The Canyon of Tears

   Today started as any other day. I read the news while my wife was on her phone. She gasped. 

   “Honey!”

   “Yes?”

   “We won the lottery!”

   “Wait really?!” The disbelief was overwhelming. We had won the lottery! After careful delegation (and a great suggestion from Mary Ann) we decided to visit the canyon I would frequent when I was younger. We rented an RV and drove to the canyon. Then it started raining. When I say rain, I don’t mean a sprinkle. I mean if god was taking an hour long shower. We were going to go to the canyon that day but decided against it and rescheduled for the next day. We signed up for a tour, which would take up most of the day. However, we would have just enough time left to watch the sunset. My wife said she had the perfect spot. So we slept with anticipation for the next day. We woke with excitement. Rather, Mary Ann and Melissa woke with excitement and woke us up themselves. We got dressed and walked to the tour.

   “Are you the Rupes family?” A tour guide with a plainfully forced smile approached us.

   My wife spoke up, “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Rupes. I made the reservation for the tour.”

   “Ok, just follow me and I’ll guide you through.” She took us on some basic trails that weren’t there when I was last there. It was a fun trek, until it came to around lunch.

   “Daddy?” Mary Ann was looking up at me.

   “Yes sweetie?” I answered looking down. Then it was clear.

   “Potty break? Now?” A nod. I looked to my wife. A look of understanding in return. 

   “I’ll handle this one, Honey.” My wife walked over to the tour guide who was admiring the view.

   “Hi miss, is there a bathroom near here?” 

    The tour guide turned around, “Oh sorry miss but there isn’t a bathroom. But you can go relive yourself over near the bushes.”

   “Thank you,” she turned to Mary, “Cmon sweetheart.” They walked over to the bushes where I can only assume that she showed her what to do. After a couple minutes, they walked back with a look of relief on Mary’s face.

   “Now that we all seem to be ready to continue,” the tour guide approached us with her fake smile, “we should start heading back. The sun is starting to set and we don’t want to miss the jaw dropping sight.” We started walking back and climbed up to the top of the canyon. The sunset was beautiful. It was like a painting. It had yellow, red, and orange, blurring together like it was artificially created. It brought tears to my eyes. I never had seen a sunset quite like it since I was last here. We started heading back, when everything went down hill. 

   For starters, it started raining again. Not too bad of rain but still enough to make us cautious. Secondly, we had to take a detour because the bridge broke. According to the tour guide, the bridge was already pretty old. The rain, rocks, and constant use of it didn’t help it, either. Then it finally gave out. Lastly, it brought back memories. Some might say that there was nothing wrong with this but this was not a pleasant memory; rather, it was a nightmare.

   That day was my tenth birthday. The last time I was at the canyon. It was a pleasant place to be, albeit somewhat dangerous at times. Me and my sister, Marylynn, were walking around the canyon. I was in a shorts, t-shirt, and tennis shoes. My sister was in a sun dress, hat, and dress shoes. I told her to wear her hiking shoes but she didn’t listen. We were walking on our usual trail when she pulled me to the side to look at something. The sunset. It was beautiful, just like the one I had just witnessed at the present day. We walked to the edge, thinking that if we got closer we’d be able to see it better. We paused with looks of awe and amazement in our eyes. Then it happened.

    A rock.

    Mud.

    A scream.

   “BEN!”

    I couldn’t do anything. If only she had listened to me. If only she had worn her dang hiking shoes. She would’ve still been here.

    I snapped back to the present day. It was still raining, but it was lighter now. We continued to where the tour guide said was a rock bridge across.

   “Just past these trees, everyone. We will be crossing the rock bridge to the other side. It is relatively flat however it is old so no sudden movements and no running.” She looked at the kids as she said this. They shrinked behind us, their hair sticking to our clothes. 

    As we came up to the bridge, it was exactly as the tour guide had said. Except for one thing. It was so thin that if we were all to go on it would probably snap. After a LOT of reassurance from the tour guide that we would all be able to be on there at once, we formed a single file line to cross on: the tour guide at the front, Mary, Melissa, my wife, then me. We were making our way across slowly so we wouldn’t break the rock. Then someone slipped. All I heard was a scream. After my wife told me it was the tour guide, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I realized what that meant. She had died. Well, she could have survived but I highly doubt it. I learned not to hope for such things. We made it across without any other accidents. My daughters looked to me for guidance.

   “Daddy? What are we going to do now” Mary looked up with expectant eyes. Her hair stuck to her face. 

    I kissed her forehead, “Just follow me, I practically lived here when I was younger.” I led the way back to the RV, knowing the way like the back of my hand. 

    We piled in and drove to the nearest police station. I told them about the tour guide and gave them her name and approximate location of where she fell. They thanked us and then we piled back into the RV. We drove to the RV rental, returned the RV, and drove home in our car. 

    Once we got home we all took showers and slept for hours without interruption. I would never forget the tears I have shed at that canyon.