All of Me Read online

  until we find the spot

  where the trees are so thick

  that every direction looks the same,

  and we fold into the forest.

  Jorge finds a deer trail,

  a tiny path, barely noticeable

  through the thick ferns and bushes.

  We follow it down

  toward the valley,

  our legs scraping

  against rocks and bushes,

  the sun dropping

  while more fog rolls in.

  We come to a clearing

  with four boulders

  like moss-covered

  gnome houses

  in a half circle,

  a miniature Stonehenge.

  We should camp here, Jorge says.

  We unroll our packs.

  I follow Jorge,

  do what he does.

  a.  Gather wood.

  b.  Put small rocks in a circle for the fire between us.

  c.  Clear brush.

  d.  Use a tarp. The ground will be wet tonight.

  e.  Keep watch.

  Then, quietly, I whisper the Shema, a declaration of faith … as much as I can remember.

  Roasted Hot Dogs

  Jorge tells me to gather wood,

  so I fill my arms

  with sticks of all sizes.

  Near an old log,

  I step into a spring.

  It’s covered in leaves,

  hard to see,

  and my feet

  are soaked with mud.

  When I wander back,

  I see that he’s gathered at least

  fifteen times my load.

  He makes the sticks into a small tepee,

  tells me to get matches,

  and I pull out the big box from my pack,

  strike one. Not yet! he says.

  light

  blow

  fail

  again until it works.

  The orange fire rises in the dimness

  of the evening coming on.

  Trees fade into the sky,

  the boulders illuminated in orange and yellow.

  Starving,

  we stretch long wire hangers

  and roast hot dogs

  until they are a little burned.

  Jorge slides his into slices of bread;

  I eat mine right off the hanger.

  I put my feet near the fire,

  but they can’t seem to get dry or warm.

  Crush

  Tell me about this diet, Jorge says.

  It’s the first time he’s asked me.

  In the orange fog,

  I tell him about all of it,

  growing up in New York,

  always being overweight.

  I list the names I’ve been called

  and how I had to talk to all those doctors.

  It’s sort of funny now when I say it to him, and we laugh.

  Then we’re silent when I tell him about the bike path,

  and about hurting myself,

  and The Diet Book.

  About Lisa,

  about my father.

  Later,

  I eat celery stuffed with peanut butter (Level 3),

  and Jorge burns marshmallows.

  I think I do like her, I confess.

  Like a crush?

  Yeah, I say, I guess.

  I forget sometimes,

  because Jorge is so tall,

  that he’s younger than us.

  I don’t have a crush,

  Jorge says. What’s it feel like?

  I point at the fire with my

  celery stick. Like that.

  Like fire. All over the place,

  it feels good from far away,

  but you can’t really get near it.

  Prayers

  By the time we finish talking,

  we are in our sleeping bags,

  near the edge of the slowly ending fire.

  Jorge puts his carved wooden cross

  next to his sleeping bag.

  My feet are freezing,

  and my head aches

  from so much walking.

  I try to get warm inside my bag,

  but it isn’t working.

  Can you say a prayer for me too? I whisper.

  He does.

  Visitors

  The last embers

  of the fire float up into

  the starless sky,

  and then, suddenly, one by one,

  dark shapes skulk out of the fog,

  long necks and stretched bodies

  step slowly through the boulders,

  quiet barks and grunts

  from their low-hanging heads.

  I hold my breath,

  hide my head in my bag.

  It’s a family of Sasquatch, or forest goblins.

  This can’t be real.

  I unzip my bag

  just enough to feel

  the sudden breath on my face,

  of an unexpected monster,

  a Tule elk above me,

  his huge muzzle smelling me

  from head to toe.

  I’ve never felt so small in my life.

  We stare at each other for a long time,

  and I can see myself in his eyes

  until he softly grunts, his eyes aglow

  in the dying firelight, and moves on.

  I watch them disappear,

  one by one

  in the dying firelight,

  their bodies silent,

  into the deep woods.

  Hypothermia

  When we wake up,

  my feet are numb,

  my head soaked,

  and I can’t stop shivering

  no matter what I do.

  Let’s get going,

  Jorge says.

  It will warm us up.

