The Space Between Us

“Please, let me help you,” the land whispers. “Hush and let me lay you to sleep.” 

“Never yield,” my bones answer back. “Never again shall I yield.” 

And so I stand. 

And then I climb. 

***

Why can’t I forgive myself? 

It’s a question I ask far too often. Me, myself, and I, cursed with an incessant conscience. 

You know how people get sick, like, with the flu? And they have a fever or sore throat? Well sometimes I get like that, but only in my mind. I’ll catch this mental cold, this downright depressing spiral of thoughts, and it sticks with me for a couple days. I can’t shake it— no amount of medication or therapy keeps these colds away.

And sometimes, it’s as if I’m savoring all the guilt I have in store for myself. 

Why do I do this? Why can’t I forgive myself? 

I know the answer. I’ve always known the answer.

Him. 

Because of him.  

***

“If you can keep up, you can follow.” 

I give him a smirk, then turn on my heels and take off down Sundevil Road, straight towards the mountain we could never climb. 

I half expect him to give up, like he used to. But when I fall into a steady rhythm, I turn my head and see him staying within stride. He tosses me a lazy grin. 

“What? You didn’t think you’d lose me that easily, did you?” 

I laugh at that, actually laugh, and quicken my pace. We run the easiest part of the trail without speaking and when we hit the base of the mountain, we pause, stretching one final time. 

“You know, it’s not too late to turn back,” I say and mean it. I grab one of my ankles and pull it behind me, stretching my quad. I lift my head to catch him staring at me, the way I always wanted him to. 

He just shakes his head and smiles, “Nah, you’re stuck with me now. For, what, another hour or so?” 

I switch legs and grab my other ankle, “Keep dreaming. It’ll be at least an hour before we make it halfway. If you really want to do this, you have to commit to it. All of it” I say with enough of a bite that I think he picks up on the dark undertones of a decade of resentment. 

I meet his eyes again and we stare at one another, for a heartbeat too long. So many memories come flooding back. Our laundry room, my locker, the magnolias in bloom, his hands in my hair— 

Him. All of him.

I shake my head. I need to focus. I won’t let him back in. I can't let him back in. 

“Time to get moving” I whisper. He gives me a curt nod, then up the mountain we go. 

***

The path was here long before I was born and will be here long after I die. 

I have been running it for years and know it like the back of my hand. It can be an ankle twister though, if you’re not paying attention. Picture a rock-covered dirt terrain peppered with switchbacks. 

In spite of this land's hostility, I live for this kind of trail; the ones most don’t dare to climb. 

And I think I like it so much because it’s real. Everything about this trail is real. The consequences of falling are real, and when you make it to the top– if you make it to the top– the view, it’s more than real. It’s alive. That’s the best way I can describe it. Like the land is lying in wake. 

Don’t ask me why I bothered to invite him on this sacred climb. I already beat you to it; and I came up blank. I don’t have an answer. I haven’t seen him in years, literal years, and then, all of a sudden... There he was. In aisle nine of H-Mart. 

Before our eyes met, I had only a few seconds to decide what to do. But I didn't do anything.

I stopped. Time stopped. 

And finally, after the initial shock dulled to a stupor, I forced myself to slap on a fake smile and meet him halfway. He looked exactly how I remembered, only older. Grayer. Still handsome.

Something tightened inside of me. Call it what you want; trauma, desire, disorientation... I don’t know. All I know is something shifted in that moment, when our eyes met. 

And before he said another word, I asked him if he would run up Sundevil mountain with me. He just continued to stare at me, for too long, but then he said yes.

I was still in a state of mild shock on the drive home and the drive over to Sundevil mountain. I had half the sense to know he wouldn’t show up, he couldn’t possibly show up. But then there he was, ahead of time, leaning against the hood of his Mercedes. 

I parked my beat up Honda Civic behind him, and that was that.

And here I am, one third of the way up Sundevil mountain with a male who I used to love and loathe in equal measures, running by my side. Keeping up. 

This simply wouldn’t do. So I quicken my pace, making sure to elongate my strides and pump my arms. 

I think I knew on some level in the grocery store that I was ready to tell him how I felt, but I just needed to work up the courage to do it. To make sure I had the time to sort out my words and say the right thing.

Because seeing him, I feel so many things; I want him cooking dinners again, I want his messy side of the closet spilling into mine, I want to schedule our annual Sunday potluck with our families during Super Bowl weekend. I want back all those years we lost. 

