My Better Life

My heart thundered, and the sweat on my skin turned cold.

“I’m busy, Gavin,” he said in a patient voice, like he was speaking to a child. “I don’t have time to play. I have work to do.”

Will turned back to the book and murmured a string of numbers to his tutor. My dad though was still watching me, his smile curving wider. I took a step back. Another.

I hadn’t realized. I didn’t know. All those years I was locked in the basement, in the dark, dreaming of outside, Will was locking himself away in another kind of closet. I was let out, but Will, he was still trapped inside.

My dad had what he wanted. He didn’t need to keep me locked away anymore. Will, my twin, my best friend, had become exactly what my dad wanted him to be.

I shouldn’t have pretended. I shouldn’t have told all those lies. I shouldn’t have pretended to be happy, to be free, just to keep Will safe. Because it didn’t work. It’d trapped him.

I took another step back. Then another. Until I was out of the office. Out of the house. Until I was running.

I sprinted into the woods. Ran until I didn’t have any more breath. Tree branches reached out and scratched at my skin, tore at my clothes, briars caught in my hair and birds cawed angrily and fled in front of me, the cuts and the stings burned, almost as much as the burning tears, but I kept running, until I came to the pond, the one I always dreamed about, and I tore off my shoes, sobs choking out, and then I dove in, my clothes weighing me down, I swam to the middle of the pond, and sank to the bottom, where there was no sound, no sight, no tears, and I looked up through the rippling, air bubbling, murky water at the azure sky, and I promised myself I wouldn’t ever, ever, ever, ever be trapped, or held down, or forced to stay in one place. I wouldn’t ever be trapped again, and someday, Will would be free too, someday, he’d be free.

What I didn’t count on was that I’d never really made it out of that closet, and Will got free before me.

I grip the rocky ledge. A stubborn patch of grass growing in a crack tickles my hand, and I breathe in the scent of river stone. It smells like the damp concrete of the basement closet. And even in nature, out in the open, with the clear sky and the wind whipping past me, and a wide, churning river, sixty feet below, I feel trapped.

I have to go.

I have to leave.

I’ll call Will, apologize for nearly ruining his chances with Jessie. I’ll call Jessie, make sure she and Will are okay.

And then I’ll go.

I turn, inch back on the cliff edge. It was a stupid idea to come on the hike. I need to get out of West Virginia, out of this town. This place is as much a trap as the basement closet. The people who live here never leave. They live and die here.

That red-haired woman is a prime example. She’s what happens to people who stay in one place too long. I can’t even imagine what life is like for her. What if that were my life? What if I were married to her? Life would be an unending hell, that’s what.

She was mean-tempered, loud, demanding.

But that doesn’t excuse the way I spoke to her. For a minute, I felt like my father, and that’s something I never want to feel.

I’ll apologize. I’ll pay her the money. Then I’ll go.

I shuffle my feet, and a cluster of rocks fall, knocking loudly against the cliff wall until they splash into the swollen brown water below. The river bends like an undulating snake, the white rapids its scaly skin, as it slithers through the gorge. I swallow and wipe at the sweat on my forehead and try not to think about the fact that I’m on a narrow ledge on an unmarked trail.

No worries. I’ve hiked worse.

My mouth is dry, filled with the acrid taste of river stone. I turn my face, breathing in the sharp air. Then, I hear it. The distinct groan, the creaking, cracking grumble that precedes a rockslide.

I jerk my head up. Above, a mountain’s worth of dirt, and gravel, and boulders, slides towards me, picking up speed. The grumble becomes a roar, and the second I realize I better run, it’s too late.

A boulder slams against my shoulder. I fling myself to the side. Shield my head with my arms. The thick cloud of dust and dirt hits, and I choke on the dirt-filled air. Sharp gravel pelts me, a hailstorm of rocks.

The landslide is a booming roar, and I’m consumed by the sound, blinded by the cloud of dirt and choking on the thick air. I stand, try to dodge the boulders, make it off the cliff. Fear scratches at me, drawing blood. I realize that I could die. In all the extreme sports, the cliff-diving, the skydiving, the whitewater rafting, I never once considered that I could die.

Fear chokes the breath from me. Stupidly, horribly, my life flashes before my eyes, but it only takes a second. Because all I’ve ever done is run and run and run.

The only person I’ll leave behind that loves me is Will, and with Jessie’s help, he’ll get over my death soon enough.

Another crack sounds. I throw my arms over my head. A boulder the size of a man crashes down the wall. It’s coming right for me. I dive to the side, barely balancing on the thin ledge. I tip back, my arms pinwheel. I manage to grip the rock with the tips of my fingers. Then, the boulder hits the ledge next to me. It smacks the rock with a bang, the wall vibrates like a bucking horse. I’m thrown up in the air. My teeth slam together and I taste the copper tang of blood. Then, when I slam back down, the ledge is gone. It’s crumbled beneath the weight of the boulder and joined the rockslide.

There’s nothing for me to hold on to. My hands claw at the cliff. I grab the grass sticking from the crack in the wall. The roots give way. And then I’m free falling. My stomach plunges faster than me. The river is below. If I can only hit it right. The air is yanked from my lungs. Rocks smack into me, spin me around.

The cliff wall flies past, the blue and green trees streak by, the brown river looms closer.