Feel Me Fall Page 2

  Our layers of clothes were so wet there was no point in wearing them. Derek was missing a shoe. Most of Nico’s pants were ripped from the waist down. Viv’s designer sweatpants clung to her body. Ryan fiddled with his remaining prosthetic leg, knocking sand loose from the joints and making sure it moved properly. Disjointed and detached from his body, it looked out of place, like the rest of this nightmare. With his jeans rolled up, I saw his stump covered in scar tissue.

  Derek stood near the jungle’s entrance, a quizzical look on his face, almost scientific. He didn’t seem all that fazed, and even ran his hand over some of the trees, feeling their bark. I wondered what was wrong with him.

  Molly sat on the shore, plopped down like a scoop of soft-serve ice cream, her head in her hands. She sat alone, and I felt bad for her, but she had earned the nickname Mean Molly for a reason. I got up anyway and approached her. Even as I asked it, I felt stupid. “Are you okay?”

  She ignored me. Then she spoke. “I never wanted to come on this trip.”

  Molly didn’t once look at me. She just kept staring ahead. I left her alone.

  Viv, Nico and I formed a triangle on the ground. Viv and Nico leaned into each other, and Viv’s crying went from a soft cry into heaves of despair. “I just want to go home. I just want to go home.”

  We didn’t know it then, but the jungle was to become our home for far too long.

  In the minutes that we sat or stood, there was just that moment, as if time had stopped altogether. Nico shook his silver watch, its face cracked, hands motionless. He sighed and slipped it back on. Then he took off one of his soaked tennis shoes and peeled off a wet sock. He reached inside the sock and pulled out a plastic baggie. The baggie was tightly wound and he unrolled it, revealing about an eighth of marijuana. Finding it dry, he smiled. “Small victories.” Nico was a smart kid, on the National Honor Society, and some of the kids never understood how he got such good grades when he smoked so much pot.

  Viv stopped crying, and asked, “You brought that on the plane? You could’ve been arrested.”

  Nico replied ruefully, “Maybe it would’ve been better if I was.”

  He pinched off a bud, intertwined with what looked like orange hairs, and offered it to me. I’d tried pot once or twice, but it made me feel paranoid. That’s the last thing I needed. He offered the bud to Viv. She shook her head.

  “You’re going to eat it?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t smoke it.”

  “Nico, please…I need you. Don’t.”

  He rubbed his nose, trying to move it from side to side, and grimaced. “I think it’s broken. Hurts.” Then he popped the bud into his mouth and swallowed, cringing. “Hurts a lot.” Still feeling her judgmental gaze, he said, “Not now, Viv. Not now.”

  She looked away, too overwhelmed to argue.

  This had happened. This had actually happened. Yet, the feeling of unreality permeated everything. I kept thinking any minute now a friendly tour guide would pop out from behind the overgrowth and ask, “Had enough?” Then he’d bring us to a concession stand and we’d find we were all in a theme park, one giant theme park—the latest in Disney’s effort to bring the jungle to the masses.

  No tour guide came.

  Moments passed.

  My fight-or-flight endorphins began to wane and my body suddenly felt very, very tired. My head throbbed, a remnant from slamming into the rocks.

  Ryan stood, his one leg reattached, gripping a tree for balance. He was the school athlete and took to running track with custom blades. Some of the kids he picked on, including Derek, called him Darth Vader, “more machine than man, twisted and evil.” But no one had the guts to say it to his face.

  He rubbed his hands over his buzz cut. “Is everybody okay?” When we looked at him stunned, he added, “I meant, any injuries?”

  Everyone seemed to be able to move their fingers and toes.

  Derek said, “I say we go back up the river, that’s where the search party will look first.” He was normally an awkward kid at school, but he spoke with more authority now.

  Ryan said, “Did you see the rapids we just went through? No way we’re going back that way.”

