Page 40 of Every Beautiful Mile

Marin’s hair is pulled back in a bandana, little blonde spikes sticking up with sweat in the back, and Finn’s face is flushed from the heat. The t-shirts and shorts we wear are parkas against our already hot skin.

We look like melted crayons.

The bright white ground below us makes the deadly rays of the sun bouncing off it blindingly disorienting. We squint as we follow the other foolishly hot tourists into the middle of the harsh, flat wilderness of Badwater Basin. Where we were walking to, I have no clue. On the horizon, bodies blur into blobs, and it looks like the land itself has liquified from the heat.

“Why are we doing this again?” Finn asks before chugging his water.

Marin and I reply in annoyed unison with, “Dad.”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. If Travis were here, we’d be arguing over how much I did not want to be here, but here we are, marching out into the fiery pits of hell, all in his name.

A family of four walks in the opposite direction as us as the two young kids are whining and red-faced. I catch the mom’s eye.

“Hey, what’s there to see out there? Like what are we walking toward?” I ask.

Her hair mirrors mine, sweaty and matted to her face, and she’s no doubt internally preferring death to her current situation as much as I am.

Her hands shoot up in the air. “Nothing! Not a damn thing! You walk and walk and walk in this fucking heat for nothing! I can see ground this flat in Indiana!”

Her eyes have the flame of crazy burning in them as she yells, but her kids and husband don’t react. They either aren’t surprised by her tirade or agree with her completely.

“Thanks,” I murmur, watching as she angrily stomps off into the crowd with her family jogging after her.

I look over at Finn and Marin and don’t have to say a word. We spin around and walk right back to the parking lot.

***

“Guys, this is real camping!” I say as we park the Avion between a sea of big round rocks, the only RV in sight. “And look, Finn, we don’t even have to argue about me not backing into anything!”

We are off-grid on public land. Our first time ever. No electricity, cell service, or water. It feels adventurous. Dangerous, even.

They don’t match my enthusiasm, only exchange unimpressed looks before getting out and setting up.

I lean forward to look out the windshield. Large, round rocks cover hills at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains in every direction. It’s as if balls of clay have been splattered against the ground by a drunken potter, then left to dry.

Even exhausted, we can’t resist the call to play on them.

“Mom! Over here! Try this one,” Marin calls from at least ten feet above me.

I wedge between two rocks as she had, pushing a foot to one while using my hands to pull myself up on the other one just enough to bring my other leg up. I shift my weight back and forth like a teeter-totter and inch my feet higher up the middle of the rocks until I finally peek out of the top between the two and fling my body over one of them. Even with the sandpaper coarseness of the rocks that make it impossible to slip, my muscles are screaming.

From there, the rocks that pile up just require steps instead of full body maneuvers. Within a few hops, I’m standing next to Marin, looking out over the field of rocky hills and the jagged peaks of the mountains, snowcapped even in June.

“Wow,” I huff, looking at the scene set on fire by the low sun.

Finn is a couple rocks away from us, standing on top of an arched formation.

“Amazing, huh?” Marin asks.

“Amazing,” I say.

It really is.

***

By the time I make it back to the Avion, it’s dark. I pour a glass of wine and drop into a chair while Finn and Marin wander the rocks with flashlights. Between the sounds of their laughter, effects of the wine, and the brightness of the stars—I’m the definition of relaxed.

The easy feeling is short-lived.

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