Desolation Canyon

by Jonathan London

  “I like the dark,” Lisa said. “It’s kinda, like, cozy in here, don’t you think?”

  Wow, I thought. Is she flirting with me? Should I make a move? And what move would that be?

  That’s when I heard something echo through the cave. Was it a footstep? Was something following us? My hair prickled, my muscles tensed.

  ROAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!

  Lisa and I jumped about three feet straight up and then fell all over each other trying to get out of the cave.

  But a dark shadow blocked the entrance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROCK SLIDE AND HIGH SIDE

  The shadow crouched.

  Then laughed like a hyena.

  Of course, it was Cassidy. He hadn’t waited around to be thrown into the river again. He’d followed us up. I tried to laugh too, to act like he hadn’t scared me. But it came out more like a croak. I didn’t realize that Lisa had been hugging me hard from behind until she let go.

  “That was mean!” she yelled. Then she sprinted toward him like she was going to knock him down.

  He caught her in a bear hug. “Let go, you creep!” she said. She giggled and squirmed. I couldn’t believe it, but she was acting like she kind of liked it, like she was flirting. I felt that knife twisting in my heart again. I pushed by them, out into the hot blast of sun.

  I started climbing down to the river. “Wait up!” Lisa called as she scrambled down behind me. Cassidy stayed up at the cave, watching us.

  As we neared the bottom, small pebbles and stones started rolling and ricocheting past us. I looked back up. Cassidy was lobbing rocks down at us! Just as we reached the bottom, this little avalanche started chasing us.

  “Hey!” I yelled, “you trying to kill somebody?”

  Lisa came tearing by me on those long brown legs of hers. She was crying.

  No, she was laughing. How could she laugh?

  I scratched my head, then took off after her.

  After a while, I wasn’t exactly laughing—I was too winded to laugh—but I was actually starting to enjoy myself again. Lisa ran, I followed. I tried to catch up. I couldn’t, but almost.

  Soon I had forgotten about Cassidy and was just running on my aching legs in the hot vastness of this great canyon. It felt good.

  Back at the beach, Roger, Dad, and Wild Man Willie were loading up the rafts. I heard a hum like a bee’s buzz and looked up, shielding my eyes from the sun. Far overhead, above the flattop of a nearby mesa, I saw a small single-engine plane. It tilted and circled once, then zoomed down and seemed to disappear into rock.

  “Let’s get this show on the road!” bellowed Willie. “Where’s Cassidy?”

  About twenty minutes later Cassidy came sauntering down. “Did you see it, dude?” he asked me.

  “See what?”

  “The mountain lion. GRRRRRRRRROWWWLLL!” He made a little swipe with his hand, like a clawed paw.

  Lisa giggled. I tried to smile. It was almost funny.

  Back on the river, it was so slow that Roger decided to lash our rafts together and just float for a while.

  Willie lobbed oranges at us from the ice chest on his boat. Then he flew big flat cookies at us like Frisbees, and chucked some cans of soda.

  I leaped over to Roger and Lisa’s raft and flopped down beside her on some big squishy “dry bags” filled with clothes.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  “If you don’t hog all the goodies,” she said. Then she shoved me and I almost toppled back into the river.

  I grinned and took a deep breath. This is fun! I thought. Here we are, deep in a canyon drifting down a river through the wild desert, with rock pillars standing like guard towers on a ruined castle … and there’s a girl flirting with me. And she seems to maybe like me, a little. Me. Aaron. I’m kind of scrawny—but not weak, I’m not weak—lanky, with brown eyes that I’d like to think are deep, even mysterious maybe. I’m just a little shy around girls, and yet this really hot girl seems to like me. And maybe even thinks I’m, well, kinda cute. I think.

  I hope. Or is she just playing with me?

  Suddenly, Cassidy leaped over from the kitchen boat and practically landed in Lisa’s lap.

  “Get off me, you moron!” She shoved him off, but she was laughing as she did it.

  Cassidy popped open a can of Sprite. It sprayed all over me.

  “Really? Spaz,” I said.