  “I’m telling you, there’ll be search parties. They’ll be looking for us where the plane went down. It’s that way.” Derek pointed up the churning river. “The further we move, the harder it’ll be for them to find us.”

  “You see those rock cliffs?” Ryan pointed to the side of the rapids we’d just come through. Jagged cliffs about three stories high flanked the river. “We’re not going back.” Looking the other direction, he said, “We can walk this.” For as far as we could see, the land was flat, the river cooled to a normal current, and there seemed to be a mud path next to it.

  Derek argued, “I actually know what I’m talking about.”

  “No one cares what you think. The river leads to the ocean, I know that much. There’s gotta be a village along here somewhere.”

  I said, “Why can’t we stay here?” Ignoring me was something Ryan and Derek could agree on. I added, “We might have injuries we don’t even know about. Internal ones.”

  Ryan said, “All the more reason we need to find help.”

  Viv said, “I think Em’s right. Why don’t we stay here?”

  Ryan snapped, “Because we have to do something. I’m not just gonna sit here and wait. I’m not just gonna hope. We need to move. We need to move down river. That’s where I’m going.”

  Derek looked at the rest of us. “You’re all just gonna sit there and listen to him?”

  “Derek,” I said, trying to calm him down. “Let’s take a vote.”

  “Take a vote?”

  Viv looked up. “Then go by yourself.”

  Derek scanned the group. “Okay. Let’s vote. Who wants to come with me?” He raised his hand. No one else did. Defeat spread across his face. Out of sympathy, I raised my hand.

  “Really, Em?” asked Viv.

  I considered, looking at the determination on Ryan’s face, and put my hand down. It was decided. We would head down the river towards the ocean. I hoped Ryan was right. Rather than trek off by himself, Derek stuck with the safety of the group. Peer pressure, it seemed, was as powerful in the jungle as it was in high school.

  For the strangest reason, the poem by Robert Frost popped into my head. “The Road Not Taken.”

  Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

  I took the one less traveled by,

  And that has made all the difference.

  We would take the road less traveled that was for sure. But whether it made all the difference, I would never know.

  Chapter 2

  I’ve loved to read ever since I was a kid. Books have given me an escape from my own forgettable life. They’ve taken me to places I’ll probably never see. They’ve introduced me to people and events and made me feel less alone. Words aren’t just words; they’re alchemy. But it’s one thing to read and another to write. Writing, I’m finding, is an exorcism. I type on my laptop and it’s torture. Remembering every detail is like ripping pieces of skin off my body where even the weight of air feels excruciating. Yet there is an underlying sense of relief to feel I am letting go. That’s probably what my counselor wanted all along. For me to let go.

  I wonder if I can. I wonder if I want to.

  I will only tell this story once. It’s too painful to ever do again.

  There’s a knock at the door. It slowly opens and it’s Miranda Wert, Derek’s mother. Miranda is usually so put together. Not today. She’s without makeup and her face is hidden by dark sunglasses. Her clothes weigh her down and her normally straight hair is wavy, which is what I assume is its natural state. There’s a frailness about her, as if a strong gust might send her to the floor. She stands in the doorway, her gaze lost on me, and I wonder if she’s picturing her son alive instead of me.

  It’s not the same, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose my mom. We don’t have the best of relations
hips, but she’s all I have.

  Mrs. Wert stands, hesitating, her hand on the doorknob as if waiting for me to invite her in.

  “Mrs. Wert?”

  Her dark sunglasses face me. “Emily.” Her voice sounds far away.

  “Come in.”

  She lingers near the door. “I didn’t know if this was a good time….”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I can always come back.”

  Now that she’s here, it’s like she wants to leave. “Now’s fine, really.”

  She walks into the room and stops a few feet from my bed. Her mouth opens to speak, and then shuts. Her head drops. “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I didn’t even bring flowers.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She looks around the room as if getting her bearings. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not sure. They say I’m getting better. Doesn’t feel like it, though.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here….”

  “Please stay.”

