven’t been on this path in two years, and, back in Providence, I only went jogging twice.
I bet now even William has more stamina than me.
But once I start on the last bit, I know it’s been worth it. For this moment. This second. It’s got to do with this first glimpse, this bounce of the soul that only comes when you stumble into a completely magical moment.
I stand on the boulder, completely still. My shoulders rise and fall to the rhythm of my breathing while my eyes sweep across the outcrop, taking in every single inch, confirming that everything is just like it was back then.
My feet carry me to the tree that will be ours forever and ever and a little bit longer, too.
Wyatt’s and mine. That’s how often we came here.
That often. Every chance we had. My birthday.
His birthday. Christmases. Holidays neither of us celebrate.
Any excuse to be here and to believe that every second was special, to believe that we were special, our love and everything in between we didn’t have any words for because it was all just too meaningful.
That’s what things were like between us.
Wyatt was Wyatt, and he was the most valuable thing my heart had to offer.
When my pet canary Utah took off, Wyatt came up here to this outcrop and hung a swing off the tree.
No big deal, just two strong cords and a piece of wood.
But he showed it to me and said that I shouldn’t have any pet birds at all, Utah was free, and all I had to do was swing as high as I could, and I’d be able to fly and be just as free as she was.
The swing’s still here. The wind blows my hair out of my face when I sit down on the wood.
Slowly, almost cautiously, I grab the ropes and let my feet glide across the stony ground.
At first, I swing really slowly, back and forth, back and forth, but then I begin to swing more quickly, higher and higher, so high that I fly out over the end of the outcrop and all of Aspen spreads out beneath me.
Downtown, all the paths into the mountains, Silver Lake, and everything below me from over one thousand feet in the air.
I’m not afraid of falling because I’ve been falling for a long time now.