One Month, One Lifetime

13: Introducing Pikachu and Chewbacca

We spent the next few days planning out our month. It was already the twelfth. Minnie never specified whether I had until the end of this month or a full month to finish her journal, so we played it safe. Better to finish by the end of April than to go over the deadline. That gave us eighteen days from our adventure at the Utah Museum of Fine Art.
We spent the following Sunday at Mabel's. I learned more about the Schuster family over Sunday dinner. Mabel and Britton were the only family members in the Salt Lake area, the large bowl like valley that Salt Lake sat in the middle of. All of Mabel's children had migrated away from the city. Britton's parents had chosen to live in St. George, which was near the southern border of Utah. According to him, snow was rare in the southern red rocks. I doubted that one state that got so much snow could have a desert anywhere near it, but he insisted. Mabel's other children had spread across the state, from Lehi to Cedar City to Vernal, all places I had never heard about.
If there's one thing I learned over Sunday dinner, it was that Utahns were terrible at making up names. Not only were their cities confusing, but they had a knack for naming their kids unique things. Britton explained that he had four siblings, Payslee, Embyr, Jessycah, and Briggs.
They were the sorts of kids that would never find their name on a souvenir keychain.
Britton and I spent the next three days budgeting out my remaining money and making a detailed plan that would take us through the month. We had planned something almost every day, other than the few Sundays we ran into. Britton and Mabel spent three hours of their Sunday at church every week and preferred a quiet night in to a possibly illegal night out.
Go figure.
The first task on our to do list began on the following Wednesday.
As we had hoped for, the weather had cleared up significantly. There was still a sprinkling of snow high in the mountains but the valleys were warm. Mabel explained that this past winter had been late and long, which explained the snow last week. But as the spring got further on, the air warmed enough that I could get away with a light jacket most days.
The turn in weather was lucky because we were counting on it.
Minnie had obviously expected me to travel to a warmer climate to complete her tasks. Or she had planned to die in the summer. A healthy portion of our tasks took us outside, which explained our current destination.
Britton and I were seated in his '97 GMC Jimmy. The inside was in surprisingly good repair, but as he pushed the old car to keep up with freeway traffic, it began stuttering and shaking.
"C'mon, Jimmy," he muttered to the car while patting the dash. We were halfway up a steep incline that would take us out of the Salt Lake Valley. He had assured me that his vehicle was reliable, if a little stubborn.
We managed to climb to the peak of the hill and the car stopped revving so high and the stuttering stopped. Even when it stopped, I didn't stop clutching the door handle. If the car started smoking I thought it would be safer to bale into oncoming traffic than risk an explosion. The Jimmy was something less than reliable.
Britton pulled off two exits later on to Timpanogas Highway, which led past outlets, new business offices, and enormous houses on the hill. We cut east across the valley, heading straight for the tallest mountains I had ever seen.
The Wasatch Mountains were situated right along a major fault like, Britton explained as we headed up American Fork Canyon--again, with the weird Utah names. Was there going to be a Spanish Spoon next? The fault line was overdue for a massive slip that would send an earthquake across most of Northern Utah.
I couldn't tell if he was simply fascinated by the fact or if he was purposely trying to terrify me. No matter his motive, I was suddenly much more vigilant when I took my steps. If the slightest tremor started I was going to fling myself into Britton's arms and use him as a human shield.
Eventually we pulled into an empty parking lot at the mouth of the canyon. A sign read "Timpanogos Cave. Straight ahead."
By straight ahead, I figured the sign meant straight up.
Per Minnie's request, Britton and I would be spending the day hiking. I could only imagine why she had picked the task. Perhaps she was wishing I would die before I reached the end of my hike. Looking up the mountain I feared that she was right.
To check off another task on our list, Britton and I had stopped at a Walmart on our way to Timpanogos Cave. Thankfully the store still had a decent stock of onesie pajamas.
Wear a costume for 24 hours. More than half of that time must be spent in public.
To match the theme of carpe-ing the diem, I had selected the most ridiculous onesies possible.
Britton was neon yellow in a Pikachu costume. A foam tail hung from the back, which gave the character away even when he refused to pull up the hood that had Pikachu's face on it. I would have gone for something a little less bright, but the rest of the pajamas didn't fit him. The legs were either too short and gave him a cropped jean effect that was not flattering, or the arms were too long. So he ended up with a plasticy feeling onsie that covered him from head to foot and made him look like Pikachu.
Considering he had spent the entire time I had known him in sweaters, the color change was a relief.
As for me, I had given Britton the task of picking out my outfit. It was only fitting that he should have the opportunity for payback. He pulled out a matted fur onesie with a cloth bag slung across the chest. The Chewbacca onesie drowned me. The crotch was dropped to between my ankles and I had to roll up the sleeves to use my hands, but I didn't complain much. Wearing the pajamas was like wearing a fur coat made out of Wookie.
Half a mile into our hike, I realized the major flaw in our plan.
Onesies are not cool pajamas. I was already sweating buckets into Chewbacca's fur and a sheen of sweat collected on Britton's brow.
Both of us had opted to wear our street clothes beneath the pajamas for decency's sake, but I was regretting that the higher and higher up the mountain we hiked. My ruffle bottom shirt as clinging uncomfortably to my bake and my jeans were chafing.