  She sits down and we share an awkward silence. She fidgets, absentmindedly picking at her cuticles. They’re raw and red. I finally say, “I’m sorry about your son.” I mentally cringe. Saying nothing would be better.

  “No one told me what happened,” she says. “I mean, they did in general terms. The plane crashed due to mechanical failure. You were the only survivor. But no one told me what happened to my son. What really happened.”

  “The plane crashed from mechanical failure?”

  “No one told you?”

  I shake my head. It’s weird. Knowing why the plane went down doesn’t seem all that important. It certainly doesn’t fix anything.

  Miranda says, “I kept up on the news for a while and then couldn’t. I haven’t been outside….” She seems to be mentally counting the days. “Since the funeral.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come.” What a stupid thing to say. Trying to say something concrete, I say, “I know a few lawyers have already been in contact with my mom.”

  “Lawyers,” she says more to herself. “No amount of money will bring back my son.” She fixes her gaze on me. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Anything to make her feel better.

  I tell her how we journeyed into the jungle, living off Derek’s knowledge, eating grubs and drinking water. “All the years you went camping as a family kept us going for quite a while.”

  A small smile rests on her lips. “I always hated camping.” She gets out of her chair and goes to the window with its closed blinds. “Do you want these open?”

  “No,” I say. “I like them closed.”

  She looks at me oddly, her hand on the circular rod, and lets go. She crosses back to the chair and takes her glasses off. Her eyes are tired and ragged. I thought in the jungle we looked beaten, but Miranda is the definition of broken. She asks, her voice flat, “How did he die?”

  I hesitate. “Are you sure?”

  She says, simply, “Yes.”

  The room suddenly feels too small and even though the air conditioning is on, I’m uncomfortably warm.

  “He was my baby, my little boy….”

  “I’ll tell you,” I say. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.” I gather my thoughts and begin. “After so many days, I don’t even remember, we were only alive because of him. His skill at hunting, picking out which food was edible or not. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Miranda pinches the bridge above her nose, and there are tears in her eyes.

  “Would you like me to stop?”

  “Go on,” she says. “Please.”

  “We were out fishing. Derek had a spear and sometimes he’d spearfish. I don’t know how he was able to do it. He let me try a few times, and I always missed. The fish always seemed to see me coming, no matter how fast I was. But Derek, he was a pro. He’d hold the spear right over the water. He knew at just what angle to jab ‘em…we never did find a way to make a fire. But I know if we were there long enough, he would have.”

  Mrs. Wert listens quietly.

  “Derek thrived out there. He could take care of himself.” I take a breath and continue. “The day he died, we were out near the river. I see a spot across the way where we haven’t been. There’s a whole patch of mushrooms. So we cross. I thought it was just going to go up to our waist, but suddenly, it drops. The water was deep and there was a current. Me and Molly fall in and….”

  I stop.

  “I’m sorry, Emily. I know this is hard for you.”

  That only makes me feel worse—that she’s worried how I feel.

  “You have to understand, we were so tired. I couldn’t walk more than, I don’t know, it felt like only yards, without being exhausted. We were only eating enough to keep us from starving, so when we fell into the water…we had no strength.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “We were so weak, the water was taking us. And….” I try not to cry. “I wanted to die, Mrs. Wert. I was so tired. We weren’t living. We were just there. I thought we were forgotten, stuck, forever. In that moment, I gave up. I let go. I was saying goodbye when all of a sudden, I felt Derek’s arms around me, and he’s swimming, telling me it’s going to be okay, to just hold on, he’s got me. He swam with me, I don’t know how, carrying me across the river and then he got me on shore. He rescued me. He literally saved my life.”

  “As I’m lying there, catching my breath, he goes back in. Molly was still in trouble. The current was taking her and she was getting farther and farther away. I knew he was tired. I said his name. I don’t think he heard me. Derek swam but when he got to her, she panicked. She was flailing. Derek tried to calm her down, but she was so scared. He held onto her even though she didn’t know what she was doing….”

