Phenomenology

The boulder hangs above the trail, squeezed tight by the canyon walls. Too tall for us to climb over. The space below is half a foot high, maybe. Shorter than a toddler. The size of a doggy door. You can see the trail through it, continuing out on the other side. 

“Ashleigh,” Mckenzie says. “Don’t.” Like I’m a dog. 

“I didn’t say anything!” 

“I can see it on your face.” 

Peyton stands between us, silent. Crushing an empty plastic water bottle, passing it from fist to fist. The sky is very blue, very bright. 

“What’s my face saying, then?” It comes out hoarse, throat dry. We ran out of water half a mile back. 

Well, no. We didn’t run out, per se. But I left my water bottle with Chelsea, and then we decided to leave Chelsea behind, and Mckenzie won’t share as she’s little miss It’s Not Even Technically Ninety Degrees Outside. 

Peyton scares me too much to ask. 

“Your face is saying you want to try and get under there.” 

“I could fit.” 

“That doesn’t mean you should try.” Her hands are balled fists, pink manicured nails digging into soft palms. There’s a smear of sunscreen down the side of her neck, unabsorbed. I imagine licking it off. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I said so.” 

“Listen to her, Ashleigh,” Peyton says, before sitting down and settling against the canyon wall, legs spread across the narrow path. She has a good job, something boring, stock options. Expensive leggings over thick calves. 

“Don’t you want to finish the hike? Isn’t that the whole point?” 

Mckenzie sighs, arms crossed. She wears a white tank top, soaked through, Sweating For The Wedding bedazzled on the chest. “It’s not safe.” One strap slipping down, a strip of lighter skin, underneath. 

I walk up to the boulder, run my hands against the surface. It’s rough and warm, like asphalt. A deep breath, before I push. Dramatically and extravagantly, my whole weight behind it. Nothing moves. 

“It’s safe enough, I think.”And I prop myself against the boulder, leaned, standing in the middle of the path. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Mckenzie says. She’s joined Peyton on the ground. “We have to wait for Chelsea, anyways.” 

Poor Chelsea, anemic and hungover and insisting she needed to come. Driving us here, blueberry smoothie fisted aggressively, spiked with collagen and pig’s blood. 

“If I can fit, then Chelsea can fit.” 

“Ashleigh, I swear to God. The point is not if you, or Chelsea, or any one of us, can fit.” 

“We’re so close. Didn’t Greg say the view was beautiful?” 

Greg, the groom. The gentleman. The geologist. The one whose brother took him to a timeshare in Cabo for their bachelors party, strippers included, instead of whatever miserable hell this is. 

Mckenzie doesn’t look at me when she says it, her pretty head propped against the wall, squinting into the light. “It’s that you’re making this about you, Ashleigh, like you always do. Just.” She looks so tired. “Just sit down.” 

I can’t. “I’m sorry.” 

After that, they don’t try to stop me.

It’s a relief, almost, the stone pressed firm against my stomach. Cooler, where it’s been out of the sun. I have to curve my shoulders inward, arms stretched out in front, wriggling. A brief struggle, panic, my legs squeezed tight. The stone above palms my ass. I suck in a breath, and pull until freed. 

Neither Mckenzie or Peyton say anything when I reach the other side. 

“I told you I would fit.” 

They don’t respond. 

“Guys?” 

Ahead, the trail is sharp and steep, vertical incline running up into the sky and out the other side. Scrub brush hugs the canyon walls. 

“Mckenzie? Are you there?” Nothing. “Peyton? I think I hear a snake. Oh god.” 

I sit for ten minutes, used limbs going sore. “I’m sorry.” 

I don’t want to believe, but coming out the other side again, it’s impossible to deny. 

Alone and back turned, I’m the only one to hear the boulder fall.