  He looked at me like he was going to bite my head off, then took a long slurp, and said, “Last time I went white-water rafting, a boat ahead of us wrapped around a pillar in some super crazy rapids under a bridge.”

  I was still angry at him for raining an avalanche down on us, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Geez. So … what happened?”

  “Everybody was thrown out, man,” he said, taking another swig. “Except one. The guide.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He bit it, dude.” Cassidy grinned and pierced me with those eyes of his.

  “Seriously?” Lisa and I both said it at the same time. We looked at each other. I thought she was going to punch me. I looked back at Cassidy. Maybe he was just pulling our leg, but if he was, it was a pretty good act.

  “Yeah, his leg got caught under the safety line that runs down the middle of the raft. And he’s all like, ‘HELP! I’m stuck!’ When the raft wrapped around the pylon, it pulled the line tight and trapped his leg. When the raft went under it held him underwater. He drowned. I saw it. Willie jumped in with a knife to cut the line, but he was too late.”

  “Oh my God! That’s a terrible story!” cried Lisa, grabbing my arm.

  “I think it was wicked, dude,” Cassidy just burped. “Danger gives you power,” he said. “Or takes it away. It makes you feel alive, dude.” He crumpled his soda can and tossed it in the river. He stared at us, his steely eyes like ball bearings.

  Lisa and I glanced at each other. Her eyes seemed to be saying, How are we going to survive this trip with a nutcase like him along? I couldn’t help but to think how much more fun this trip would be without him.

  “Hop to, mates!” Roger yelled. “We’re coming up on some fast water!”

  Cassidy and I each jumped back to our rafts and helped break them free, and we were on our way.

  Soon, Roger called for a pull-out to scout the rapids. I used this opportunity to relieve myself behind a rock pile. I’d glugged a ton of water after our climb to the cave.

  When they got back, Dad reminded me about “high-siding.” Meaning, you have to climb to the high side of a raft if it gets pressed up against a boulder and starts riding up it. “And tighten your lifejacket, kiddo. If you fall in, try to go through the rapids feetfirst, so you can bounce off the boulders.”

  Bounce off the boulders? I gulped. I didn’t know if I could face another plunge into the rapids. And I didn’t know which was worse, the possibility of drowning or the torment of Cassidy’s ridicule.

  Dad rowed. I sat high on the tube at the back. Ours was the last boat in line. I heard the roar and could see a line of white up ahead. Mist rose above the boulders. Just the sound made my whole body tense up.

  “Hold on tight, kiddo!” Dad said. He swung the raft around to see what we were facing, which put me in front, on the bow. I was looking right down at the rapids, like at the start of a roller-coaster drop. Yiiiiikes!

  I took another deep breath. Cassidy’s story haunted me, but really, I was almost starting to love this—the thrill of it, like you could love and dread a roller-coaster ride at the same time.

  But then I deflated again, small with fear, when I saw Roger the Rogue’s raft being swept into the rapids ahead of us, and Lisa’s ponytail flying like a black banner as they dropped out of sight.

  Then Willie and Cassidy disappeared into the roaring spray.

  Our turn now. Oh, God! Oh, God! Here it comes!

  I was more afraid the closer we got. Yet I felt as wide-awake as you can be, ready for anything. At least, I thought I was. I gripped the safety rope t
hat rings the top of the boat with all my might.

  “We have to stay left of that big boulder there, Aaron,” Dad shouted. “If we hit it and the raft rides up it, jump to the high side of the raft. With luck, we’ll slide back down. If not, we’ll wrap!” The image of the guide who drowned flashed through my mind.

  The image of me almost drowning flashed too.

  All of a sudden the river went wild. Waves reared up like white stallions and crashed in a thunder of hooves. Water churned and twisted and burst off rocks. I clenched my teeth and fists as we whipped and spun and bounced.

  “Yee-HA!” I whooped. It felt like I was riding a bucking bronco. “Hey, this is fu—Whoops!” I almost toppled backwards into the boat, but grabbed the safety rope and held on.

  We were racing toward the boulder. It was huge and shiny black, the water pouring over it in a smooth, fast gleam of power, then crashing into a big foaming hole on the far side.

