If I stayed, where would I live? With Mom and Dad or with Jones? What if another wrench is thrown into our plans or relationship? Would the love Jones and I share be enough this time?
But if I go, will I be able to do life without Jones?
I don’t know if I can.
The air is cooler the higher I ascend, but my breath is more accelerated with more exertion. A couple passes me, and we greet one another. I’m relieved they’re strangers and not locals. They’re smarter than me, as they’re making their way back down rather than going up.
Continuing to put one foot in front of the other, thoughts spiral in my mind. I could focus on the unfairness of it. Of whyJones and I had to lose the baby, or why we got pregnant in the first place. Then we wouldn’t have had these eight years apart.
But in our time apart, I grew. I learned how to be strong, I learned how to be independent. And I’m not sure I want to minimize that.
Jones grew too. While he stumbled for several years, he finally found his footing. And he didn’t need me to do it.
If we went our separate ways, the two of us could be strong apart. But together, we could be indestructible.
There’s a clearing in the path and when I approach the edge of the hill, the view spans the foothills of the mountain and the road leading out of town that takes you to the interstate. My heart suddenly feels heavy in my chest.
The life I built in Connecticut feels so far away. Friends, a job, and my aunt who took me in when I needed someone. Can I just leave it all behind?
It’s a huge risk that I’m not sure I’m willing to take.
I make a pros and cons list in my head for leaving Maple Ridge. But no matter how many are on the pros list, there’s one thing on the cons list that outweighs every positive. Jones. Connecticut doesn’t have Jones.
It’s in this moment the pressure that’s been bearing down on me all summer lifts. The answer to the conflict I’ve been battling appears as clear as day. It’s Jones. It’s always been Jones. I don’t know why I bothered trying to fight it.
There’s an urgency to my steps now as I make my way back down the trail. A deep longing nags in my gut to tell Jones. I tug my phone free from the side pocket of my yoga pants and at the same time, my foot catches on a root sticking out of the trail. I trip and go hurling toward the ground, and so does my phone.
A sort of shrill squawk tears from my throat. “Oh crap!” I holler as I hit the dirt.
Fiery pain radiates in my ankle and zings up my legs. My eyes water and I blink back the impending tears. I push myself up enough so I can roll over to my butt and survey the damage. My hands and my knees throb. There are scratches on my dirty palms that are already bloody and gashes on my knees. But nothing hurts more than my ankle.
The sun is close to setting and worry races through me. I bring my knees to my chest and try to stand but my ankle cries out in agony. My heart thumps faster. Suddenly the fear of being stuck on this trail alone after dark feels completely reasonable. And terrifying.
My phone is several feet away from the side of the trail. It takes some maneuvering, and more inflicted pain, to reach it. But as soon as I unlock the screen, my stomach plummets. Of all the places on this trail, I’ve fallen where there’s a pocket of no cell service.
Having a dad who has always been obsessed with the outdoors, he’s at least taught me to never take a hike unprepared. Though I’m sure he also taught me to never hike alone. I slide my pack off my back and pull out the small first-aid kit.
Cleaning and bandaging my wounds give me something to focus on so I don’t begin to panic. I’m well aware of the fact that I’m in a messed-up situation. Wild thoughts of crawling down this mountain enter my brain, but I push those aside as a last resort.
Once my wounds are covered on my hands and knees, I try again to push myself up to my feet. Any bit of weight put on my ankle causes a burning pain to swell without forgiveness. I stumble through the torture to a big boulder and drop onto it.
What would be worse; hobble through the pain down this trail or wait it out here all night? I’m only about halfway down,meaning I have about a mile and a half to go. I haven’t seen anyone since the couple I passed on my way up over an hour ago.
I check my phone. Still no service or internet access. I pull the flashlight from my backpack and clutch it to my chest.
The sun has already set and in about twenty minutes it will be completely dark. My eyes brim with tears and I can’t fight them any longer. They spill and roll down my cheeks in continuous streams. My heart races and I gulp down hurried breaths as hysteria sets in.
I mumble desperate prayers under my breath while simultaneously yearning for telepathy so Jones, my mom, Cammie,anyonewould pick up on it and find me here. In between all that and the sobbing, I call out for help. No one answers. The darker it grows, the quieter it becomes.
An hourlater and after one more failed attempt at hobbling down the mountain, I find my jacket in my pack and put it on. My phone is bringing me little comfort. I play with the flashlight for a while. Shining it at the sky, I pretend it’s the bat signal and hope someone in town sees it.
Laying back on the rock, I stare up at the bright stars. Their shimmering isn’t enough to distract me from the constant pain in my ankle. But they’re at least pretty to look at.
My mind wanders to my past. All those summer evenings spent with Jones, snuggled in the bed of his truck while we gazed at the star-speckled sky. I try not to let fear get the better of me and worry that those nights or only in the past. I want more than anything to make more memories with Jones. To have more nights spent with him.
A rustling sound startles me, and I sit up, a lump sliding in my throat. Hurried footsteps trampling over the trail terrain causes my heart to thump hard and fast against my chest.
“Mia?” a voice cries out.