The Corner of the Grand Canyon

Chapter 1: Grand Trips

I met him at the Grand Canyon.

My dad had dragged me onto one of their exclusive trips, provided by the company my Dad worked for. He wasn't super rich, and was rather conservative with his money, so he was busting at the seams for a trip like this.

"The Grand Canyon!" he told me, seeming a thousand times more excited than I was.

As for me, I didn't mind the long plane ride or car rides. I didn't mind staying at a Best Western hotel with chocolates on the pillows and fluffy blankets. Hiking across the canyon with protein bars and water was even okay with me.

I despised it because it was out of routine.

It made me feel shaky and weird that my routine got jammed so suddenly. I wish my dad would better understand why I practically go ballistic when he does something suddenly out of routine. I've detailed everything in my head. And I mean everything, down to which part of a song will play when we pass a certain sign. It takes a lot of dedication to detail things like that and I do it so I feel grounded.

I don't know why I feel so un-grounded in time now. Maybe childhood humiliation of unpreparedness has driven me partially insane and my only comfort is plans and schedule.

It was only a week before our flight when Dad told me we were heading off. I nearly threw up right there. It took a 20 minute fight to calm me down enough to start using "I'm sorry" and "I feel" statements. Planes freaked me the hell out and I wasn't about to go on a suicide mission boarding one.

We finally came to an agreement that Dad would give me a Benedryll and two Vitamin E's to help me relax. Although he had a worried look in his eyes about giving me drugs to cope, I reassured him I would only need it the first time I flew. (And Vitamin E is a vitamin good for heart health so I don't have a heart attack and die.)

I was already sleep deprived when I took the pills, so I was hardly coherent by the time we boarded. Much to my surprise, I actually fell asleep. On a plane. A death machine, in my mind. I conquered one obstacle.

Now I just had to not fall of a gigantic cliff.

Seems easy, right?

Another 8 hours of sleep in Arizona and I was ready to actually get to the canyon. Dad was a thorough packer, with a hefty first aid kit, sunscreen, power snacks, water bottles, and Gatorade. He even had one of those Safari explorer hats, with the wide rim and a string to tighten below your chin. I teased him for looking like Indiana Jones as a white tourist, to which he responded with a teasing glare back, before breaking into a smile. He must have been in an amazing mood today.

Nothing could go wrong, could it?

Getting there was no problem. I spent the whole ride thinking about the name Grand Canyon. Who would name a canyon Grand? Was the discover so awestruck s/he couldn't think about anything else? Or did it come from a name of one of the tribes who lived by it?

"Earth to Eli! What's up?" Dad's face, still smeared with some white sunscreen lotion, looked at me. Childish excitement still hadn't left his eyes as he peered up at me.

"Nothin'," I answered, taking the sunscreen from him. "Are we almost there?" I asked as I squirted a blob of lotion into my hand.

"Yep! We'll be able to see it soon!" He reached out and wiped a bit of stray lotion off the frame of my glasses. Perks of having glasses.

Pushing thoughts of naming the Grand Canyon the Grand Canyon, I leaned towards the window to stare at the seemingly endless desert. Dried up bushes littered the dusty ground, creating an array of waves. I always felt like the desert was a place where it tries to be an ocean without the water. It uses bushes in ways to make it mimic waves, it creates rough cracks in its rocks, making smooth sandstone with the bit of water it does have. I'm not sure if the desert is content with what it's made, from drawing creativity from the ocean, or if its bitterly jealous because it tried to make what it thought was perfect without one of the most vital part of it.

I thought the desert was beautiful. People always compare it to cracking and breaking, dry and hot, but I loved the arrays of warm colors. How each line in the stone created a pattern, how the desert seemed to be making its own artwork in what others saw as painful or odd.

And then I saw the canyon.

No wonder thousands of people waste billions of dollars just to see this place! It looked exactly like a picture. An HD, 3-D experience of real life photoshop. Each multicolored band warping around curvaceous rocks structures. There were layers upon layers, each one different. A different black, a different red, a different size, a different shape.

It was a smoother, choppier mosaic. It was art. This was the desert's creation. Thousands of years spent carving, shaping, waiting.

The canyon was astounding.

Much more than grand.

It was resplendent. It was magnificent!

It was monumental.

My dad gripped my arm, stuck in the same photograph as I was, in the same experience as me.

"Asa, get a grip!" A woman's shouting yanked me from my surreal reality. I scanned around, looking for the commotion.

A beautiful looking woman with pasty peach skin and curled red hair bouncing up to an elegant straw hat was seemingly scolding a young man in front of her. She had her hands on her hips and her expression was clearly irritated, even though she was wearing sunglasses. The boy looked horrid. His expression was a mix of pain and guilt, his eyes seem to plead to the woman in front of him.

I felt my stomach flip. I hated conflict unless I was in charge of them.

I know. Hypocritical.

The lady grabbed his shoulder and whispered something in his ears. Whatever it was, it made his eyes almost water. He looked near tears.

Maybe he's just being an over dramatic teen and this is a learning experience. The idea satisfied me enough to turn away and continue looking at one of the many wonders of our world.

But the sick feeling didn't really leave me for the rest of the hike.