Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,82
voice is that clear, that familiar. But nobody is here. I duck my head back down.
No, boy, don’t do it.
This time it’s Henry’s voice, carried by a fresh gust of wind.
“Where are you?” I cry out. Can’t see Rosie, can’t see Thoreau. I’m alone, peeling myself off a rock on a mountain, about to die. But the voices come again, inside my head.
Danny, hold on. You have to hold on. This time it’s Cole, or at least the essence of the little brother who died too soon.
“I don’t know how to do this, Cole,” I yell into the storm. “I couldn’t save you, couldn’t protect Rosie. I can’t do this anymore.”
Choosing life means facing pain and I’m just not strong enough. Death is the final, ultimate escape for those of us who run. So it has come to this: hold on to the rock and live. Or let go and die.
Think of Mom and Dad. It would kill them, and they’ve been through enough. Don’t you see? It’s both Rosie and Cole now, arguing in my head together, double-teaming. You’re no coward, Danny.
Yes, I am. I’m the one who runs away.
The wind slaps at me like a heavy hand. It hurts and I want it to hurt. I deserve it. It tears my wailing voice away. It would be easy, so easy to let go.
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…to put to rout all that was not life…and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. Henry’s voice in my head, so real I almost expect to see his face floating in front of me.
No, Henry, I haven’t lived. Not really. But I’m done, don’t you see? Can’t suck out the marrow of life when I’m too afraid to live. Too broken.
Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it.
Another Henry-ism. Damn you, Henry.
If I decide to live, all I have waiting for me is a broken family and no idea of what to do with the rest of my life. What do I do with that?
Clinging to a rock in a violent rainstorm, there’s nowhere left for me to run, nothing left to do. The thing I want most is to hurl myself into permanent forgetfulness. But for the sake of the voices in my head, I hesitate. I force myself to imagine a life past this moment.
Finishing high school. I could do that. Can’t see myself going to college, not now anyway, but maybe I’d work at a music shop for a while. Learn how to repair guitars. Maybe I could even go back to Concord. Be with Hailey and work with Thomas.
But what about my family? Can’t keep my parents from splitting up, but maybe we could finally talk about Cole. That would be a start.
The wind is just beginning to quiet down when I force myself at last to think of Rosie. Make myself imagine Rosie in a wheelchair, Rosie learning to walk with an artificial leg. Maybe if she forgave me for the accident, I could help her. Be there for her like we always were when things in our family came apart.
Whether it’s the essence of Rosie, Cole, Henry, or something wise beyond understanding inside myself, I don’t know. But finally, it gets through to me. I can’t die leaving behind the mess that Danny created. And as long as I have life, there’s hope I can live better, find a way to be the best of Danny, plus Hank. For Rosie, for my parents. For myself.
I don’t know how long I lie there holding on to the rock, letting the rain drench my hair, my clothes, my skin, but finally the clouds drift off toward the horizon, and the storm retreats.
Hands cramping, knees clutching, everything hurts, but I start crawling forward again. Keep going, listening to the voices in my head that insist I live. Closer and closer to the other side of Knife Edge. When it’s safe, I stand up, stretch sore limbs, take a few steps. Walk toward Baxter Peak, the summit of Mount Katahdin.
Nobody is here but me to see the world cracked open, to look out on the world and see hundreds of miles into the distance, to smell the rain-cleansed air. Somehow, I feel clean too.
I stumble over to the weathered brown sign that reads KATAHDIN and under that