  I cry and I see that Miranda is crying.

  “They drowned, Mrs. Wert. They hit some rocks, and they went face down. He never came back out. I don’t think he was in any pain.”

  The only sound in the room is us. Mrs. Wert covers her face with her hands and she’s trembling. I hear her muffled sobs.

  “I won’t lie, Mrs. Wert. While we were there we did things to survive. Things we would regret. But at the end, when it counted, your son was a hero.”

  Miranda reaches her hand to mine and holds on tight. “Thank you, Emily. Thank you so much.” We stay this way for minutes, her hand grasping mine in little pulses. Then she stands up and wipes her tears. “I didn’t want to cry.”

  “I know it’s not much, Mrs. Wert.”

  “It’s everything.” She places her sunglasses back on and gathers herself. She wipes her clothes as if she’s spilled crumbs on them. “He was an only child, you know? Sometimes I wonder what that makes me now.”

  “His mother.”

  She has the faintest of smiles. “I know he’s not here. But I’m glad you are, Emily. When this is all over, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  “I promise,” I lie. If we ever met, she’d see the ghost of her son next to me. I wouldn’t inflict that pain on her. “Thanks for coming, Mrs. Wert.”

  She’s at the door and straightens herself, mentally making herself presentable before she opens it. She turns to me. “Please, call me Miranda.”

  “Miranda.”

  Then she’s gone.

  It’s a nice story. A nice story for a mother to hear, but unfortunately not true. That’s not the real story at all. The real story is much more complicated.

  We trekked along the river, its water brown and muddy, staying close to the shore. If we got lucky, maybe we’d see a boat. No one said anything, all of us shaken in disbelief and shock. My brain seemed to go slack, as if it simply overloaded and switched off.

  Ryan had found a knobby stick and used it as a crutch. He limped along and if we survived I knew exactly how he’d look as an old man. It was slow going. All around it smelled of wet earth and dirt.

  Next to us the forest sang. It was a cacophony of noise; insects buzzing, birds squawking, frogs croaking, a
nd in the distance, did I hear howling?

  Nico perked up at the sound, his eyes saucer wide. Stoned, he said, “This is crazy. We’re like, in the jungle. Seriously, listen to that….” He tilted his head, following the sounds. “It’s, like, stereophonic.”

  Though I envied his sense of wonder, I hoped in his altered state he would keep his mouth shut. I didn’t want him to say something he shouldn’t.

  After a time, the shoreline grew thinner, forcing us to the river’s edge until up ahead the path disappeared altogether. It was either swim or veer into the jungle.

  No one said they were scared, but it was obvious. At least here you could see. Who knew what lay behind the wall of green? But there was no choice.

  Entering the rainforest was like passing through a green curtain into a massive haunted room. It was as claustrophobic as I feared. We could only see a few feet in front of us, like a bank of fog, except it was trees and vines: trees that soared well into the sky, vines that grew at impossible angles and thick waxy leaves that blotted out the sun.

  Thin shafts of light pierced through the canopy of trees, and sunlight barely touched bottom. The air was humid and sticky, as though we walked through gelatinous water. The temperature dropped by ten degrees and my clothes chafed against my skin, soon to go raw if I didn’t get dry.

  I didn’t like it. Not at all.

  If we were slow going before, we were now reduced to a crawl. The growth was thick, sometimes up to our knees, and tangles of branches caught on our legs as if the jungle was actively trying to trip us. In some places we couldn’t see the jungle floor. The ground itself wasn’t firm, but spongy, like a carpet of memory foam mattresses.

  All was alien, a blast of green and brown, a soundscape of nature turned up to ten, and a whole swath of dense monotony. One tree so like another, it’s as if we were moving in place.

  Viv’s breathing started to go shallow. She was fighting a panic attack. Nico stopped and took her in his arms. “Viv, it’s okay. Look at me. Look in my eyes.”