Solitude

Bo

Bo studied the worn-out bulletin board at the base of the trail.

 “MISSING PERSONS. PLEASE CONTACT ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK RANGERS WITH INFORMATION ON THESE INDIVIDUALS.”

     Kenneth Dougherty, 42. To the right of his picture was another, a woman of the same age with the same last name. “Must've been twins.” Bo thought to himself as he studied the two pictures on the wall. They looked a too similar to be a married couple, with a matching complexion and jawline to boot. Though he felt sorry for the people that often go missing out here, deep down, he held a silent notion of superiority that put the fear of getting lost far from his mind. Perhaps this notion was somewhat warranted. After all, he'd been traversing these trails since 2006, when his ex-wife first introduced him to the state. He knew them like the back of his hand, he'd say to anyone who asked.  “Well, I suppose I best get started,” Bo mumbled to himself as he began the long journey to the peak.

     It was a little later in the evening when he initially began his ascent, but it's not something he minded. He preferred the silence that came with starting that late, often his only chance for uninterrupted thought. He'd made this journey 100 times or so, and he knew the trail like the back of his hand. The lower half of the trail was comprised of bright green alpine and aspen that produced an earthy scent which couldn't be replicated anywhere else. About 2 miles from the peak, the beautiful green gave way to an oblique, stoney tundra capped with powdery snow.

    As the evening glow began to dissipate, the sun drifted out of the sky and was replaced with a starry canvas of night. Bo switched on his old LED flashlight, scanning the ground cautiously for ice. The temperature dropped to about 16 degrees, which Bo thought advantageous, because it kept the snow from melting into an icy mess. Hiking his way up into the freezing tundra, he wiped the sweat from his brow with an old Packers shirt in his bag from a previous hike. 

The moon shined vibrantly on the jagged white rocks,  enticing Bo to sit down on a flat rock and rest from the strenuous journey up. “Not too much further from the peak now,” He whispered to the darkness as he grabbed a protein bar from his bag and bit into it, producing an audible crunch in contrast with the silent night. 

Bo's thoughts shifted to Clara, his ex-wife, and how they'd made love for the first time on this very mountain. She'd been his first, and was the only woman he'd ever loved. He was 19 at the time and Clara had a good six years on him, but it never mattered much to Bo. He recalls how excited they were, when they moved here from Wisconsin in search of a better future. He'd just been laid off from his job at the railroad, and was willing to try anything to get his life on track. 

He believed her to be the most most beautiful girl in the world, and maybe that wasn't far from the truth. She was about 5’4” with long, brown hair and ocean blue, almond shaped eyes. She had long, dark eyelashes and her attentive gaze made him feel like the most important man in the world. He often wondered what on earth she'd saw in him. He wasn't particularly tall or handsome. He'd started losing hair in his teenage years and hard labor in the sun had aged his skin considerably, making him look a few years older than he was. 

After a couple of months, he'd found work doing construction in Lakewood and the next few years of their life together was a pleasant blur. They bought a house together and began their life with hopes of starting a family someday soon. Of course, he thought to himself, all of that changed when she found heroin. The track marks, the sunken eyes. The cruel emotions he felt while watching her wither away, knowing instinctively that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The wind picked up considerably and the sharp chill forced Bo to abandon his thoughts, grounding him back into reality. He checked his watch. The face read 9:22 PM.  “Time flies,”  Bo said to himself with a nervous chuckle. With his mind set on the cold, he decided that it was time to make his way back down the trail. 

He wasn't certain of the exact temperature, but he knew it had to be somewhere between five and ten degrees. He searched his jacket pockets in vain for a beanie or gloves, but he was only able to produce a couple crumpled dollar bills and a cigarette lighter. With the temperature dropping and the wind picking up, he decided to abandon the trail and dead-reckon his way down the mountain.

Bo left the trail and began working his way down, allowing small trees and rocks to guide his descent. Every exhale exhuded a visible vapor as he carefully treaded along the mountain walls, maintaining three points of contact every step of the way. He'd made it about half a mile when he mistaken stepped on an old branch and lost his footing as a result. His body began to roll clumsily down the ridge. He clashed violently with rocks and limbs until he was caught in the head by the unyielding presence of a mature alpine, forcing his mind and body into an abrupt halt. 

When Bo came to, his entire body was saturated with a dull, throbbing pain. He let out a soft groan and tried to lift himself up, to no avail. He tried to stand up but his right leg  proved completely useless, perhaps even broken. The panic set in when Bo realized that he couldn't stand, much less walk. 

He thought about screaming for help. If Bo was anything, he was a man of practicality, he thought. Wailing into the deep wilderness would do him no use. So he decided to rest his back against the Aspen while deciding his next move. He checked his watch again, it read 11:46 PM. The pain was beginning to recede into a dull ache, concentrated in his lower right leg. 

There was an obvious chill in the air, but Bo felt a peculiar sensation of warmth. Still dazed from the fall, he took his jacket off, puzzled from the unexplainable heat. He sat in tired silence, deciding to sit and wait for the park rangers to arrive in the morning. 

He rested his head against the tree in silent defeat. He zoned out, allowing his thoughts to steer his sore mind away from the pain. His thoughts steadied back to Clara and the funeral. She sported a black dress and her makeup was unnatural. Either way, she looked happier than he'd seen her in years. Her demeanor was peaceful and careless, which seemed to be a rare occurrence towards the end. She looked young again. Bo wished he could have shed a tear at her funeral, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was happy the misery was over.  

He was happy she was dead. 

After a while, the gentle warmth plunged him into a deep sleep.