  So we pack everything

  and start hiking,

  my hands shivering,

  my feet aching

  in this impossible cold.

  My head starts to feel

  like fog is swirling

  around on the inside.

  Down the trail,

  I start to see strange things,

  like when you first

  close your eyes before bed:

  trees taking steps,

  long arms and claws,

  sometimes leaning over,

  turning as we walk by,

  giants in the mist.

  My wet feet squish with every step,

  my body so tired. I just want to stop.

  Jorge is way ahead by now.

  I see his blue backpack

  turn a corner

  on the windy trail,

  sucked away

  into the fog.

  One

  step

  at

  a

  time.

  Have courage.

  I can’t catch up.

  I can’t see Jorge.

  I yell out.

  How did he get so far away?

  I can’t see past

  the length of my arms.

  My feet squish raw

  in my soaked shoes.

  Walk Walk

  Walk until I’m exhausted.

  Stop.

  Along the trail,

  a giant moss-covered boulder

  sits alone at a gentle turn.

  Sit with me, it says.

  I should have eaten more.

  Not enough water?

  My head is aching,

  pounding. I’m so tired,

  shivering still.

  I decide to listen to the rock,

  feel my muscles melt

  into moss and granite.

  I look at my calculator watch,

  but the numbers

  are far away, and

  my hands are shaking.

  How far have we gone?

  Where is Jorge?

  I can’t feel my feet.
r />   I want to lie down

  in this bed

  of horsetail ferns

  and short moss,

  where a thousand ladybugs

  swirl in an old log.

  It’s so quiet.

  Finally quiet.

  I could sleep. Sleep.

  Things That Exist

  Ari?

  Is it the rock talking?

  I spread my fingers

  on the cool moss.

  Ari, the voice through the fog and forest.

  Arrriii!

  It’s Jorge.

  Are you okay?

  He puts his hand on my shoulder.

  Sorry, I got lost too. You wandered

  over here,

  way off the trail.

  Jorge takes off my shoes

  and socks.

  My … my feet, I say.

  I can barely feel them.

  He pulls a dry towel

  out of his backpack

  and wraps it tightly

  around my feet.

  My eyes open

  wide, and my body

  explodes into one icy shiver.

  Then, suddenly,

  the sun is coming out,

  finding me through the trees,

  and my head starts to clear.

  Jorge talks to me

  about hypothermia.

  Are you okay, Ari?

  You have every symptom.

  Do you remember who you are?

  I am okay.

  But I feel different,

  like the island

  in the lagoon.

  It’s meant to be

  where it is.

  There are things

  that are true,

  no matter what.

  My body changing,

  Mysterious World,

  friendship,

  trolls in the gallery,

  boogie boards,

  sleeping mats,

  late-night laughing.

  Lisa. Pick.

  Gretchen.

  Elysium,

  drawings,

  trees,

  the ocean,

  the voice of the rabbi

  reciting scripture,

  Hope in the Lord. Strength renewed. Soar on wings like eagles;

  run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint.

  All of this is real.

  All of this brings me back,

  still exists.

  We eat almonds

  and sugar-free jelly beans,

  until my legs

  aren’t numb anymore.

  Mikveh

  We walk in the bright sun.

  Coastal oak and redwoods

  are earth brown and emerald green,

  grass and trees,

  boulders and ferns,

  this unexpected foggy summer

  has watered the valley

  into furious growth.

  We look back

  toward the main trail.

  If we walked up now,

  we could turn and go right down

  the hill to the bus stop in a few hours.

  Jorge holds up his sketchbook

  like he’s reading an ancient chart.

  This forest is not on my map.

  We decide to keep going.

  Down and down,

  we slip away from the main trail

  and finally to a pond,

  blue crystal

  and water glass.

  It’s more like a pool

  spilling out into tiny streams

  across the valley.

  I heard these places are out here,

  Jorge whispers,

  but I’ve never

  seen this before.

  Look at that! Jorge shouts.

  A giant black bird flies across

  the valley, too big to be a crow.

  We watch it circle over the water,

  then directly over us.

  We lay our stuff on a boulder

  near the water, take off our drenched

  shoes and socks, and lay them across

  the dry rock.

  My feet finally warm in the sun.