  “Hang on tight!” Dad shouted again, and I did.

  Oh God, I’m gonna die!

  Just as we came near the boulder, Dad dug his right oar into the river and spun us around. We were sliding toward the rock. Water was exploding around it. We were bucking and lurching and all of a sudden the boulder was in my face. It reminded me of the time Dad spun out of control on an icy road in the Sierras on a ski trip and we slid toward a snowbank.

  Like then, I instinctively leaned away, tensed for disaster. Our raft started riding up the boulder and I jumped to the low side of the raft, away from the boulder. In my panic I was making things worse.

  We were going to wrap!

  “High side, Aaron!” Dad hollered. “High side!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WILD HORSES

  High side, Aaron!” Dad shouted again.

  Dad’s words finally sank in. I crawled up on the high side of the raft and braced my feet against the opposite tube, my hands holding on to the safety rope for dear life.

  The river pressed us against the rock like a postage stamp. But I was pressing down from the high side, and finally my weight—along with Dad’s—forced the raft to slide down … slowly … slowly …

  … until the current caught enough of the raft to whip us around the boulder, and away, downstream.

  “Yahoo!” I yelled. Geez, that felt good.

  “Good job, kiddo!” Dad yelled. My heart pumped into all my veins until I swelled with pride.

  Our raft wobbled and rolled and slid off waves until the rapids died and the river flattened out once again.

  “That was awesome, Dad!” It was awesome and it was scary. My heart still thundered in my chest.

  “You did great, kiddo,” he said. “And there’s more like it to come!”

  “Sweet,” I said, a little dubiously. I looked ahead to see if Lisa was watching. She was leaning over the side of their raft, slapping water at Cassidy. Cassidy shook a can of soda and sprayed her, laughing like a maniac.

  But I wasn’t going to let them bother me. I was proud, and I didn’t care about anyone else.

  At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

  It was getting late and we were starting to look for a place to camp along the bank when Roger yelled, “Horses! Wild horses!”

  There on the steep slope that rose toward the canyon walls to our left were five horses and one young colt grazing in the snake grass. You could see their muscles twitching and bulging. The lead stallion swung his huge head, stomped his front hoof, and took off running. The others followed, hooves pounding, rocks sliding. The little colt—a pinto—chased behind, struggling to keep up.

  Wild horses. Mustangs! They were fast and shaggy and fierce. They angled up the bank and off in a cloud of dust.

  And for a long time I could still feel the pounding of those hoofs. It was like the pounding of my heart as we’d gone down those rapids.

  We finally found a good place, on a sandy bank among cottonwoods, to set up camp. My cut-offs were soaked so I was glad to change into sweatpants once we got settled.

  I had some free time and sat alone on the bank beneath a big old cottonwood. I listened to the river chuckle and chatter, and studied the beauty of the high canyon walls in the reddish-gold sun. It was a good time to jot in the journal Mrs. P asked me to keep about my trip, for missing a week of school. I wrote: “April 3,” and after describing the canyon (“massive amphitheaters of sandstone …”) I started to describe the day. And what a day it had been—white water and wild horses!

  And then for the first time on this trip, I thought about my mom. And even Sean, my little brother! How I wished they could have seen me rafting down those rapids with flying colors.

  Mom’s a nurse at a hospital north of San Francisco and couldn’t get off work. Sean is eight, and Dad thought he was still too young for a trip like this. Especially without Mom being here to help.

  Honestly, Mom probably could’ve gotten the time off, if she really wanted to. We all knew she loved to float rivers and enjoy the beauty of nature, but she didn’t like big rapids at all. They scared her. And she really didn’t like camping out on sandy beaches all that much. “Sand in my sandwich!” she would say. Sand in her sleeping bag. Sand in her hair. Sand everywhere.

  But Sean, he would’ve loved this. He’s not afraid of anything. He would’ve wanted to be up front in the bow of the raft the entire time, with waves slamming into him, yelling, “Hi-YAH!” like he was going to battle each one as it came.

  And those wild horses! He would’ve drawn them for sure! He’s a wizard with a pen and paper. Or pencil or crayons or a paintbrush. He’s always drawing. He takes a drawing pad with him everywhere he goes.