The only appropriate piece of my wardrobe was the pair of running shoes on my feet. They fit like gloves and cushioned every step I took. Each relieving step upped the temperature inside the onesie, but I continued.
The further we got, the most often we took breaks.
Britton had the good idea to bring water bottles in our backpacks, but halfway up and I had finished both my bottles. He already knew me well enough that he offered me two more that he had packed knowing that I would run out.
It was scary how well we were beginning to understand each other.
Without using words we were able to make decisions. Our frequent stops on conveniently placed benches on the trail happened at the same time. Our decision to trade off between the couch and Britton's bed everyday wasn't put to a discussion. Cooking breakfast had become a well practice routine, which helped us avoid any accidents in his tiny kitchen.
Everything about knowing Britton was easy. His go with the flow personality made for a good counterweight for my spontaneous adventures. We didn't ask when the other person went quiet. I was grateful that I didn't have to explain my homesickness to him. I didn't have to explain that I wanted to go to a home that didn't exist anymore, because Mom and Dad had moved into an apartment when I moved out two and a half years ago. And as much as I wanted to, I didn't ask about the look in his eyes that made me feel sad. It was the way his eyes twinkled at the ballet and the pause when he brushed past me, like he was expecting me to be someone else.
And I stopped having the urge to get a reaction out of him, at least by physical tactics. Gone was the desire to slap him or kiss him when he was too quiet. Where that trait had irritated me the first few days, I was beginning to accept that he didn't need to have every second filled with excitement and conversation.
In return, he let me jabber on as much as I wanted.
That was how the hike went. Seven miles up toward the peak of the mountain with me talking and him listening.
Like I said: easy.
Two and a half hours passed like that. Talking and listening. Resting and hiking.
Then we reached the top of the trail. Which was not the top of the mountain. But the view was amazing. In the afternoon light, the valley glittered. Across the valley at the foot of the opposing mountains a blue body of water shined like a pool of glass. Like a mirror it reflected the brilliant cerulean of the sky. No sounds of the city could reach us so high above the rest of the world, but I could make out movement enough to know the world was continuing on while we surveyed it. A gray streak woven across the valley from north to south, the freeway Britton's car had struggled to drive on.
The view took my breath away, and not just because we had hiked seven miles in sweaty pajamas to see it.
It was another one of those quiet times between Britton and me. Like the ballet or the art gallery. The beauty was overwhelming and talking would fracture it.
We stayed in the silence as long as was possible, but within a minute a rowdy group of teenagers jogged up the trail behind us. The silence shattered. We let them pass as they hurried to the mouth of the cave the trail was named for. Britton inclined his head toward them, suggesting we follow.
Inside the cave was dripping with stalactites and stalagmites. The path was smooth, as the trail had been. It was clearly well taken care of. And well lit. I had been in a few caves during my lifetime. All had been during college, where a chain of tunnels ran along the side of the college town. It was the favorite spot of students to throw parties at night or to try and catch the ghosts that were said to haunt the caves. I made an effort to avoid the ghost hunts.
These caves were lit with warm light that enhanced the mineral rich colors of rock. In the shadows were pools of stagnant water. Occasionally they engulfed in ripples at the drip, drip, drip of water droplets from the stalactites.
We entered the cave just as a tour was beginning. Following a rusty haired man with a deep, gruff voice, we roamed the intricate bends of the cave system. Our guide spouted facts about Timpanogos as we walked. I cared less about what he was saying and more about the fact that we were surrounded by tons and tons of rock.
The space, though easily large enough for me to stand in and spread my arms out, felt suffocating. Not claustrophobic level, but between the sweat that stuck my Chewbacca costumes to me and the stale smell of earth and the memory of Utah's long overdue earthquake, I was uncomfortable.
For the second time, it was Britton that took my hand. There was something being in contact with him that made my heart beat slow down until I felt calm again.
"I was nervous the first time I came here too," he whispered low enough that the rest of our tour wouldn't hear. "You can hold my hand through this next part."
I didn't get the chance to ask what the next part was, because the tour guide was already explaining it. We were deep enough in the cave that no light could be seen from the opening, and it was tradition that all the lights be turned out in this spot. Before I could protest, the amber glow of artificial light extinguished.
I now understood Britton's offer and clutched at his hand. I raised my free hand in front of my face and was shocked to not see it. In fact, I couldn't see anything. It was worse that sitting in my bedroom on a moonless night. Then I knew I could flip on the lamp if needed. And I had my stuffed animal army. Now I had no control over when the lights came back on.
I relied on my other senses.
The stale smell of earth turned into a rich aroma. It smelled like rain but sweeter. But mostly I noticed the noise. Loudest was the group of teenagers in the cave with us. They giggled and poked fun at each other. They shuffled their feet and twiddled their fingers. Underneath that layer was the soft drip, drip, drip from the stalactites that I hear early. Then the ominous rustling of whatever creatures call Timpanogos Cave their home.
There was the barely audible noise of Britton leaning into me, so close I could feel him breath on my ear when he spoke. "You okay?"
I nodded at first, not realizing he couldn't see me. Then I answered in the same low tone that I was okay. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I returned the signal. If it weren't for him beside me I doubted I would feel as content.