The Middle of Somewhere by Sonja Yoerg Page A

as they arrived, they set off on a hike. Either her father got lost, or he misjudged the distance, because when the clouds gathered and the air smelled of tin cans, they were nowhere near the car. They were, instead, on the exposed ridge of a canyon. The skies opened as thunder rumbled. Raindrops fell, attacking her bare skin like darts. The nape of her neck tickled. A loud crack made her jump, and rang in her ears. The first bolt of lightning struck close by. Fear gripped her insides. She wanted to run. She wanted to disappear.
    Her father moved to pick her up. But she knew what every kid knew about lightning: you didn’t want to be the tallest. Let him be the tallest. She threw herself on the ground, flat as she could, pressed her cheek into the gravel and shut her eyes tight. Her father tried to pull her upright, but her arms found a rock and she clung to it with all her strength and kicked at him, screaming. Thunder boomed in her ears and rolled through her chest. She saw her death: a bolt of lightning sliced through her like a giant sword. Terrified of the pain, and the empty unknown that would follow, she writhed against the dirt to burrow in.
    Eventually, the storm relented and they found their way back to the car. Her father took her home the same evening, filthy and shaken. At the door, he said to her mother he had no idea why Liz was so scared of a little lightning.
    In early summer, when she was first planning to hike the JMT, Dante asked her how the weather would be.
    â€œMostly clear, and cold at night. But it could rain, or even snow. Probably a thunderstorm or three.”
    â€œYou do remember that you hide under the bed when there’s a thunderstorm? Last time you shook so hard it rattled the frame.”
    â€œIt’s bad enough without you exaggerating. But I’m not about to spend my whole life burdened by an irrational fear.”
    â€œWhy not? That’s my plan.”
    â€œDo you even have an irrational fear?”
    â€œYes. Yes, I do. I’m afraid you’ll never have sex with me again and I will die a sad, lonely and very frustrated old man.”
    They’d laughed, and made love on the couch. That was months ago.
    By the time she arrived at Shadow Creek, the rain had become drizzle. She put down her pack and searched for a campsite. After following several rabbit trails off the main path, she found a small site with an established fire ring not far from the river. She suspected there were other campsites downstream—the terrain was leveling out—but after nearly fourteen miles, half of it in the rain, she was more than ready to quit. She wasn’t going to quibble about where she pitched her tent.
    The tent would have been up quickly except she drove a stake into a tree root, which gripped it tightly. She spent twenty minutes digging, pulling, twisting and cursing before she got it out. When the tent was erect and secure, she threw her pack inside and climbed in after it, leaving her boots, pack cover and rain suit in the vestibule. She blew up her air mattress and became light-headed. She’d not eaten nearly enough today. Tempted as she was not to bother with the stove and eat her next day’s lunch instead, hot food sounded better. She set up the stove in the vestibule and ate an entire packet of instant mashed potatoes which, to her surprise, actually did taste like a loaded baked potato, as advertised. She washed it down with water and realized she’d forgotten to fill her second bottle. Back out into the rain.
    By seven o’clock, she’d organized her gear and stashed the bear can outside the door. If a bear wanted to play with the can in the rain, he could come over here and get it. Other than what falling water had accomplished, she hadn’t washed or bothered to brush her teeth. Her limbs were leaden. She wanted only to lie inside her sleeping bag, close her eyes and wake to a sunny morning.
    In her dream, she stood alone aboard a