Chapter 32 Sadie #2
I climb up onto a boulder and get as comfortable as I can; it’s rough against my bare legs.
I only brought a few things with me: My coffee, of course.
My journal. Trail mix. The only physical book I have left in my possession—A Hiker Girl’s Guide to Bugs how I caught him changing his shirt in that hollow tree display; how I left so many of my comfort items behind in his mop closet of an office.
Thinking back to that, I’m so glad I took his advice—I had no idea just how hard it would be to carry everything, how painful.
And have I missed that stuff at all?
Not one single bit.
I guess I really have come a long way since then. I’ve missed a lot of other stuff, yeah…but I’ve survived. I’ve been determined. I’ve done better than I ever expected to in this environment.
Out of nowhere, a memory comes rushing back in screaming clarity, Zoe yelling at Joshua the day they officially broke up: You never should have brought me out here! You should have known the wilderness isn’t my thing.
Her words seared into my subconscious without me even realizing it.
I pick up my pen, write in neat letters: Why is *that* what stuck with me? Why did Zoe’s words hit a nerve?
The rest of the page stays blank for a long time. I mull it over while taking in my surroundings, only realizing I’m tapping my pen against the page when Parker looks up at me from her book.
Oops.
I watch the puffy white clouds, then a pair of bluebirds as they flit over to a nearby tree. It’s peaceful out here—I can see why Thorn likes it.
I close my eyes, try to shake the memory of him out of my head. I came on this trip to stretch myself, not to meet a guy, so why am I so preoccupied with whether he wants to talk to me or not? I had every chance to back out after Caden flaked—but I chose to be here.
That’s it, I suddenly realize: the reason Zoe’s words stuck with me so much.
You never should have brought me out here! You should have known the wilderness isn’t my thing.
The wilderness is very much not my thing, either. That’s what I would have said before this trip, anyway—but all these days in, I’m low-key incredulous with the way I’ve managed to adapt, especially given that I’m a particular person and a creature of habit.
Zoe, by contrast, only came out here for a guy.
She didn’t know this wilderness adventure was in the cards for her until Joshua’s unwelcome surprise—hence, Zoe has had a harder time adapting.
Her attitude is very I can’t and I don’t want to and This is terrible and uncomfortable and I want to go home. Which…is relatable.
But.
I’ve felt every single one of those things. Difference is, I’ve chosen to not let them define my time out here.
Some might say my willingness to adapt is simply a manifestation of my desire to be comfortable at all times—if the choices are Do this difficult thing or Do this difficult thing with a bad attitude, I’m going to choose to do it the more fun way.
Does it really matter, though? Whatever it is that’s helped me not end up hating every step like Zoe, I can say with absolute certainty that I’ve changed out here.
I’ve been away from my routines.
I’ve been away from my comforts.
I’ve done things that scared me: nearly slipped off those slick rock stairs on our first day, slept out in the wilderness despite my fear of every wild animal, made it out alive after kayaking in snake-infested waters (I presume), conquered a panic attack while dangling off the side of a cliff.
I’ve been prepared for a lot—but not everything.
I’ve made peace with the fact that I can’t prepare for everything.
And maybe I’ve had more fun thanks to Thorn being around, and laughed more than I have in ages, but it’s not like he’s the reason I’ve been able to thrive.
He didn’t climb inside my head and give me the determination to have a good attitude.
He didn’t give me the strength to keep walking, without complaint, when my blisters burned like fire.
He didn’t make me leave half my pack behind at the Little Free Library—though I admit his advice planted the seed in my head.
He is, however, the one who saw me clearly enough to know how much it meant for me to leave everything behind.
He rescued things that mattered to me because they mattered to me. He carried them for days, then left them for me when I needed them most.
Even though I didn’t come out here to find a guy, and I’m no longer trying to prove anything to anyone but myself, I admit I miss him. It would be so much easier to move on if he were, like, Matteo levels of thoughtless and selfish—
But Thorn is extremely thoughtful.
And the fact that he clearly still cares about me, but is determined to push me away, proves he’s selfless.
I can tell myself all day long that I don’t need him.
That doesn’t change the fact that I want him.
Seven feverishly scribbled pages later, I look up in a daze. My hand is cramping, my coffee’s long gone, and my left foot has started to fall asleep.
Time for a walk.
I scoot off the boulder, not at all gracefully, and tuck everything into the tote bag I brought along.
The nature path is beautiful and serene, following the curve of the brook all the way down to Sparrow Valley Falls, the crash of the waterfall louder by the minute. All sorts of vibrant things poke out amid the green: brightly colored mushrooms, wildflowers, berries, and birds.
Before coming on this trip, I assumed all places in nature looked more or less the same.
Now, though, it’s easier to spot the differences: all the variations of plants and rocks and trees, the way some spots are more rugged than others, how the sunlight bends throughout the day, how the stars and the moon make their way across the night sky.
At the moment, I’m fascinated by the berries; I pull out A Hiker Girl’s Guide to Bugs I’d really like to get a nice shot of the waterfall while I’m down this way. Even from here, it’s surprisingly loud.
When I emerge from the nature path, the waterfall comes into full, majestic view: it’s bigger in every way than the first two we encountered on this trip—higher, wider, faster, fuller, the pool at the bottom frothing with whitewater.
I’ve just framed the perfect shot through my disposable camera’s viewfinder when I notice Zoe in the lower-left corner. She’s no longer merely lounging near the waterfall—she’s climbed up on a wide, flat rock right at the edge of the pool, doing yoga like always.
She’s perfectly balanced, holding one of the warrior positions she taught us before shifting out of it again. A bird swoops low into the frame, the perfect shot—
I click the shutter at the exact moment Zoe jumps in.