The sun had barely risen above the eastern ridge when I pulled into the parking area at the bottom of the falls.
Sitting at a computer all day was a quick way to an early grave. I believed that with all of my heart. Most mornings I tried to counteract all the time I spent at my desk with trail runs at first light.
But ever since my new neighbor moved in, I hadn’t felt as at home in the woods as I used to. I kept worrying that I’d run into her and those boots that fit her calves like a second skin.
This morning, I decided to do my workout without worrying. I left while the sky was still pink - the better to avoid running into anyone - and headed for the falls.
Climbing was a new obsession. I liked the technical aspect, the mental workout that went along with the physical workout. Finding handholds in slippery rock, swinging your weight without falling over the edge, these were the only burdens you carried up the falls.
That was the hope, anyway.
I parked at the bottom lot and laced up my shoes. The first cascade had dried up to only a trickle, thanks to this summer's drought. But the rocks were still slippery, and difficult to get a hand hold on.
That was okay, though, because some hero, unknown and unnamed, had installed ropes in strategic spots. It was always a gamble over whether they would hold, but year after year they stayed, somehow un-frayed in spite of being completely submerged during spring thaw.
I grabbed a hold of the first rope, wrapping it around my hand twice for good measure and taking one last breath, I began to climb.
The roar of the water was almost as loud as my pulse in my ears as I climbed, hand over hand, foothold after tenuous foothold. The cliff wall was not actually sheer, but it sure felt like it. My heart always jumped when I had to move to the middle and swing freely over the gully floor before catching the next length of rope.
I hauled myself over the top, flopping onto my belly to get clear of the edge, then took a deep breath.
There was a pleasant burn in my arms, that kind of tingling that let me know that yes, I was alive. Adrenaline and dopamine flooded my system, giving that same sort of high I used to achieve with a bottle. They say this way is better, that hard exercise is preferable to hard liquor. I still wasn't sure that was true.
But I needed something.
I grasped the second rope and climbed the shorter middle cascade in a manner of minutes. This span was my favorite. The middle pool was just high enough above the valley floor to meet up with the tops of the trees, and you could see your first glimpse of the lake below. It wasn't as popular to come to this viewpoint as it was to go to the very top. For that reason, I thought of it as mine and mine alone.
I stood at the edge and rested my hands on top of my head as I caught my breath.
Every climb was different. In spring the falls thundered with the runoff of the winter snows. In summer I climbed directly in them, letting the icy water cool my skin. In the fall it was a toss-up. Some days it would be cold enough to climb in raingear. Other days, like today, the sun baked into my skin, still strong enough to make me regret forgetting sunscreen.
In winter, the ceaselessly roaring falls froze into silence, and the sun on the ice make them sparkle in white and blue.
Winter was my favorite season at the falls.
But I was here now, and I still had the last ascent to make. I took a deep breath and grabbed a hold of the third rope.
This climb was the most nerve-racking. That uppermost falls fell straight down almost thirty feet. And the rocks up here were slippery with the rising mist.
I hauled myself up - my breath coming in short bursts, my heart thudding in my chest like a jackhammer - making sure always to have my feet planted before I reached for the next grip. I shut off all the parts of my brain except the ones focused on where to put my toes and how to hold my fingers.
I was almost sad when I reached the top and hauled myself over the edge.
I crawled away from the edge, turned and sat back on my knees. The blood thudded in my ears as my breathing returned to normal.
The view below me never got old. No matter how many times I saw it, there was always something new to find. Up here, the sounds of the valley below echoed strangely, far-off noises sounding like they were right on top of me. I could hear the boats on the lake, dedicated boaters still out there in spite of the plunging temperatures. I could hear a car, wending its way along the country road down from Whaleback Mountain. I could hear the crows, their strange croaking cries sounding almost human as they wheeled overhead.
And all around me the sound of water tumbling down the two hundred vertical feet I’d just climbed.
I peeled off my T-shirt, laid it out in the sun to dry and let the sun warm my shoulders. I leaned back, ready and anxious for the meditative quiet to overtake my mind.
I’d come up here for solitude. I thought I needed it.
But instead of peaceful, I felt…
Alone.
Lonely.
I stood up, confused that the thing that always comforted me was making me uncomfortable.
Swearing, I grabbed my T-shirt off the rock and headed towards the gentler path that wound back down to the parking lot.
Being alone didn’t feel good today. So when I saw the lone climber making her way toward me, I didn’t turn and try to avoid her.
Today was a weird day.
When her eyes lighted on mine, she gave me a friendly grin. "Derek! You exist!“ she called up the trail. .
