Adrenaline Crush

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jay sounds concerned and I want to keep him in suspense. Spotting a clear foothold, I place my bare toes into it. Luckily, my brother, Harley, got me started climbing barefoot, so mounting the side of this cliff feels almost as natural as riding my bike.

  I dig my fingers into a small vertical crease and find a waist-high foothold that boosts me up quickly. I don’t have a plan, but the rush keeps me moving upward. The moment I clear the bushes and Jay sees just how high I am he calls out, “Dyna!”

  I turn my face toward the rough wall of rock so he can’t see my smile and continue climbing. I’m good at spotting hand- and foothold combinations, and the climb energizes me now that I’m in it. It’s easier than it probably looks from below, but the higher I get the more my progress slows. Securing my foot into a deep crevice, I stop and rest my arms for a moment while I even out my breathing. Looking down, I realize I’m more than halfway between the platform and the top. I scan the cliff face above and spot a handhold that sits a challenging distance from my reach.

  Jay tries a lighter tone. “Come on down, the water’s fine.”

  With a grunt, I swing my arm, extend my spine, and inch my fingers into the hold. I continue pressing upward hold by hold. Some are easier than others. It’s the demanding ones that have me captivated.

  I realize I’ve turned on my “porn star soundtrack.” My climbing buddies love to tease me about the groans I make as a climb gets difficult, and right now I’m building toward a moaning climax. I feel strong, and within five well-placed moves I can see the top. High on my accomplishment, I look down at Jay, and my eye catches a thin fracture line leading to my left foothold.

  My stomach plummets and I quickly examine the surrounding rock face for other signs of choss.

  “You are seriously freaking me out!” Jay yells up.

  “I’m great.” I stay focused, tapping the rock with my palms and listening for hollow places to avoid as I climb on.

  My heart pumps endorphins through my system, and by the time I haul myself over the top I’m levitating. Every inch of me is free. I lie on my back and close my eyes, running my throbbing palms against stiff blades of grass.

  I feel incredible.

  If I could somehow capture this feeling right now,

  bottle it up,

  I’d share it with the world and there would be

  no more war,

  no famine,

  no people hating other people.

  Just life and love.

  I open my eyes.

  And this beautiful wide blue sky

  connecting us all.

  “You okay?” Jay’s voice floats up.

  I roll onto my stomach and peer down over the edge. “Never better.”

  Jay has climbed out of the water and is dripping a wet trail back and forth along the shore. “How the hell are you getting down, Dyna?”

  I’m not exactly sure of my answer to that. Sitting up, I mull over my options. I didn’t like the look of that fissure, so rather than go back the same way, I decide to walk along the edge looking for an easier route down. But then I have the best idea ever.

  Scooting around to the other side where the rusty iron rails plummet off the cliff, I grab the first wooden tie and try to shake the track. As I expected, it doesn’t budge. Satisfied, I place my hands on the uneven plank and shout, “Heads up!”

  Jay puts his palms to his eyes. “Please don’t do that.” Sliding his hands to the sides of his head, he groans and repeats, “I am not going to rescue you!”

  “You won’t need to.” I shine my brightest smile down on him. He raises his hands up in the air as if he can keep me safe from where he’s standing.

  Peering at the way the tracks arc out and down, with every fourth or fifth tie missing, my mind resists my plan. This side of the swim hole is much more shallow and the rocks gnash their teeth at me just below the water’s surface. My lungs spasm at the steepness of the drop as I crawl out onto the level tracks on my hands and knees. Come on, Dyna, this will be easy. I move forward slowly, and the distance to the ground makes every second clear and sharp and real.

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Trying to focus here.”

  Using the rough wooden ties to support my hands and knees, I travel farther out over the water. Now that I’ve started, it’s easy to keep moving.

  When I reach the section where the rails dip steeply, I realize I need to turn my body completely around. If I can get my feet in front of me and flip over I can climb down as if the tracks were nothing more than an oversized ladder.