I want him to be the one I come home to, and I want, more than anything, to fall back into bed with him. 

To fall back in love with him. 

I wipe the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead with the back of my hand. 

Yes, I do want all of that. I want him. 

But— but. There’s always a but, isn’t there? I swear, we’d have more happily-ever-afters if that damn word didn’t exist. But it does. 

And I would take him back, take it all back, in a heartbeat and without a second thought. I would even learn to finally forgive myself. 

But it’s not about me. Or him.  

It’s about our son, who is sleeping in this morning in his turquoise bedroom, in the house I bought on my own. 

This man running beside me did the one thing that would lose me forever. Even time, as curing as it can be, couldn’t mitigate the gravity of what he did. 

And so I press on, pushing as hard as I can. And he keeps up.

Fuck him, fuck this. Maybe it was a mistake to invite him. 

“Jess. Hey Jess, hang on for a minute,” he pleads. But I don’t stop, not even in the slightest. No, I push on harder, faster, determined to make it to the peak with or without him.

Especially without him. 

“Jess!” He cries again. “You can’t run forever. You, you can’t outrun this. Us. We– can’t do this anymore. Please stop. Please. For Zeke.”

The mention of my son’s name stops me dead in my tracks. 

I turn, my face beat-red, not from running, but from the sudden surge of rage running through my veins. 

“No.” I say through gritted teeth. 

I close the gap between us in three wide strides and slam my palms into his chest, hard, driving him back a few feet. He staggers, loses his balance, and falls, scraping the side of his face on a boulder carved into the hillside. As he lands with a thud on the ground, I could have sworn the mountain purred with pleasure. 

“No,” I repeat. “You do not get to say his name. You do not get to come back into his life after all this time. Ten years. I waited for you for ten goddamn years. And how do I find you? In a grocery store, of all places. Not on my doorstep, not at my backdoor, begging to explain things to me. Or to him.”

“He’s my son,” he spits out, and wipes the blood dripping down the gash in his cheek.

“He may be your son, but you’re not his father. He knows you exist and doesn’t want to meet you.” I watch the words find their mark and he actually flinches. 

It takes everything in me not to kneel to the ground and tend to his wound. To hold his hand and promise sweet nothings. 

But I don’t. I stand tall on my side of the mountain and stare him down. 

And then, I find the strength to say what I’ve always wanted to say, what I never could say, all those years ago: 

“I loved you. So much. Too much. I loved you tirelessly and endlessly, and I wanted to spend my life with you. Fuck, when I look at you now, I still do. And I hate myself for it because there is a boy just on the other side of this mountain who means everything to me. He’s my whole world. And you chose to leave him. You wanted me to end his life before it could even begin, and when I didn’t, you left us for another woman. And I let you go. It hurt. It really fucking hurt. But I knew one day it would hurt him more than it ever hurt me.”

I pause just long enough to catch my breath, but then I continue, because I can’t stop now— now that the words are tumbling out of my mouth like an avalanche set free.

“And I knew you’d come back. I knew you’d want to meet him, because you’re not evil. You’re not bad. You're just a fucking coward who couldn’t step up, and it cost you everything. It cost you him. So say whatever it is you want to say. Say whatever lies you want to spin. But when we finally turn around and walk down this mountain, we go our separate ways. And I don’t ever want you back in my town again, you hear me? Not unless he asks for you. And maybe not even then.” 

By the time I’m done, I’m panting, and he’s just sitting there, on his ass, staring at me. Silent tears drip down his cheeks, and a few might have fallen from mine, too. For a half of a moment, I see him not as the man who ripped my heart out, but as the boy I fell in love with. The one who picked me flowers and slid them in my locker. 

And a new sense of pain washes over me, one I think he’s felt a long time coming: 

I wonder what we could have been, had he not been afraid. 

Had my son and I been enough for him. 

As if in answer, a gust of wind blows through the valley, and I wrap my arms around myself. Once the breeze settles, not a sound can be heard. No birds, no passersby, nothing. 

Nothing but me, him, and the space between us. 

***

After a few minutes, he gets to his feet and wipes the dirt off his pants. He gives me one more look, one I can’t quite read. But there’s pain there, I’m sure of it. Then, he turns and walks down the mountain. 

I stand there for a long while. I watch as he turns into a tiny dot at the bottom of the trail. I watch as he gets into his fancy car, turns left at the bend, and drives out of sight. I watch as he disappears from our lives. Again.

And then, once I’m ready, I turn to face the trail before me, and continue the climb.