  I hadn’t really been afraid about coming on this rafting trip until today when I’d had my first bout with the rapids and lost. Geez, I could’ve drowned. I could’ve bit it. Rapids are like bullies, sometimes. They like to pound you and make you feel small. Grind you up and spit you out.

  But rapids could be a blast, too. I was starting to see that now. I didn’t want to see those other images anymore, which had flooded my mind. Those images of drowning.

  Wild Man Willie’s call to “Come ’n’ get it!” rang off the cliffs, and man, was I starved! He had made Mexican food. We had tortilla chips to dip into guacamole and salsa, shrimps too, then tortillas to roll up heaps of beans, rice, chicken, and grated cheese. Yum!

  As my grandpa used to say, “Life is good. Life is good.”

  That night around the fire, I watched the flames dance, and listened again to the sound of the river. I thought about the wild horses, and felt again the rush of something surging through me—with the power of the horses, the power of the river.

  I peered over at Lisa, on the far side of the fire. I wanted to talk to her—to share my thoughts—but just when I finally got up the nerve, Cassidy asked her if she wanted to play cards in his tent. She glanced at me, and for a moment my heart stopped. What was a twelve-year-old girl doing hanging out with a sixteen-year-old boy? It made me mad, but I didn’t say anything. She shrugged and got up and followed him to his tent. I could have joined them, I guess, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place. I gazed into the fire as it collapsed in on itself.

  What would I have said to her anyway? What could we talk about? I’m pretty smart, and at school I’m good at writing, but who wants to talk about that? I play soccer and flag football and Little League baseball, and I do pretty well—especially at baseball. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk about sports either. Or bullies, which I try to dodge like flying tacklers.

  I want to get to know her and for her to know me, but those things don’t define me. Who I am.

  Who am I?

  I’m simple. Or maybe not so simple. I’m not a nerd or a jock. I really just want to be liked. By girls, I mean. But I never know what to say to them. Maybe I should write Lisa my thoughts, instead of trying to talk to her. But really, it would be too embarrassing. “Here, Lisa, read this. I wrote you my thoughts.”

  She pr
obably would laugh in my face, and say, “You dork!”

  I really don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Not yet. For a while I wanted to be a pro baseball player. That idea didn’t last too long. Now I’m thinking maybe a paleontologist digging up dinosaur bones. Or maybe a celebrity chef with my own show on the Food Network. That would be cool.

  Only, I don’t really know how to cook. And I’m not that into dinosaurs anymore.

  I think really, to be liked by somebody, you first have to like yourself. Does that make sense?

  I’m not sure.

  Those were some of the thoughts that swirled around my brain as I dragged myself to our tent.

  After a while Dad climbed in beside me. I’d lit our lantern and was trying to finish my journal entry, but every time I heard Lisa and Cassidy laughing in his tent, I lost my train of thought. Dad wanted to talk, so I let him. I wasn’t listening, not to him. I put my journal and pen away and said, “I’m tired, Dad. I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Goodnight, kiddo. Fun day, huh? The rapids. And then those wild horses! I wish your mom was here. And Sean. They would’ve loved that!”

  “’Night, Dad.” It was a fun day, but I felt too mixed up to say anything.

  I rolled away and closed my eyes.

  I was dreaming about wild horses—I couldn’t see them, just hear them, the thunder of their hooves—when my eyes popped back open.

  Lisa was squealing with laughter.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NIGHTMARE ROCK

  By nine the next morning we were on the river again. This time I rode with Roger the Rogue and Lisa, while Dad joined Cassidy, and Willie went solo. I wanted to say to Lisa, “Did you two have fun playing cards last night?” but I knew it would come out sounding weird.

  It was an easy stretch of river, so Roger let Lisa row for a while, then me. Within a few minutes, we had pulled far ahead of Dad, who was doing the rowing while Cassidy lounged in back.

  “Heave ho, matey!” barked Roger like a pirate captain. “Put your back into it, Aaron!” There was a slight headwind building, so I did have to pull harder to keep us moving.