  This is a simple enough move; it’s the mental part that makes me pause. The rocks continue taunting me from an impossible distance below, and I wish I’d thought this through a little better.

  “Please, dear God, be careful.” Jay is starting to get on my nerves.

  “God has got nothing to do with this,” I call down in a warning tone. He’s back to treading water at the bottom of the tracks, and I feel bad for getting annoyed at him.

  Placing my left hand on the rusty rail beside me, I immediately recoil from the skillet-hot iron and shake the sting off my palm.

  “Are you okay?”

  I hold up my reddened hand. “I’ll live.” Careful not to touch the fiery rails again, I rise from crawling to a kneeling position, put my arms in the air, and call “Wheeee!” as if I’m about to ride all the way down to Jay’s waiting arms. He shakes his head.

  I grasp the wooden tie behind my hips and slide one leg forward so it’s pointed out in front of me. Leaning to my left, I swing my other leg to join it and drop my butt squarely on the soft wood. I take a breath and prepare to turn over so I can climb down feetfirst.

  Looking at Jay’s intense expression, I can’t resist giving him a sexy one-shoulder smile. He cracks a grin of defeat and starts climbing up the rails toward me, presumably to rescue me now that I’m fine. I can let him play hero, I decide with a chuckle.

  The wooden tie I’m sitting on dips to the right and my chuckle chokes into a gasp.

  It’s as if the sleepy roller coaster has sprung to life.

  Jay’s eyes bulge as he starts lunging up the tracks toward me.

  The rotten board lets out a groan

  and I’m helpless as I’m

  pitched forward.

  No! No! No!

  And the stupid

  useless

  rotted chunk

  of wood breaks free in three jarring stages.

  I’m vaguely aware of Jay yelling instructions

  but there is nothing to be done.

  Gravity is greedy and the momentum is too much.

  I claw for the rails. Clutch the sear of iron. But my grasp doesn’t even slow my drop and everything I’m trying to hang on to rises up out of my reach. I am

  falling.

  Fast and hard and toward

  rocks and water that’s too shallow

  to catch me.

  To save me.

  I usually love falling. Bungee jumping. Parasailing. Even riding the rickety parachute ride at the Ulster County Fair. I’ve never been falling like this.

  I’m flailing and

  lost and

  glimpse a blur of

  Jay diving back into the water that

  rushes at me too fast too fast too fast and then everywhere—

  black.

  3

  Sirens batter me awake. I’m lying on my back getting jostled by a rockslide that won’t settle.

  A hand is cradling mine.

  “Dyna?”

  I want to tell whoever is controlling the rockslide to knock it the hell off and let me sleep already.

  “Come on, Dyna.”

  Memory and reality collide and I know I’m riding in the back of an ambulance.

  Pain gnaws at the edges of my consciousness and my right leg feels like it may have been chopped off with a dull ax.

  Everything is different.

  I want to curl into a coc
oon. Get away from the rockslide that is still happening. To be held still and safe. I’m so tired. Pull it together, Dyna, I command, gathering feeble wisps of determination.

  “Dyna. Please.”

  I open my eyes to a close-up view of Jay. His wet hair is slicked back and he is staring at my face as if the two of us have known each other all our lives. Like I mean something to him.

  We’re suspended in each other’s gaze for a wide-open moment but then

  the thing

  that thing

  that happened

  to me

  that landed us together

  is here.

  I blink against the images rushing through my mind—

  sky-and-water-and-the-black.

  I shut my eyes.

  Despite the jostling, Jay is gentle when he strokes the side of my face. He squeezes my hand and I wince. “Sorry,” he says. “You must have burned your palm on the rail.” But neither one of us lets go.

  I fight heavy eyelids, forcing myself to look at him. I see he has a tiny scar on his cheek, right where the skin dimples in when he purses his lips.

  Ignoring the pain rising from my leg, I say, “Thought you said you wouldn’t rescue me.” My voice sounds strange. Weak.

