go of my hand, and I grab the railing.
“Gosh, it’s pretty.” I gush like a stupid tourist.
“Have you lived in Oregon long?”
“Uh, about eleven years. I was born and raised in the
Midwest and came out here in my early twenties.”
“How come?”
The question leads us both to a door I’m not ready to open
regarding my ex-spouse. I look at him and lock my jaw. Thankfully, he sees
hesitation in my eyes.
“You don’t need to tell me why,” he says. “Hey, look, an
eagle.” He lifts his hand and points to a bird circling overhead.
I tilt my head back and look at the magnificent fowl. He is
so close that we can see his white-feathered head. The bird is riding the
current of the wind, gliding in splendor.
“Ian?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning to look at me.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me here. I seriously needed
this—definitely been hibernating way too long.”
He gets a twinkle in his eyes. “No problem,” he says,
slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me in for a hug toward his side.
I’m a bit surprised over his actions, since he’s acting like he’s more
interested than being a hiking buddy. He holds me like that for few minutes as
we both stand there and get lost in the scenery. Finally, he suggests we leave.
“You ready to climb to the top of the falls?”
“Ready.”
“Let’s go then.” We walk back to the car, and before I know
it, we’re weaving back and forth on the winding path. The trees have overgrown
like a canopy across the road. The ferns are abundant in the woods, and
thankfully the traffic is pretty light. I sit and look out the window as we
pass all the places I remember and the various waterfalls that cascade down
Larch Mountain to my right.
“So pretty,” I mumble.
“Yeah, it is.”
Another mile we start entering into the Multnomah Falls
parking lot. It is not as crowded as I thought it would be, but it’s still
early in the morning. The falls drop five hundred and forty-two feet into a
pool, which overflows into another drop of sixty-nine feet. I can hear the roar
of the water inside the car. It’s one of my favorite places, with a visiting
center, restaurant, gift shop, and trails that lead to the lower and upper
falls.
Ian finds a place to park, and I’m bursting inside with
excitement. Why don’t I come here more often? It doesn’t take long to
answer my own question—memories and the pain associated with a rotten marriage.
I glance over at Ian and hope I can make a treasured memory to erase the
unpleasant.
We both jump out of the car. He grabs his backpack and
slings it over his shoulder. “I brought water for both of us and a few munchies
in case we get hungry.”
“Water, thanks for thinking of that.” I feel pretty stupid
that I didn’t think of it myself. The trek to the top is a long climb. I’ll be
dying for something to drink once up there.
“Wow, what a day. Couldn’t ask for better weather,” he says,
tilting his head and looking up at the falls.
“Yeah, I know.”
He holds out his hand to me with a smile on his face and
nods his head toward the steps ahead. “Come on, let’s get at it.”
I look at his hand and pause for a moment. Trust him ,
I tell myself sternly . It’s a beautiful moment. I want to cry, but I
quickly lower my eyes to the stone steps and grab his hand. He gives me a
little tug and off we go.
“It’s been some time since I’ve been here too,” he admits.
“Are you from Oregon originally?”
“No, California. Born and raised in the Bay area.”
“Oh, and then you went east to Harvard?” Damn it, I
inwardly balk and scrunch my shoulders. He’s going to know I’ve been checking
up on him.
He immediately halts his steps, turns and looks at me with
narrowed eyes. “Did you search my name on the web or something to make sure I’m
not a serial killer?” I can tell he’s not mad, but playful.
“Ah, yeah, something like that,” I reply with a wry glance.
He shakes
“Gosh, it’s pretty.” I gush like a stupid tourist.
“Have you lived in Oregon long?”
“Uh, about eleven years. I was born and raised in the
Midwest and came out here in my early twenties.”
“How come?”
The question leads us both to a door I’m not ready to open
regarding my ex-spouse. I look at him and lock my jaw. Thankfully, he sees
hesitation in my eyes.
“You don’t need to tell me why,” he says. “Hey, look, an
eagle.” He lifts his hand and points to a bird circling overhead.
I tilt my head back and look at the magnificent fowl. He is
so close that we can see his white-feathered head. The bird is riding the
current of the wind, gliding in splendor.
“Ian?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning to look at me.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me here. I seriously needed
this—definitely been hibernating way too long.”
He gets a twinkle in his eyes. “No problem,” he says,
slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me in for a hug toward his side.
I’m a bit surprised over his actions, since he’s acting like he’s more
interested than being a hiking buddy. He holds me like that for few minutes as
we both stand there and get lost in the scenery. Finally, he suggests we leave.
“You ready to climb to the top of the falls?”
“Ready.”
“Let’s go then.” We walk back to the car, and before I know
it, we’re weaving back and forth on the winding path. The trees have overgrown
like a canopy across the road. The ferns are abundant in the woods, and
thankfully the traffic is pretty light. I sit and look out the window as we
pass all the places I remember and the various waterfalls that cascade down
Larch Mountain to my right.
“So pretty,” I mumble.
“Yeah, it is.”
Another mile we start entering into the Multnomah Falls
parking lot. It is not as crowded as I thought it would be, but it’s still
early in the morning. The falls drop five hundred and forty-two feet into a
pool, which overflows into another drop of sixty-nine feet. I can hear the roar
of the water inside the car. It’s one of my favorite places, with a visiting
center, restaurant, gift shop, and trails that lead to the lower and upper
falls.
Ian finds a place to park, and I’m bursting inside with
excitement. Why don’t I come here more often? It doesn’t take long to
answer my own question—memories and the pain associated with a rotten marriage.
I glance over at Ian and hope I can make a treasured memory to erase the
unpleasant.
We both jump out of the car. He grabs his backpack and
slings it over his shoulder. “I brought water for both of us and a few munchies
in case we get hungry.”
“Water, thanks for thinking of that.” I feel pretty stupid
that I didn’t think of it myself. The trek to the top is a long climb. I’ll be
dying for something to drink once up there.
“Wow, what a day. Couldn’t ask for better weather,” he says,
tilting his head and looking up at the falls.
“Yeah, I know.”
He holds out his hand to me with a smile on his face and
nods his head toward the steps ahead. “Come on, let’s get at it.”
I look at his hand and pause for a moment. Trust him ,
I tell myself sternly . It’s a beautiful moment. I want to cry, but I
quickly lower my eyes to the stone steps and grab his hand. He gives me a
little tug and off we go.
“It’s been some time since I’ve been here too,” he admits.
“Are you from Oregon originally?”
“No, California. Born and raised in the Bay area.”
“Oh, and then you went east to Harvard?” Damn it, I
inwardly balk and scrunch my shoulders. He’s going to know I’ve been checking
up on him.
He immediately halts his steps, turns and looks at me with
narrowed eyes. “Did you search my name on the web or something to make sure I’m
not a serial killer?” I can tell he’s not mad, but playful.
“Ah, yeah, something like that,” I reply with a wry glance.
He shakes
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