Page 58 of Happiness for Beginners

“Are we hiking in our tent groups?” I asked.

“Good question, Ellen. No. I will put the fastest four together”—here, Beckett gestured at the four tallest guys—“and then the next four”—he gestured at a group that included both Windy and Jake—“and then the next four”—me, the Sisters, and Hugh. “Fastest group first, slowest group last, so there’s no traffic jam.”

“Who are you hiking with?” Mason asked.

“I might take a day with the guys up front.”

Something about it seemed fishy to me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Beckett was tired of going slow and just wanted a day when he could fly along the trail with the fast guys. But he showed us the route, and it didn’t look too confusing. He was right that nobody had been working very hard on map skills. Beckett had held three Mad Maps sessions, and people kept dozing off, reading their books hidden behind daypacks, and asking to go to the bathroom. I, myself, paid attention and took copious notes—partly because I didn’t know how to take a class and not lean forward in the front row like a Type-A nut job, but also because I found I liked looking at contour maps. Everybody else seemed to see squiggly lines and patches of color. But I for some reason looked down and saw it all in 3-D. It was, without a doubt, the only thing in the course that came naturally to me. That said, I didn’t make a big deal of it. It was too easy to just follow along in line like everybody else.

That night, in my sleeping bag, waiting to fall asleep, the prospect of Beckett leaving us behind for a whole day to hike with the fast guys pricked a feeling of alarm in my chest. I had a knack for reading maps, yes—but I hadn’t actually used them in the real wilderness. Disaster scenarios ran through my head like they were on a loop. But I talked myself out of worrying. After all, it was hiking three simple miles—on a trail, in a fairly straight line, on flat terrain. How hard could that be?

***

The next morning, before he headed out with the first group, Beckett spotted a piece of litter.

“Hold up, guys,” he said, raising his palms in a “halt” gesture.

He crossed the campsite and squatted to examine it.

“Seriously folks?” he said. “Litter?”

He slid off his pack in one smooth motion, keeping his eyes on the white square. Then reached out, picked it up, and held it in a pinch like it was a dead thing.

All our eyes drifted to the white square. It did seem jarringly out of place with its surroundings, I thought, and just on the heels of that thought, I had another: That litter was mine. It was the list of goals I’d been carrying around in my bra.

“Beckett—” I said, starting toward him.

“How many times have we talked about respecting nature? How many times have we talked about leaving no trace? And yet, you people leave a constant trail of detritus behind you like you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

He unfolded the paper.

I was about to say that it was mine—that I hadn’tlittered,I had justlostit.

But before I could say anything, he started reading the list. Out loud. “To gasp at the raw power and beauty of nature. To fall to my knees in awe of the magic of the world. To become a part of something so much larger than myself.” The big guys did some laughing and some snorting. But Beckett was dead serious. “Does somebody want to claim this?”

I held perfectly still. Not anymore, I didn’t. I gave silent thanks that I’d had the good sense to cut my name off the top long before this journey even started.

“What do I keep telling you guys? What did I say on the very first day?”

Mason was enjoying this. “Littering will not be tolerated.”

“What else did I say? In our very first lecture on protecting Mother Nature? What did I tell you would happen if I saw you guys littering?”

Everybody looked around. Finally, Dosie gave it a go. “You would go insane?”

“That’s right! That’s exactly what I said.If you want to see me go insane, throw a piece of litter on the ground.” He pulled out the propane lighter we used for the cookstoves. “Well, I guess you wanted to see me go insane. And that’s fine! You asked for it, you got it.”

He held up the lighter in one hand, and my list of self-improvements in the other. He clicked the flame on. “Anybody want to claim it now?”

Nope.

And without speaking another word, he lit it on fire.

We stared at the flame. Beckett let it burn down almost to his fingers, then he dropped it, stamped out the fire with his boot, picked up the remaining corner of paper, and stuck it in his pocket.

“The world is not your garbage dump, people,” Beckett said. He looked around. We all just stared at him like he was completely bananas.

“Do it again,” he said, “and I will scorch the earth.” Then he whistled for the first group of hikers like a pack of dogs and led them off down the trail.

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