  We stretch our bodies

  along the banks of the pond,

  dip our hands

  into the cool of the water,

  splash it on our faces.

  I watch my reflection

  watch me.

  I’m not who I once was.

  I know all of my reflections:

  the mirror in our San Francisco apartment

  has one swerve in the glass that widens

  what it sees.

  At the Dolan house, the mirror

  is hung too high,

  so there’s only time for faces.

  Lisa has a full-length

  mirror in her room

  that captures everything.

  The bathroom mirror in the nursery

  is giant and warped

  and falling apart.

  But there’s no fear

  in this reflection,

  just trees, glassy water,

  a different me

  against a bright-blue sky.

  The more I look,

  the more I think about who I see.

  Just maybe

  for the first time

  I don’t overlook

  or try to get away.

  I don’t have to be my father

  or perfect for Lisa

  or anyone else.

  Be myself.

  Myself is okay.

  I want this feeling to stay.

  I want to know

  that the next time

  I look into those mirrors

  this is the me I will see.

  I take a breath, then

  dunk my whole head into the pond.

  I stay as long as I can.

  Come up and take

  another gulping breath.

  Jorge! I say. The rabbi told me

  that when I dunk myself in the water

  and say certain prayers, it’s a mikveh.

  It’s supposed to mean

  I made a big change!

  And then, more quietly,

  Do you think I have?

  He laughs and nods. He’s excited.

  It’s called baptism! he yells

  and walks over to where water

  is coming out of my nose,

  and I am coughing

  and trying to talk all at once.

  He pulls out his own little trinkets,

  a map, his wooden cross,

  a small vial, a smooth river

  rock with the word faith

  painted in white,

  his sketchbook,

  and two long pencils,

  and sits next to me near the water.

  On either side of the valley,

  the trees flow down like

  the river water.

  I want to swim in the pond,

  maybe go all the way under.

  I take off my shirt.

  I feel the air and the sun

  on my skin.

  It’s cold, Jorge says, already wading in the water.

  I know, I say, but I’ve been wet all night

  and all morning anyway.

  I smile and look back.

  Jorge smiles,

  begins to say prayers.

  I don’t know the prayers

  for what I would say,

  so I just listen,

  say something in my mind to God.

  When I think of God, I imagine the rabbi

  telling me that I can do it,

  that I already have.

  I go in,

  watch my reflection

  in the water,

  try to find the image

  of the fat kid

  staring back at me,

  but this time it’s different.

  It’s just the water that widens me.

  I don’t see a fat kid,

  not anymo
re.

  I simply

  see

  myself.

  I go deeper

  beneath the pond water

  until my breath has given

  everything it has

  and my face

  breaks the surface

  into sunlight and air.

  Resting Place

  I stretch out on the boulder

  shivering, trying

  to dry out in the sun.

  Maybe that wasn’t the best idea?

  We laugh.

  I grab the last

  of my beef jerky

  from my backpack,

  pull out

  The Diet Book.

  I need to look up

  how many apples I can have.

  Somewhere between

  the jerky going into my mouth

  and my body flipping over

  to lie on my stomach,

  the book

  slips

  from my hands,

  bounces once

  on the far side of the rock,

  then down

  directly

  into the sudden

  depth of the pond.

  I watch it drop

  into the water,

  the yellowed pages

  curling over each other,

  trying to swim up,

  keep it from drowning.

  The letters

  come off the pages,

  float up,

  disappear

  at the surface

  Ketosi …

  Heavy Cre … carb …

  Ba c n an Eg … imag i e … los ng … we g t …

  I think about

  going after it.

  Fish it out,

  dry it off,

  start again.

  But I don’t.

  I leave it there.

  A few feet underwater.

  The doctor still smiling.

  Thanks, I say,

  but I’ve got this.

  Its yellow cover

  fading in its watery

  resting place.

  The Way Back

  When we see the ocean,

  we run along the open path

  beneath the bright-blue sky.

  Hikers take heavy steps up,

  families, little boys and girls,

  and all kinds of dogs.

  Yesterday we were alone.

  Today the trails are filled with people,

  each climbing into something different.

  I feel lighter,

  like the change on the outside of my body