Page 63 of Big & Lily

We wander past a wooden sign marking off the destinations on the trail. The Denali Viewpoint is four miles from here. A week ago, that would have seemed impossible. Of course, it helps that right now the trail is flat, bordered by large, soft ferns and that the mosquitos seem to still be sleeping. This part of the woods is swaddled by stands of white birch trees, far enough apart to let the light in, and I keep an eye out for what could be watching us from behind one of them. I’m hoping it’s my orange furry friend, but I also have my hand on the canister hanging from my belt loop, in case it’s someone else.

The incline comes too quickly, and the trail narrows and becomes tougher to negotiate. The dirt is hard packed. Roots run like immovable snakes across our path. The growth bordering the trail grows thicker. Branches overhead block the weak sunlight, and the air feels cooler and smells damper. It’s darker in here than it was yesterday.

I’m the first to trip and fall, stumbling over a rock I didn’t see. I land on my knees and hands, both of which immediately become cold and damp and dirty. Lily hooks her arm in mine and pulls me up. “Watch it, klutzy.” She laughs and then steps in a mud puddle that puts her in muck over her shoe.

“You were saying?”

“Shit,” says my sister. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“Because it’s three in the morning. Lil, we just need to get through the forest. Remember, it’s lighter when we are above the tree line. Watch where you’re walking.”

“I’m not the one who fell first.”

This is Lily’s favorite game. The circular argument. She doesn’t mean a thing by it. It’s just something to entertain herself. As tempted as I am to go nine rounds with her—it is our thing after all—we do need to watch where we are going or we’re not going to make it back in one piece, so I let this round go to her.

We fall into a steady rhythm. I work on keeping my breathing even and ignoring the burning in my legs.

Soon we come to a fork in the trail.

“This wasn’t here yesterday,” Lily says. She walks a few feet up the left trail, turns and walks a few feet up the right. “Did you notice this?”

“I was following you. Did we bring a map?”

“How would I have a map? We’re on a guided tour. We were following our guide. Besides, I distinctly remember it was one trail, straight up.”

“Well, that one goes up.” I say pointing to the steeper trail that looks less traveled. The ground is not as hard packed, and loose rocks, broken sticks, and small clumps of greenery lie scattered across it. “But it feels wrong.”

“We know we are supposed to climb higher, that’s where the view is. Not down here in the trees. I assure you; we need to take this one.” She points to the rugged trail. Her voice sounds confident.

I am not convinced. “Maybe we should go back.”

My sister’s answer is to stride off on her path. I have no choice but to follow. Well, I do have a choice. I can take myself back to camp from here. Of course, having yet to break the Lily habit, I follow her.

“Come to your senses?” she asks when I catch up to her. “You know I’m right about this. I know where we’re going.”

“I’d feel better with a map. Or an actual experienced guide.”

“Chickenshit.”

“I’m not—”

She turns around to face me, walking backward on the stony trail, flaps her arms like a chicken, and squawks. So busy chortling at me and thinking she’s a comedian, Lily doesn’t see the root inthe ground until she kicks her heel against it and falls on her ass. She lands with an oof, and now it’s my turn to laugh. I walk past her, not offering to help her up. “You little...” she yells after me.

Lily dusts herself off and runs to catch up to me. We laugh again and stomp up the trail, excited to be heading to a sunrise few will see, happy to be together, busting each other, and swinging our arms like we don’t have a care in the world. We break out of the woods where the trail runs alongside a steep hill towering over it. The hill is covered in loose rocks, similar to the scree we hiked over the very first day. A large swath of them have tumbled down the incline, like a stone avalanche, and covered the trail.

“This isn’t right,” I say.

“I don’t remember this part,” adds Lily. “At all.”

A thwack of dread hits my gut. “We went the wrong way. We’ve got to go back.”

“Okay, don’t panic. We can turn around and go back to the fork and go the other way. We still have time to make the sunrise.”

Our hike back to where we veered off the path is less jubilant. I can’t tell how far out we are from the starting point, I wasn’t paying attention; but eventually we come to a fork in the path. “See,” Lily says. “No sweat, back on track.”

Within minutes, the trail becomes a steep downward path, the forest gets thicker, the air colder, and my heart beats even faster. “This also feels wrong, very wrong,” I say, turning my feet sideways and holding my arms out for balance to manage the sharp, unsteady decline.

Now Lily’s confidence is waning. “Shit,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “I could have sworn this was the way.”