IN WHICH I RUIN EVERYTHING,
BEFORE SOME OTHER INTERESTING
STUFF HAPPENS
I couldn't have asked for more rewarding summers than we got. The big question - could Gracie and I really work together - was fully answered in the first couple of weekends. We instinctively seemed to know what the other needed, our arguing about anything was minimal, and we adapted equally to any changes in plans. By the middle of the first summer, we were operating like the proverbial "well-oiled machine." The mountains were falling before us, and the check-marks next to the names of the four thousand footers seemed to be accumulating at an amazing rate.
Of course, it wasn't just about conquests and check-lists. Those were highlights - steps toward our goal - but the real story was much, much bigger. I'm thinking now about when Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay returned from the first ascent of Mt. Everest, the highest point on Earth. A team member (not a particularly good friend of Hillary, it seems) later wrote that Hillary's first words on returning to Base Camp were "we knocked the bastard off." That was regularly taken as an indication that Hillary had no reverence - no awe - for what he and Tenzing had accomplished - he was just doing a job. Anyone who knows anything about Hillary's life and career would doubt that interpretation. They would likely have heard it for what it was - the first words of an exhausted, exhilarated man who had just done what no one had ever done.
That's the way we felt on many of our hikes - momentarily excited to have reached another milestone. We didn't "knock the bastards off," but our thoughts and some of our words conveyed pretty much the same sentiment.
However, the story that lasted through the two summers and beyond was about seeing new country - new forests, new streams, new trails - places that most White Mountain hikers never saw because those places were off the standard routes. Besides all that, for me it was just the constant thrill of being with Gracie, learning about a whole new side of her. I'm pretty sure she felt the same way about me.
So, there we were - at her home, celebrating the finish of our quest that was to occur the next weekend, with the climbing of the last remaining unclimbed four thousand footer.
And I ruined it all.
It was stupid. It was silly. There was no reason. Having said that, I have to admit I'd been thinking about that moment for several weeks, wondering what I was going to do when the time came to speak out or shut up. To everybody's misfortune, I chose to speak out. The last unclimbed four thousand footer was Mt. Carrigain.
When I told Gracie I couldn't climb Carrigain with her, I think she first thought I was joking. She quickly went from puzzled to upset to angry with me. Can you blame her? When I thought of that mountain, my mind was full of Gracie and me, standing on South Twin, and her trying to get me to make an absurd promise. I think I know her exact words.
"Oh, come on, I'm not asking much. Just say, 'I, Daniel Alden, promise never to climb Mt. Carrigain, until I can do it with my one true love, Gracie Alcott.'"
When Gracie thought of that moment... Well, that's just it. For her, it either never happened, or the memory was completely gone. I was the only one who had the memory, and if I tried to tell her, she would think that I was not only horribly mean, but maybe insane, as well.
I told myself that I wouldn't really be violating the promise. I would be climbing the mountain with Gracie, and although she certainly wasn't "my one true love," after the two summers together, she was certainly my best friend. Still, something stubborn in me was insisting on hanging on to the Gracie of the mountains. A girl who really didn't even exist seemed to have a firm hold on a part of my heart.
Of course, I couldn't tie Gracie to my reason for not climbing Carrigain with her. I made up some lame story about, years before, deciding that I wouldn't climb Carrigain until I did it with the girl I was going to marry. Since I couldn't name any girl to go with the story, it all came out even dumber and less comprehensible. I suggested that maybe Gracie's family could climb with her the next week, so she could "stay on schedule," but I'm sure that just made things worse. I finally just left.
I thought it was all over - that I'd thrown away a wonderful friendship, for nothing - but about a week later I got a letter from Gracie.
"Dear Danny,
"I wanted to let you know that I'm not angry or upset with you. I don't understand what happened - I'd like to, but it's all just confusing, for now. Something else made it even stranger this week, when I had a vision, or something. It wasn't a dream - I was wide awake, and up and moving around, and I saw and heard things so clearly that it actually scared me. I tried to think about something else, but it didn't work. Here's what I 'saw.'
