This morning, he had instructed me to get ready while refusing to tell me where we were going, advising me to wear comfortable shoes and a coat. I can only assume we’re doing somethingoutdoors.
We pass signs indicating what’s ahead, and it’s clear I was right—we’re going hiking. He follows the signs, turning onto a gravel road that crunches beneath the tires and bounces us in our seats due to the significant potholes. Finally, Ambrose pulls into a parking lot where only two other cars are parked, likely due to it being early afternoon on a weekday, and also November and freezing fucking cold.
“I’ve heard of this place,” I say as he turns off the car and glances over at me. Linville Gorge is a popular hiking spot in North Carolina, and I’ve heard this is one of the best views, but I’ve never been. I had asked Joel years ago if he’d take me, and even though he promised he would someday, he never did. Par for the course, I suppose.
“You’ll love it.” Ambrose’s soft smile is so dazzling that it steals my breath away. So many times, I forget he’s not entirely human, but in moments like this, his ethereal beauty is impossible to ignore.
I awkwardly return his smile before I open the door and exit the car.
We’ve again entered some weird state of limbo, where we’ve crossed a line we shouldn’t have and now don’t know how to act around each other. Each time we’ve taken things a step further, either physically or emotionally, he seems to withdraw and become deeply introspective for a day or two before we both pretend nothing happened.
I know for a fact that it’s not a healthy way to handle things, avoiding communication because it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not like our relationship was built on a foundation of trust and respect in the first place.
Honestly, it’s nice to simply feel safe and wanted, even if it is in an incredibly fucked up scenario. So if we can continue this without anyone trying to put a label on it—which would complicate things even more—then I’m perfectly happy.
I’ll be leaving forever as soon as I fulfill my end of the bargain, anyway. That’s what I keep telling myself, though I never dwell on the idea for long. The future becomes more intimidating and overwhelming every time I attempt to think about it.
Ambrose rounds the car to walk beside me, and a minute later, we’re starting at the trailhead. The trail is wide enough that we can walk side-by-side with some distance between us, but the quiet feels too heavy with all the emotions whirling through me.
“Any reason why you picked this particular trail?” I ask, unable to resist the urge to break the silence.
Ambrose’s footsteps are steady next to me as he says, “Yes. This place means a lot to me. I’ve spent many afternoons here, and it always seems to give me some much-needed mental clarity.”
“Is there something you need mental clarity for right now?” I joke, but it falls flat when he glances over and gives me a weak smile. I imagine he’s thinking,Of course there is. I just fucked the human woman that I kidnapped after she tried to kill herself, and now everything’s weirdly complicated.
“Possibly,” he answers. “But I also brought you here because I truly think you’ll appreciate it in the same way I do. The last time I came here was about as close to a religious experience I’ve had since I… well, you know.”
“Yeah, I imagine dying, meeting a god, and coming back to life as an immortal would probably be at the top of that list.” It still feels like such a surreal thing to consider.
My comment earns me a chuckle.
“I’ve mostly come to terms with it.”
We continue on in silence as I again consider the implications of Ambrose’s experience, of his existence.
If I had succeeded in my suicide attempt, would I have been given the same opportunity as Ambrose?
Probably not. Why would a god give eternal life to someone who didn’t care to live out their first one? I wonder if this deity simply picks and chooses people at random, or how that works.
The hike is short on a simple paved trail that winds between the golden trees, until we reach a set of stone stairs leading down into a semi-circle outcropping for a full view of the mountains.
Ambrose stays beside me the entire time, and I don’t pull away when he takes my hand as we descend the short set of steps.
When we reach the bottom, my breath catches in my throat. Before us, the mountains are spread against the sky, rolling peaks as far as the eye can see disappearing into the blueish haze that gives the Blue Ridge Mountains their name. Before us is the gorge, a steep valley between the mountains where the river cuts through the ravine. The vast beauty of it all is overwhelming.
“I’ve always loved this place,” he says softly, staring out over the expansive landscape. The autumn colors are beginning to fade, the vibrant oranges and reds seeping from the leaves and leaving them brown and brittle. In a couple weeks, this entire valley will be one solid blanket of beige. But right now, it’s trapped between the forgotten summer and the promise of winter.
I squeeze his hand. “I can see why. It’s incredible.”
“I’ve been coming here for close to eighty years,” he admits. Even though I’ve become accustomed to hisimmortality, the number itself is still jarring. “The path itself has changed a lot as it’s become more popular,” he continues, “but the landscape is always the same. Every time I come back here, it puts everything into perspective.”
I understand what he means. Gazing out over the mountains from so high up, surrounded by them on all sides as they fade into the horizon like rolling waves, has a way of making you feel infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things.
As the minutes stretch on with both of us taking in the view in silence, my thoughts drift. I think about my life, about how miserable I was for so much of my life, how utterly resigned I was to the hopeless circumstances. From up here, my problems—my life—feel insignificant. Irrelevant. Ironically, it’s that feeling of insignificance that’s so liberating.
When you’re neck-deep in such terrible circumstances—depression, abuse, fear—you view the world through that trauma, which distorts and magnifies reality until it’s altered beyond recognizability.
It’s only once you’re out of that deep, suffocating darkness that you can evaluate life from a clearer perspective.
