Remember Me

Chapter Fourteen

My father gently shakes me awake just as the chicken is finishing on the camping barbeque. Sighing, I drag myself out of my sleeping bag and blanket, folding them and fluffing my pillow back out. I change out of my shorts and tank top and into some flannel pants and a black crew neck since while I was asleep the wind had picked up, and the temperature shift was beginning to feel increasingly prominent as the days went by.

I crawl out of my tent and zip it back up. I tug my hoodie sleeves up over my hands as a gust of wind blows through the campsite. My family and Simon's eat in silence, only talking to say how much the weather has changed and how delicious the food is. I manage to eat half a chicken breast and a few bites of salad before pushing my plate in front of me and declaring I am full. My father throws me a look and I truly feel his concern. Under different circumstances I would have eaten two or three chicken breasts, but today I couldn't get through one.

"Charlotte, can I have the rest of your chicken?" My brother asks through a mouthful of food.

"First of all, you're gross Ro, swallow your food before you speak. Were you raised in a barn?" My brother shrugs his shoulders and the two younger boys laugh at my joke. "But yeah, go ahead. I'm not hungry anymore."

Charlie lifts his head off the table and turns his head toward the fathers. "What are we doing tomorrow?" He asks.

"Ooh are we going boating again? I want to go on the tube again. It is so so so much fun!" Eric interjects. "I wanna get flipped again!"

My father swallows a bite of his dinner before placing his cutlery on the table and responding. "I wish that was what we were doing boys, but we don't have that scheduled for a few more days. We actually have extreme cliff jumping planned. You remember last year? When we went with the tour guide and hiked to the larger cliffs on the edge of the park?"

Charlie and Eric cheer. "Yes! How could we forget? It was EPIC!"

My eyes widen at the thought; I remember the cliffs. I can't believe the legacy still lives on to today. On my first trip to Ruck 'n Rumble the fathers thought it was a good idea to take us to the extreme cliff jumping spot, so they called it. What they didn't tell us about was the fifty foot plunge into the lake until we were up high in the rocks with the only way to get down was to jump.

I glance over to the Olson's campsite and if on cue, Nathan climbs out of his tent and lazily collapses onto one of his camping chairs. He fumbles with his pocket knife, the pocket knife I gave him when we were eleven, before snatching a stick from off the ground and begins to shave off the sides.

As I eye Nathan from across the campsite, I can't help but remember the way we used to jump off the cliffs together. The first few times, it took hours to psych ourselves up. And when we finally did it the ice-sharp water seemed proud of us. After a few times, we got confident. We'd race each other to be first in the sky, sometimes leaping at the same time. Then we'd plummet into the water: a deep green amniotic fluid. Reaching for each other as we surfaced gasping for air, and then clawing our way back up the cliff face. Warm bones and cold skin and jagged rocks. Heart racing, lungs like butterfly wings. I felt like I could breathe in all the air in the whole world when I was with him.

Then everything shattered into a million little pieces.

The knee-high knit socks and rubbery shoes were anything but a fashionista's dream. My flip flops are useless in the rushing water, the tour guide notes, pointing down at my basic white sandals. The sneakers they provided me, although an eyesore to any other camper, will allow me to grip slippery rocks and sharp cliff overhangs. The tall socks prevent minor cuts and scrapes. I doubt this wisdom but am in no position to argue.