"You and I were on a mountain somewhere - not one of our climbs the past two summers - clearly, somewhere else, and certainly before our recent adventures. That complicates the vision right off, because we didn't know each other before. Anyway, I seemed to be teasing you about something I wanted you to say. You were resisting, and here I offered you a kiss if you'd say it. Kissing you on a mountain? Obviously, nothing like that ever happened, in dreams or otherwise, but the vision wasn't over. Here's the strange, scary part. Do you know what I wanted you to say? I wanted you to promise never to climb Mt. Carrigain, except with your 'one true love.' That's very close to what you told me, but the vision had more details. It named your 'one true love.' Do you know who it was? It was Gracie Alcott - me!
"How can that be, Danny? The thing is, it all seemed so real, like I was reliving something that actually happened. As I said, it was so real, it was scary. Then, something more happened in the vision, which really shook me up. (I think I'm still shaking.) I saw what was clearly the beginning of the vision. I was saying to you that I'd already decided what would be the last of the four thousand footers that I climbed - Mt. Carrigain. You agreed that it was an excellent candidate., and - in the vision - I turned to you, and said, "And this is where you come in. I want to really lock it in as the choice, so I'd like you to make a little pledge." Those are my exact words in the vision, and they came just before I told you what the pledge was to say.
Danny, this all seemed really real to me, and I think my vision said the part of your story that you didn't think you could tell me. Did we have another life together, Danny? That isn't even possible, is it? I am so confused! But I have made one decision: until we can get this straightened out - is that even possible! - I'm not going to climb Mt. Carrigain with anybody but you. I don't know how long that might be, but I think I need to try and find out.
One other thing I want to say, before it gets lost in all the confusion. These last two years have been the best of my life, so far, and you are the best friend anybody could ever wish for. I love you, Danny Alden. Don't you ever forget that. Gracie."
Well, to say that was surprising is probably unnecessary. It was exciting to learn that Gracie apparently had some memories of Serendipity Days. It didn't seem to make any difference. I still couldn't explain anything to her. I didn't respond to her letter.
I also tried to ignore the fact that the year following our "break up" was a Serendipity year - or, it would have been before I (probably) broke some rules by going to Brattleboro. I admit I was curious to know if "it" was still working, and I really wanted to see the Alcotts, under any circumstances. However, there was so much confusion in my life already that I was hesitant to solicit more. In the end, self-preservation was the winner, and nothing happened that August that seemed to be serendipity-related.
***
The next three years passed quickly. I didn't have any contact with Gracie or her family, although I finally missed her so much that I went to Brattleboro to find her. What I found was that the family had moved away almost a year previously, and I couldn't locate any forwarding address. It seemed like my pile of doing the wrong thing and not doing the right thing had grown to an amazing size. I still didn't know what I could do about it, and so just went about my school work, as if it mattered.
One day, I was walking across campus, shortly before the new semester began. I think I was aware that this was "the third year," but wasn't dwelling on it. It was a real surprise - well, shock, I think was a more appropriate description - when I thought I heard someone say "Hey, boy." I stopped where I was, at the foot of the administration building steps, but was almost afraid to look around. I must have mis-heard something that sounded like "Hey, boy."
Finally, I allowed myself to look up the stairs, to where a group of college girls were standing. One in particular caught my eye, and I did a quick survey. There were no hiking boots on her feet, but the legs that extended upward were delectably familiar. I skipped to the top of the head. No braids or pigtails, just a nice college-girl hairdo. I let my glance slide downward to a lovely face that I hadn't seen in some time, but was indelibly etched on my eyes and brain. The grin that accompanied the other facial features wasn't one I recognized, but it was amazingly compelling - if fact, I felt like it was magnetically drawing me into it.
I looked at her. She looked at me. The women she was with looked at both of us.
"Hey, I know him," one of the women finally spoke. "We both went to Andover High. I remember he was on the ice hockey team."
Everybody looked at her, the one with the grin looking particularly interested. Seeing the interest, the first woman asked, "Did you know he was from California?"
Oh, no! Before that conversation could continue, I put all my emotion into one question of my own. "So, Gracie, what's this all about?"
The grin grew stronger, almost pulling me off my feet and up the stairs.
"Serendipity," she said.
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