Where Sea Meets Sky

None of us says anything, we just suck in the air, suck in the view, suck in the life around us. I feel like the wind rushing up from the far-off lands below is feeding us. It’s feeding me, deep inside, giving me strength.

We have a quick lunch of protein bars and water, sitting among the dry tussock and trying to get our small brains to believe the world around us. Then we head back down the track, passing other exhausted trampers on the way and encouraging them to keep going, that the pain is worth it for the beauty.

Back on the main track heading to the Mackenzie Lake campsite, the out-of-body experience doesn’t end. It amplifies as we walk along exposed ridges, the brown and green grass and subalpine plants rolling off on either side of us until they end, dropping off, and then there’s nothing but space between us and the Hollyford and Ailsa Mountains.

I’m watching my step on the trodden rock path but I wish I had eyes on the back of my head. Not only to keep taking in the views but to watch Josh. Out of all of us, he seems to be just as affected as I am. He’s thirsty for the experience and his passion is revving my heart. I’m already awake and alive and he’s adding to it, making me want him more than I ever have.

I don’t even have the decency to chide myself. The feeling is freeing and freedom is all I need.

Though it’s a breathtaking hike, it’s a long one. When we finally reach the campsite, down a steep descent to the rich, blue-green waters of Lake Mackenzie, we’ve been walking for six hours. It’s almost dinnertime and the rumble in my stomach, my body screaming for protein, forces me to set up the tent in record time. I bring out the food from my pack—freeze-dried organic chili and a roll of gluten-free bread—and Amber cooks it over the portable stove that Josh pulls out of his backpack.

It’s cold up here, and though summer has swamped the rest of the country, it’s still spring in the mountains. We’re all wrapped in our sweaters and jackets, ample amounts of mosquito spray covering our faces. The bottle of whiskey gets passed around the fire and soon the sun sinks behind molten clouds and the stars start to pop out in the sky.

Nick heads to our tent early. Soon after, Amber goes to hers.

I’m alone with Josh and I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to stop being free. I want to get up and strip naked and run into the lake. I want to dance under the stars and the sliver of moon poking its head in the distance, rising from the hidden sea.

I think he can feel it in me, this wildness. I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and the rest of my life doesn’t exist and the only thing that’s certain is here and now.

I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him.

I’ve wanted and yearned my whole life, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted quite like this. It pulls from my gut and mingles with those feelings I’ve ignored, the ones that tell me I’m looking for something and haven’t found it yet.

Is it Josh? Would he fill that void?

Or is he just the sleight-of-hand in a card trick?

He’s sitting across from me on a mossy rock and his eyes keep catching mine through the flames. If I were to lean over and kiss him, I would catch fire.

But I think I’d enjoy it.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” he says, his voice careful, and I look down to hide the disappointment I know is etched on my face.

“Yeah. Me too,” I reply, hoping I sound free.

But I’m not free. My stupid fucking heart is nothing more than a cage. I have to learn better. I have to watch myself.

I tip another shot of whiskey into my mouth and feel it burn as it goes down. I wish there were no tomorrow.

Josh seems hesitant to leave me so I get up and go to the washroom instead with the one dying flashlight that we have. I relieve myself and then spend a few moments milling around the campsites, staring at the glow from the tents against the glow of the stars above.

I wish I could paint this. I wish I could capture it as it is, all the details. I wouldn’t need to embellish or elaborate. The reality is as beautiful as art.

With that thought in my head, I crawl into bed beside Nick and go to sleep.

The next morning I wake up with a fuzzy head and a frozen nose. It’s the only thing poking out of the sleeping bags, and when I open my eyes I see frost on the top of the tent. Lord, it’s cold.

I turn against Nick and try and snuggle, try to get warm. But he cries out and pushes me away.

“Fuck, babe, you’re pure ice,” he says in annoyance and he keeps me at arm’s length so I don’t bring the chill to him. Now I kind of want to freeze him out in a different way.

“Cuddle me,” I demand, half joking, half serious.

But he only covers himself with the rest of his sleeping bag and rolls away, facing the side of the tent. “Fuck no, cuddle yourself, ice queen,” he grumbles.

Maybe he doesn’t mean for it to sting, but it does. It shouldn’t. He meant it as just a joke, a jab at my frozen limbs, not anything more than that. The truth is I don’t really need to snuggle up to Nick; he’s just a warm body and I’d probably snuggle up to a fat, bearded trucker named Earl if I had a choice, but I don’t.

I sigh, my breath catching in a cloud above my head, then decide to get on with the day. I get dressed as fast as I can, my teeth chattering as I go, pulling on singlets and T-shirts and flannel shirts and sweaters.

I noisily zip out of the tent and emerge into the mist. I can barely see Josh and Amber’s tent across the fire pit. Everything is hidden by cold, heavy fog. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">