  Jay snorts and shakes his head back and forth slowly. “I thought you said I wouldn’t need to.”

  I close my eyes again and concede, “I guess you’ve got me there.”

  “That’s right.” Jay’s voice soothes against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

  I slip back to the black.

  When I claw my way out again, I’m used up and the world has turned minty white.

  Thankfully, I’m out of the rockslide, but Jay is gone. My right leg now feels as if it’s been run through a wood chipper, and I’m lying on a bed being rolled down a wide corridor. Crinkled white ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights alternate endlessly above me.

  I try to sit up, but my head is too massive to raise more than a few inches. I sink back down to a pillow that crunches as if it’s filled with wadded paper. “Jay…?” I say, but my voice trails off and my fight to remain conscious drains away. A hovering masked chin dips down saying … something. The muffled voice is kind, but I’m too far away now to make sense of what it’s telling me.

  Quiet and stillness have finally descended and my leg feels like it’s being dragged toward the ceiling. The whole right side of my body throbs. When I open my eyes my mother’s there. She’s holding my hand and looking at me as if she hasn’t seen me in weeks. Dad stands behind her, hands on her shoulders. When I blink at him his face crumbles in on itself for a flash.

  “Welcome back, Dyna Glider,” he says.

  I haven’t been so happy to see my parents since I was a little kid.

  Despite the fact that I’m lying down, my head feels spinny. I breathe in disinfectant, and it’s oddly comforting. My right ankle hurts bad, but I’m able to separate from most of the pain and push it away.

  A petite nurse gives me a lipsticked grimace as she works her way around my bed. She reminds me of a nervous field mouse as she checks the plastic bags of fluid going into and coming out of me. When Dad moves his arm so she can get by him, she practically leaps out of her pink crocs.

  Typical.

  When I look at my folks, I see Mom, who can sew anything imaginable without following a pattern and who makes detailed charcoal sketches of plants and insects in order to relax. And I see Dad, whose big bushy eyebrows bump together when he’s being serious, which is most of the time, but who has the loudest booming laugh that reverberates for miles and makes it totally worth the effort to coax it out of him. I see my parents and I’m overwhelmed with love for them, but I know that’s not what this nurse sees.

  This nurse sees Mom’s chunks of purple highlights and her sundress with no bra. She sees Dad’s hair snaking down his back in a long row of elastic hair ties.

  And especially—I guarantee this—she sees the tattoos.

  Both of my parents are completely covered in ink. Dad’s tattoos include many styles from various artists over the years, but he’s the best tattooist north of Manhattan and he’s done all of Mom’s inkwork. He calls her body his masterpiece. She’s gorgeous and gets stopped on the street all the time by folks who want to snap her picture.

  I look over at the kaleidoscope design that starts at her shoulder and wraps down around a baby’s handprint on her elbow. My handprint. Growing up with the mosaic of familiar images and knowing the meaning behind the art, I absolutely love the way my parents look. But I’ve learned that lots of people have trouble seeing past a person’s skin.

  The nurse busies herself making scribbles on a clipboard before scampering away around the empty bed beside me and out the door.

  “How’re you feeling, honey?” Mom asks. She strokes my hair as if I’m an angel that only she can see. My accident seems to have brought out some supernurturing mother alter ego she’s been repressing.

  It’s kind of creeping me out.

  “Hard to believe.” Dad rubs his hands together. “Made it all the way to seventeen without needing a hospital. That’s a good run, sweetheart.”

  Everything’s too heavy, even the air weighs on me. Twinges of pain run along my shin and—I’m hit with a horrible thought. I whisper, “Will I be able to climb again?”

  “Well,” Mom says. “I mean…” She smoothes my blanket. “You’ll need … physical therapy…” Bile fills the back of my throat as my mother falters for words. She never falters for words.

  “What your mom is trying to say,” Dad cuts in, “is that your leg got pretty beat up in your fall.”

  Mom’s voice is soft. “The way you landed on the … rocks splintered your … ankle. But hey—” She rubs my arm. “It could’ve been much worse.” Her voice catches.

