Santa Teresa’s, Sky Islands Traverse, April 2017
Well, it worked.
Out of the bushes, off route, headed straight for a bees nest, came a man. Not just any man, but one that had kayaked the Yukon, trekked the Andes, amongst other very challenging worldly and outdoorsy things.
“Hey watch out!”
I had saved him.
Then I reeled him in with what I call charisma, but what others call oversharing and bad boundaries.
In the real world we would not be friends. He’s a quiet Christian with good hygiene, listens to classical music. I’m a loud pot smoking agnostic tom boy with messy hair.
In three days he knew everything about me. I told him about my most embarrassing moment in Kindergarten, my dead Grandmother, accidentally sharting on a former boyfriend’s leg, amongst other things.
“You’re blowing my mind,” he said one night.
I talked when it was time to be quiet. “What are you thinking?” I asked him incessantly. Sometimes he wouldn’t answer. So I’d ask another question.
He didn’t technically have a trail name so I suggested Kenny G because he had played saxophone for like a year in middle school. But come on, any person who chooses to play the sax has to have a little soul.
In Safford, Arizona we split a room at a dive motel. There I chopped myself into little pieces, offered them up. He took them gently, lent me his shoulder to cry on. He actually listened, and I am forever grateful.