Page 83 of Free Heart
I breathe in deeply.
Still, my gut quivers as we start off down the trail. Me limping, and him pacing his long strides to stay with me. I huff a laugh at the anxious wire of apprehension coiling inside me. It’s silly to be nervous, and yet I am.
I know this is right. The two of us together. I’m at home with Sejin in a way I’ve never experienced with another person before. I don’t know if he feels quite as singularly about me, but the fact that he’s still here by my side, obsessively caring for me, glancing at me with worry and love, tells me that he sees us as a package deal now.
Seahorse. Angelfish. Us.
I’m certain about this. I think I’ve known he’s my destiny—if there is such a thing—from the moment I saw his photo on that app. Sejin is every bit as irrevocably meant for me as Heart Route has ever been. More so.
As we walk in silence, I picture what I know lies ahead on the trail. The winter white of snow on the cliffs. The rush of lacy, frothing water and the pristine icicles that will hang from the rock. I’ve seen a similar scene at the end of this trail dozens of times over the last few years. Yet this time will be different.
I’ll have to yell to be heard, but I also know he’ll understand what I’m saying no matter what. I imagine it all again—he’ll be beautiful, standing out against the roaring background, my human seahorse. With the waterfall thundering down, I’ll kneel at his feet…
I frown. No, not with this leg, I won’t.
Alright. No problem. I’ll stand by him—as equals.
As other hikers pass us on the trail, I find I’m getting winded much earlier than I ever have before. It’s unexpected, despite my injury. I’ve been working out with Lowell, and I’ve been practicing jumping in the buoyancy of Peggy Jo’s hot tub. I’ve been lifting weights and trudging through the snow in the back acre to rebuild my stamina and strength.
But the air feels thin today, though I know it’s not.
It’s me. I’m out of shape—yes, still healing—but also very nervous.
More nervous than the day I started up Heart Route.ThenI’d felt assured and confident of the outcome. I still don’t remember the climb, but I know that much is true. Or else I never would have started up.
NowI recognize that having a deep-seated sense of confidence isn’t any kind of guarantee.
“This is far enough,” Sejin says suddenly, scoping out the walkway ahead with a dour expression.
I shake my head. I can hear the fall roaring. It’s a mind-clearing white noise that accompanies all of my climbs, but we can’t see it yet. It’s still ahead and around the bend.
“I can make it.”
“Dan, no,” Sejin says, taking my arm in a sturdy grip as I put my bad foot forward. “There’s ice up there.”
Squinting into the gloom of the path, I can see he’s right. The white-and-gray of navigable sludge is outlined and surrounded by shiny black danger. I sigh, quickly calculating in my mind how much of my fantasy of this moment I’m willing to sacrifice in exchange for having the matter settled. In Sejin’s dark eyes I can read his anxiety and decide not to demand we press onward. I remember the bench a few steps behind us and make my choice.
“Alright,” I concede.
I let him turn me around, pretending to be docile in a way he seems to have mixed feelings about. I can tell he misses when I took charge of things. I’ll fix that now. “Let’s sit here,” I say.
“You need to rest?” Sejin’s voice takes on a sharper edge of worry.
I don’t lie. I can’t lie to him. So, I say nothing and simply sit on the bench. Sejin takes the spot beside me. Just as he should, as he hopefully always will.
Snowflakes flitter their way down from a few dark clouds and land like tiny, white flowers in his dark hair.
“Doc,” I say, after a young couple, both wearing colorful beanies, passes us on their way to the falls. They clutch each other, slip-sliding and giggling over the ice Sejin had insisted I avoid. “I have something to tell you.”
“Yeah?” He turns his head from me, scrutinizing the path toward the parking lot, gauging the continued safety of the pavement. He shifts his attention to the sky, taking in the clouds and seems to be calculating the risks of a sudden snowstorm.
This won’t do. His attention needs to be on me. I dig around in my coat pocket and take hold of the box. “Doc, listen.”
“Alright.” But he doesn’t look at me.
I soldier on, determined to say what I asked him to bring me here to say. “You told me I needed to ask you when I wasn’t on drugs, remember? I haven’t had a pain pill in weeks.”
Sejin turns to me then, puzzlement lurking in his eyes and his brows knitted together. “What are you talking about?”