  I look at Dad. “You were knocked unconscious by the trauma of your fall. If you’d been alone you might have drowned.”

  “It was a good thing that boy was there.” Mom gives me a weak smile. “He saved you.” I picture Jay carrying me out of the water all broken and bleeding.

  “The doc had to go a little medieval on that ankle, Glider,” Dad jokes, but his eyebrows stay fused together. “Pins and screws and clamps. But they got you pieced back together all right.”

  “The operation went well.” Mom nods. “The doctor said he was pleased.”

  “Now they just have to watch you for infection. It was an open break and the way your bones were exposed … there’s a chance…” Dad doesn’t go on.

  “A chance of what?” I clutch the sides of the bed. “A chance I could lose my foot?”

  I feel helplessly trapped in a way I hadn’t a moment ago.

  “Easy there,” he says. “They think they got everything cleaned out and they’re pumping you full of antibiotics right now, but it’s too early to tell.”

  “Visualize healing,” Mom says soulfully. “Believe for zero infection.”

  Dad looks me in the eye. “Depending on how much mobility you get back, there’s also a chance you might need a cane … permanently.” His face crumbles again for a flash and I look away.

  Please-no-please-no-please-no.

  Out loud I say, “This isn’t happening.”

  “You’re okay,” Mom says, as if she’s the one who needs to hear it. “Everything is okay.”

  I take a deep breath and try to believe the words of this calm, meditative woman who is posing as my mother.

  Everything is okay.

  “That there is some fucked-up shit!” My big brother walks in the door and raises his pierced eyebrow at me.

  “Har-ley,” Mom chides. “Language, please.” Which isn’t really fair since she swears plenty when she thinks we can’t hear her. And sometimes when she knows we can.

  “Nice work, sis,” Harley says, as he hands Dad a sweating bottle of water. “I’ve broken my ankle but never had my tib rip through the skin before. You’ll have a gnarly shin scar and serious bragging rights.” He lo
oks proud of me. “Classic Dynamite.”

  I wince as a throbbing pain shoots up my leg.

  Mom reads my expression. “The doctor mentioned your meds would be wearing off soon.” Dad starts tapping at the call button.

  “Let’s try to get you some of the good stuff,” he says, and winks at me as Nurse Nervous pokes her head into my room.

  “She’s in terrible pain,” my mother says.

  The nurse lifts my chart off the foot of the bed. Dad smiles and tells her, “You’re going to want to give her something extra-strong. There’s a high tolerance in our genes.”

  She looks at the tattoo sleeves covering Dad’s arms and squeaks, “She can have more Percocet in another half hour.”

  Harley whispers under his breath, “Mmmm, I got Percocet for my buoted clavicle.”

  Dad says, “Thank you, ma’am,” as the nurse heads toward the door. He always treats the folks who don’t see past his tattoos just as nice as can be. He calls it “pardoning the ignorant.”

  My mother, on the other hand, is not so forgiving. “We’ll be waiting,” she says sharply, and the nurse scurries her final steps away from us.

  “You’re lucky,” says Harley, and we all look at him. Gesturing to the empty bed he clarifies, “No roommate. Last time I was here overnight I had a guy with night terrors.”

  I look at Dad. “Take me home?”

  “’Fraid not, Dyna Glider.”

  Mom offers, “I’ll stay with you. I can sing you to sleep like I did when you were little.” With that, she launches into a falsetto chorus of “Blackbird.”

  “Seriously?” I look at Dad. “Please get her out of here, she’s starting to freak me out.”

  “Let’s go, Beth.” He moves to pull Mom up by her shoulders. “Once they give her more pain meds she’s just going to pass out anyway.” He lifts her hand-stitched satchel over her kaleidoscope shoulder. It’s one of the bags she sews for the Groovy Blueberry clothing store in town. She gives my face an embarrassing number of wispy kisses before Dad is able to guide her away from my bed.