The hillside was tilting as he ran, his arms out for balance. He was exploding through solidity, his feet breaking apart the marble and scattering it. Somewhere in this maze she was doing the same, and he needed to sense her, catch a glimpse of the spray she kicked up in the light. Wave patterns, and somewhere she was carving the pattern, setting up a counterwave, and that was what he needed to feel. He needed to extend himself into the pattern and feel the dimpling at an edge. Grandma!
Mired in place, pinned down by gravity. Too slow, too limited by breath, too limited by this clunky body, by chicken fat and dumplings. Galen stopped and bent over, purged, tried to free himself, tried to lose this mortal shell. The air cold enough she’d never survive the night.
Too difficult to run uphill, so he turned to the side, traversed. Light and shadow, the world veering in and out of focus. He stopped and tried to squint into the high contrast and turn slowly in a circle and just look for movement. But the forest was motionless, as if the planet itself had stopped rotating. A slow drift through space, so quiet, the only sounds his own blood and breath, the tilting coming from inside him. The forest had swallowed her in stillness.
Grandma, he called again, and he began to feel angry. He shouldn’t have to find her. He ran as fast as he could, running blindly now, no longer trying to see, crashing through branches and snags. She was out here somewhere, but with each moment, she became less likely.
He tried to listen, bent over and panting, and then he ran back the way he had come.
Farther than he had thought. Time wasted, and nothing looked familiar. He would spend all night searching, he knew, and he would never find her. She would be lost and gone.
But then he saw the big rock, staggered through the meadow, and realized where she must have gone. A path at the top of the meadow that led to other cabins and a trailhead. There was no other option, really. He’d been wasting his time, stupidly, and she’d be getting frightened by now. If she became frightened enough, she might leave the trail.
He followed this trail uphill, moving as fast as he could, passed cabins empty, boarded up, storm shutters all around, no glass to reflect the moon, only dull wood glowing white. He could smell this place, smell the dirt and weeds and pines, the familiar air and familiar path, and ahead, nearing the trail that went higher to the summit, he saw a figure passing from light to shadow to light.
Grandma, he called, and the figure paused, half in the light, herself become a half-moon. Grandma, he called again, wait for me.
She began moving again, and he ran after, tried not to lose sight of her. She could fade away so easily, a trick of the light. Wait for me, he called. And she disappeared, stopped in a shadow perhaps.
His lungs and throat ragged, no breath left at all, but he went as fast as he could toward where he had last seen her. The forest stretching, the space becoming farther. He thought he saw movement again, a dappling, but couldn’t know for sure because of his own movement.
Grandma! he called. Wait for me! But he’d lost her, vanished into the shadows. He was coming close to where he’d seen her, and there was nothing. Whatever he’d seen, he’d only imagined it.
The trailhead began here, a narrower path up through forest and then exposed ridgelines of granite. The trail went for miles, and she could be anywhere along it. Or she might have gone the other direction, down to the creek, and followed that, or could be walking along the highway, even.
Galen didn’t feel powerful at all, didn’t feel he could extend into this forest. He was limited to one tiny point. But he was committed now to this path, and he hoped she would be on it.
A path of memory, a trail he’d followed hundreds of times from when he first began. The tree at the first bend, the open section with low growth on either side, the boggy ford across a small creek, the cabbagey plants growing out of thick mud, wide curls and folds to their leaves. The short section of meadow, the trail turning uphill again and now the granite steps, loose rocks but these low shelves, wound with roots. The scraping of his shoes, grinding the same steps from his earliest memories, but never before in moonlight. A familiar place become foreign.
Galen climbed the granite, the twists and turns in a narrow chute with growth in close on both sides, and nearly stepped on his grandmother.
Aah! he yelled. Holy shit. You scared me.
Galen, she said. With her light sweater and slacks, sitting on the trail, she looked like a piece of granite, a small boulder.
Wow, he said.
I don’t know if I want to walk much farther, she said. I’m getting tired, and I’m cold. Why are we hiking at night?
We can go back.
But your mother is up ahead. We can’t just leave her. She won’t know to turn around.
She’s not up there.
Yes she is. She’s the one who wanted to go on this hike.
Grandma. It’s only me and you.
No. Your mother is just ahead of me.
Mom is back at the cabin.
But I was just following her. If she’s not up there, then what am I doing? Where am I going?
We’re just taking a hike, just me and you.
Galen’s grandmother stood up and looked away to the side, past all the small growth in close and out to mountain ranges that seemed to float on their own against the sky. It’s not a hike, is it, she said.
No.
I was lost.
Yes.
And I would have just kept going, thinking your mother was ahead of me.
Maybe.
And why did I come out here? Why did I leave in the middle of the night?
Because Mom and Helen were fighting. You wanted to get away, which was a good choice. I think you did the right thing.
Do you know what it’s like to not remember?
No.
It’s like being no one, but still having to live anyway.
Grandma.
It really is that bad. It’s like being no one. You think you’re someone now, but it’s only because you can put your memories together. You put them together and you think that makes something. But take away the memories, or even scramble them out of order, and there’s nothing left.
You remembered this trail. And you remembered the cabin when we first arrived. You remembered how to turn on the water.
Did I? Galen could see her smile for a moment. I can remember places, I think. I do remember this trail. And I can recognize people. I haven’t forgotten who you are. I just can’t remember anything that’s happened.
Well you’ve been a wonderful grandmother. I have a thousand great memories of time with you.
Galen’s grandmother put her hand up to her mouth and closed her eyes. Galen looked away and waited. The mountains floating independently. The air colder now.
A deep exhale from his grandmother, and another. Okay, she said. Let’s go home.
Chapter 17
In the morning, Galen’s mother announced they were packing up and leaving.
But we’re having so much fun, Helen said. I’m really enjoying the cabin. Couldn’t we stay another day or two?
Why are we leaving? Galen’s grandmother asked.
I’ll pack the kitchen, Galen’s mother said. Mom, you can help me.
I’d like more bacon, Jennifer said.
Breakfast is over.
No it’s not. My daughter wants more bacon, so fix her more bacon, little Suzie-Q.
Breakfast is over.
Mom can do it then. Mom, fix your granddaughter more bacon.
Don’t speak to me that way.
Let me tell you a little story, Mom. There was a cat. Do you remember the cat?