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This wasn’t supposed to be that hard
(Blakely)
Midmorning the wind stopped. The sun came out and the birds chirped and everywhere were the sounds of bustling campers packing up their tents.
George and Frank hung out and talked and were more casual, so I ended up packed and ready, and we all put on our packs and hit the trail at the same time. This gave me a more hopeful outlook, or if not hopeful, at least I had a little company to keep myself from spiraling into self pity.
Frank asked, “What’s the deal with you hiking alone?”
I kicked a rock from the path. “Kind of a long story, my husband and I were going to do it together but the night before we were supposed to leave I found out about his affair.”
George said, “Shit, that’s rough.”
Frank said, “But you still came? You’ve got some serious balls.”
“Really, you think? Cause from here, the underside of this heavy pack, toes all raw and bloody, knees aching, my eyes stinging from crying, it kinda feels like the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
Frank said, “Nah, serious, balls, brave as hell. How many people hike the trail? How many women hike the trail by themselves? Most people hike together so they can carry more gear — look at you, your pack is heavier than ours—”
I groaned. “But isn’t that part of my idiocy? Isn’t that what they’ll write on my tombstone? Here lies Blakely, her pack was much, much heavier than a normal person’s. I truly think this might be one of my biggest problems: believing that I thought something through but not having any idea what I’m doing.”
Frank said, “Maybe it’s just positive thinking.”
“Maybe...” I said, then added, “to a fault.”
We hiked some more. A hawk flew overhead and we halted in the path so George could take photos.
Frank asked, “What do you do back in LA?”
“I’m a talent agent. I own my own agency.”
“Wow, that’s impressive — by the way, George is an actor. Got any—”
George was looking through the photos he had just taken and was checking the sky to see if the hawk was still there. “Be cool, Frank, no hounding.”
“Fine, fine. So are you a good agent?”
“I got one of my clients a Spielberg movie.”
George whistled.
Frank said, “A Spielberg? That’s big time. See George, you gotta let me tell her about you.”
George laughed. “I said, be cool.” He replaced the lens cap on his camera, passed the camera to Frank, and turned around. Frank stuffed the camera into one of the pockets on George’s pack. They worked wordlessly, like a team.
We began to hike again.
I asked, “What do you do, Frank?”
Frank said, “I’m a physical trainer. But seriously, did you hear that George is an actor?”
To be nice, I asked, “You got an agent, George?”
“Yeah, I’m with Taylor Agency.”
“With Ted, is he working well for you? I mean, to me, you look like you could be the son of Kiefer Sutherland... Like, if I were Ted, I’d put you in a show where you’re the cop. Not the nice one, you’d be the stern one — are you funny?”
Frank chuckled. “He’s more earnest.”
