He needed bullet points, and he needed them bad.
Alexei squinted in the darkness; he could barely make out the paper, but didn’t want to use his headlamp and wake Ben. He kept things simple: basic facts he wanted to remember from this day, when he had lived through so many different things, felt like such a different person.
He paused halfway through, looking over at the dark mass next to him, nothing but nylon with a jungle of hair sticking out of it. It was so precious, he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from bursting into giggles.
He tapped his pen against his chin, collecting himself. Figuring out what else to add to his list.
He had a strange desire to add a bullet point that said:You can even find fags on the PCT these days.He didn’t, because it had been so frightening at the time. But now, in the safety of Ben’s tent on the quiet banks of the creek, something about it almost seemed funny to Alexei, now that he’d lived through it. So many things people said—the things people Alexei had grown up with had said—were so easy to turn around. So easy, with a different inflection, to make celebratory instead.
Gays: Surprisingly common now, even in the outdoors!
Alexei fought another possibly inappropriate surge of laughter.
Eventually, he wrote:
Leslie in the Patagonia hat
Getting some words down to document the day calmed his brain a bit. But Alexei still stared into the near blackness at the page in front of him, for maybe a few minutes too long.
Because soon, a dark thought crept in.
What would Dad have done today? If he had been there?
He wouldn’t have been as crass as the two men had been. Wouldn’t have been as aggressive.
But he would have thought—would have felt deeply—the same sentiment.
He would have looked at Alexei and prayed.
Alexei flipped to a blank page.
Maybe if he wrote this one thing—not a bullet point, but the words that lived inside him every minute—he could finally sleep.
He lifted his pen once more.
Do they miss me?
Alexei stared at the words, barely visible.
No. Not quite right.
There was a reason he wanted to write this, finally, today.
Alexei chewed the cap of his pen. He listened to Ben breathing. And then he fixed the question, made it closer to what his heart wanted to know.
Does it count if the person they miss isn’t actually me?
Chapter Seventeen
River crossings had been one of Ben’s biggest anxieties when researching the PCT. Some fords in the Sierras and Cascades during high snowmelt years were known to be especially harrowing. But the water of Deep Creek the following morning, thankfully, was shallow and calm. Cold as hell, and their feet would be wet all morning, but on the upside, Ben wasn’t afraid of being swept away downriver. Or, like, too afraid.
It was a wide crossing, though, and rocky, with a tall sandy bank waiting for them on the other side they’d have to scramble up. Ben rubbed his eyes and tried to sharpen his senses as they made their careful way across.
They had just about made it there when the mooning happened.
“Hey, Thompson!”
Ben looked up. There was another pair of hikers crossing the creek with them, one of whom had already reached the opposite shore. And who was apparently celebrating this fact by pulling down his shorts and showing his white ass to his companion, who was still in the water, a yard or so ahead of Ben and Alexei.