I smiled back because Brynn Reese was one of the only people I could stand. I leaned against a tree to wait for her to reach me. "Hi Brynn,” I said. "How are the kids?"
She rolled her eyes. “You always say that," she said. "They're not my kids. They're just my class."
"Same thing," I teased. "You're the one who thought it would be a good career path to spend your life wiping noses."
"I'll have you know that first grade is a heck a lot more than wiping noses," she grumped.
"School just started up again?" I asked. Aria had asked me if I knew about small talk. I’d apparently learned it at warp speed.
Brynn nodded. "I have this one kid, I cannot get stop him from eating the Play-Doh. I've been to the store like six times now, getting a new supply, but he just chows down on it like it's an all-you-can-eat buffet"
I wrinkled my nose. "Can you eat Play-Doh?”
She shrugged. "Well it is non-toxic, so I guess so."
"What does it taste like?"
She shrugged again. "Salty." I gave her a look. "What? On-the-job hazards."
"I can't believe you’re a teacher.”
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's been a couple years now. Get with the times."
"I'm still not used to it. Do the parents know that you used to be the queen of keg stands?"
An odd look passed across her face. "Actually, yeah, they do. Jesse's oldest is in my class now."
At the sound of the name, I stiffened out of old habit.
Brynn’s eyes softened. "He's doing good, Derek. I wish you guys would talk again. You were so close."
I turned back to the trail. "Yeah," I grunted, taking a step. She stood there for a second longer, then, reading my body language, she sighed. I wasn't looking at her, but I could feel the hurt radiating off her in waves. "Glad he's doing well," I ventured.
"He is. He's going to be fine. The new prosthesis fits beautifully.”
I could feel her ready herself to say something else and held up my hand to ward off her praise. “Good,” I said shortly. “But is he going to walk again?"
"Well?” she wheedled. “No. But you know that."
“Yes, I do," I said, and this time I really turned away.
I heard Brynn exhale one more time before she finally turned and left me blessedly alone. “You should tell him what you did for him!” she called. But the sound of the falls was so loud that I could pretend I didn’t hear her.
My mind whirled as I got into my Jeep. I needed to get back to my workshop. A new prototype was taking shape in my brain as I drove. I’d have to do some research and see if the type of joint I was envisioning was feasible, but if it was it had the potential to be a lot more comfortable. Might even feel like it belonged there.
I hurried home and rushed back to my desk to start sketching without bothering to shut the door behind me.
The faint sound of music floated down from the great house. Soft and soothing, it was the perfect backdrop for my work. Aria must have hooked up her sound system again. But if she was trying to annoy me, she’d chosen the wrong soundtrack. I worked steadily with her music helping me along.
Until I heard a new song.
This song was beautiful. Plaintive in a way that made me sit up straighter. My sketches dropped - half finished - to the floor.
“What the heck is that?” I asked the air. I turned towards the great house and watched the windows, hoping she’d step out onto the deck so I could ask. Then
I abandoned my prototype and stepped out onto my porch, the better to watch for her.
It was markedly cooler than it had been this morning and I regretted not grabbing a jacket to throw over my thin t-shirt. The weather was changing, the temperature dropping. Puffy white clouds scudded quickly across the sky, ahead of a line of gray off to the west. It was a fall sky for sure, the sun lower along the horizon giving everything a golden autumnal glow.
The song changed.
My first thought was that life had somehow acquired a soundtrack, that thunderous classical music was accompanying the sweeping view of Whaleback Mountain and the blaze of autumn leaves upon it. Hell, if I were a movie director, I would write music for this view that sounded exactly the same way.
I drifted up the lawn like a man under a spell.
The closer I got to the great house, the more concentrated the sound became. Until it distilled into one spot. The glass-walled atrium off the east-facing deck. I looked around the side.
Then I stopped.
Through the glass I could see her, her long, sinuous body weaving and bobbing as she sat at the baby grand piano that dominated the floor-space. Mr. Dolan had kept it in memory of his late wife but as far as I knew, he never touched it. Now it thundered with long suppressed music.
But it wasn’t the surprise piano that had me frozen in my tracks.
With her eyes closed and her fingers moving so quickly across the keys that they blurred, she coaxed a rolling wave of sound from the lower register. Then she quieted everything down to a lilting refrain that sounded like icy winds, cold winter nights, and the things I'd lost over the years.
I was transfixed. I had no idea how long I stood there. I didn't want to disturb her. This was the kind of concert rich people paid astronomical sums of money for, but she was playing it all for herself.
All for me.
The music rolled up into a crescendo, and then, with a last, thunderous chord, her hands slipped from the keys and fell into her lap like two tired, fluttering birds. She opened her eyes, sleepily…
And then screamed.