Page 2 of My Starry Valentine

“I know you think I’m silly, but I find that prayer goes a long way, too.” He gives me a knowing nod.

I bite my tongue because I’m here for fun and camaraderie. But my soul screams.If prayer works so well, how the heck did I end up like this? Why did my comrades die?Lord knows my sweet, long-suffering mama raised enough prayers on my behalf. But it’s a moot point with Chuck, so I let it go.

Slipping on my helmet and crampons, I grab my backpack filled with extra clothing, rope, a first-aid kit, food, and water. Attachment points lining the outside of the backpack house my ice axes, harness gear loops, extra crampons, and everything else I need should things get gnarly. Ice screws and draws, belays and carabiners, anchor material, and my bail kit round out the necessities.

Compared to my one hundred-pound combat rucksack in the Corps, the climbing pack weighs roughly twenty pounds less, a pleasant relief. Although I’ve stayed in shape over the years, I’m no twenty-one-year-old.

In the distance, the squeal of small children makes me grateful I already have my helmet on. Still, I keep my head angled so the kids won’t get a visual of the bad side.

Chuck notices, drawing his lips into a thin line. “You know, they’ll have to learn sooner or later that life’s not all bubblegum and cotton candy. And real heroes don’t always look like Superman.”

“Maybe,” I grumble. “But I get tired of being everybody’s learning moment, day in and day out.”

He nods grimly.

Even though I fight it, a memory sears my mind from four years ago on my way home to my mother’s house in SoCal.I remember with perfect clarity the toe-headed girl in the Houston airport. She couldn’t have been more than five or six. But her large baby blues flashed panic at the sight of me. With a shaking finger, she pointed, asking loudly, “Mommy, who’s that monster?”

Perhaps even worse than the girl’s reaction proved her mother’s response. Without explanation, she frantically scolded the kid, more conscious of me in earshot than helping her daughter process the gruesome visual. I don’t blame her. In the same situation, who knows what I might have donebefore…

But her immoderate response inadvertently confirmed the child’s worst fears. That I’m a monster so terrifying I shouldn’t be discussed or acknowledged. Most people take a similar tack. After all, it’s the polite thing to do—looking through me or past me, ignoring me, and making me feel non-existent.

“You given any thought to the route we’re taking today?”

His question isn’t an easy one. The ice park has something like two hundred different ice climbs and mixed-use trails. We’ve ticked them off one by one, ramping up the difficulty with each visit. “I say Tiddlywinks or Prof. Chaos. Thoughts?”

“You’re looking for steep today, huh?”

“I’m up for it if you’re up for it. Besides, I’d like to spend the afternoon doing something physical and mindless.”

Chuck warns, “Those steep bits won’t let you check out.”

“Yep, all good. By mindless, I don’t mean check out. In fact, checking out is exactly what I don’t want to do right now.”

He looks confused but doesn’t ask. “Well, you’re the one running on a few hours of sleep, so it’s your choice.”

We continue grunting and talking as we make our way to the massive frozen white falls, what locals refer to fondly as the “Mecca of Ice.” The largest ice park in the world, it has a primordial, frozen-in-time quality to it. Something about it comforts me, reminds me that no matter what, nature’sultimately in control, and all of us pea-brained pipsqueaks are merely along for the ride…and to learn something, I guess? I haven’t figured that part out yet.

A group of climbers already dangle halfway up Tiddlywinks, so Chuck nods towards Prof. Chaos. “You had any luck in the female department lately?” The gray-haired climber always asks me this, despite my answer having remained the same since meeting him.

“I know you’re a perpetual romantic, Chuck. But some of us have to be realists here. As much as I’d like some human companionship, I gave up that notion the first time I did a VA mirror test. Seriously, who’d settle for an ugly mug like this?”

Chuck’s face remains deadpan. “God makes somebody for everyone.”

The hardest part of hanging out with my good friend is always hearing about God. Again, if some bearded dad in the sky cared so much about me and my future, why’d he scramble my face into unlovable chaos? Even the most understanding woman has her limits. Heck, I wouldn’t hang out with myself if I could escape the reflection in the mirror.

Even worse, the bend of Chuck’s head tells me it’s time to pray. I begrudgingly echo his pose as he says, “Heavenly Father, protect us on our climb today, and keep all the stupid tourists in mind who will likely be caught off guard by the impending storm. Oh, and maybe consider sending a helpmate for my pain-in-the-butt climbing buddy here. Amen.”

I shake my head, frowning. “Thanks for the prayer, I guess. But there’ll be no romance for me. I’m happy with my single, no-holds-barred life.” My words couldn’t be further from the truth. Fortunately, my friend ignores them.

I add, “Besides, all I ever do is hang out at the ice park or my cabin watching the stars. He’d have to drop her out of the sky for me to meet someone new.” The last statement’s slightlyexaggerated as I get groceries and supplies in town and am friendly with the more understanding locals. But in a city of just over nine hundred people, romantic options are non-existent, especially for gals who like a freak show.

Standing at the bottom of the massive curling formation of icicles, Chuck and I crane our necks as we plan our best route up. He whistles long and low, shaking his head. “Don’t let that smooth spot up top fool you. It’s slippery as they come. You’re going to level up technique on this one today.”

“Having second thoughts, Squid? It’s okay if you want to sit this one out,” I tease.

“Heck, no, Devil Dog,” he grumbles, patting me hard on the back. “You ready?”

“Let’s do this,” I reply, taking a deep breath and tamping down the knot rising in my stomach. Fear and foreboding are good signs. They’ll keep my adrenaline high and my brain and muscles working fast and well. And when I glance back over the edge at the finish, reveling at the progress I’ve made as an ice climber, the tendrils of anxiety twisting and turning inside will transform into hot, searing waves of exhilaration.

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