Chapter 6
1848 Words
6
Halli was six when Ginny took her on her first really long backpacking excursion: three weeks high in the Colorado mountains. It was early fall, and the leaves on the aspens had already turned yellow. The temperature fell below freezing at night, and they always awoke to frost on the outside of their tent. But the days were still brilliantly sunny, so Ginny and Halli could hike for miles every day.
It was hard work, carrying all their gear and food on their backs as they trudged up and down steep terrain all day long, but Halli loved it. Ginny made sure she would. She’d introduced Halli to outdoor life almost from the very start. By the time she was six, Halli was strong for her age. She had already spent years learning to hike, horseback ride, paddle, and ski. I think of my own first six years and I can’t even imagine how Halli did all that she did. But Ginny made it seem so fun and normal. Halli wouldn’t have known any other way to live.
They mostly walked in silence. Ginny taught Halli that was the best way to see wildlife: elk and deer grazing along the hillsides; nervous marmots chirping in alarm, then diving into their dens; hawks gliding overhead, their wings bent up at the tips as if someone had folded them along a crease.
And bears sometimes. Always from a distance, running away once they caught sight or scent of Halli and Ginny.
“Won’t they attack us?” Halli asked.
“Only if they don’t feel they have a choice,” Ginny told her. “Especially if we surprise them.”
It was why they talked loudly and even sang sometimes if they had to navigate through the thick willows that grew along the streams.
“They won’t be able to see us in here,” Ginny explained. “Let’s give them a chance to get away. They don’t want to meet us any more than we want to meet them.”
By the end of their three weeks, Halli was so used to the routines of the day and the feeling of being out in the wilderness all the time, she stopped worrying about any of the dangers.
Which was a mistake she learned not to repeat.
It was their last morning, and after a breakfast of hot, spicy tea and oatmeal with dried fruit, they packed up their tent and gear one last time and took to the trail. The air was cold enough that Halli could see her breath. She’d had a strange dream the night before, and was lost in thought, trying to remember all of it, when suddenly Ginny thrust out her arm to keep Halli from moving another inch.
In front of them, just a few feet off the trail, were a giant bull moose and his equally giant mate. They were larger than any animal Halli had ever been that close to—bigger than even the biggest horse. The bull’s rack stretched out on each side of his head in a span as wide as his body was long. The two animals stared at them, both on high alert, their nostrils flared, ears erect.
“Back up,” Ginny whispered urgently. “Don’t run. Start backing up. Now.”
Halli obeyed instantly. She knew they were in trouble. Ginny had warned her about moose: how they weren’t like deer or elk, who would just take off if someone approached. Moose stood their ground. They defended themselves. They could easily trample a person to death—and would, if threatened.
Halli’s heart pounded. She followed Ginny’s lead, backing up one step after another until they were out of the moose’s line of sight.
“Now turn around,” Ginny whispered. “Walk quickly, but quietly. Go.”
Halli didn’t argue. Didn’t speak. She knew better. All she wanted was to get away. She hurried without running, keeping her boots as silent as she could against the dirt, looking back over her shoulder every few seconds to see if the moose were following.
Finally Ginny whispered they could stop. She led Halli off the trail to a clearing up ahead of them where they could remove their packs and rest.
“We’ll give them a chance to wander off,” Ginny said. She spread out a few items of extra clothing to help insulate them from the cold ground. Then the two of them sat down to wait.
Ginny smiled at her granddaughter. “Very good, Halli. You did well back there. I’m proud of you.”
Halli blew out a long, cold breath that ended with a shaky smile. She liked the praise, but her pulse still pounded.
Ginny seemed perfectly calm.
“Weren’t you scared?” Halli asked her.
Ginny thought about it for a moment. “No.”
“Why not?” Halli asked. “I was!”
“It was just a situation we had to manage,” Ginny said. “And we did. That’s all you ever have to do, no matter what happens to you.”
“But how?” Halli asked. “You don’t know what will happen all the time. What if it’s something really bad?”
“What if it is?” Ginny answered. “Let’s say one of us got hurt just now. What would we do?”
“Hurt...how?”
They had played this kind of game before. What ifs were Ginny’s favorite way of teaching.
“Let’s say that moose attacked you and broke your arm,” she said. “Now what do we do?”
“Well...we’d have to fix it,” Halli said.
“How?”
Ginny made Halli go through each of the steps, from how she’d get away from the moose while still protecting her arm, to finding the proper materials to set the broken bone, to figuring out how to carry her pack so they could continue hiking out of the wilderness.
“So you could manage it,” Ginny said when Halli finished.
Halli nodded. She actually felt much better now—calmer, more in control of the situation.
But then Ginny took it another step further.
“What would you do if I died?” she asked.
Halli’s eyes widened. She shook her head, not wanting to even consider the question.
Ginny asked again. “Halli, what would you do if I died this morning? What if that moose had killed me?”
Halli couldn’t help it—no matter how tough she was already, she was still only six. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I don’t want you to die!”
“I don’t want to, either,” Ginny said. “But I want you to think about what you would do if I did.”
Again Halli shook her head.
Ginny wasn’t having any of that. She wasn’t raising a weak, scared little girl. She was raising a woman just like herself.
“Halli, I’m not saying it will happen any time soon, but it might, and you have to be prepared. I need to know that you’ll be smart and brave and you’ll do what’s necessary to survive. Do you understand?”
Halli gulped back her tears and nodded.
Ginny smiled. “I love my life—especially since you came along. But if I died today, you could go on, couldn’t you?”
Halli shook her head. A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
Ginny sighed. “You could, Halli, of course you could. You know that and I know it. You’re strong and brave, and I know you’d make me proud. So what would you have done this morning if I died?”
Ginny wouldn’t let up. She made Halli go through each and every moment—from surprising the moose to watching them suddenly charge forward and attack her grandmother.
“What would you do?” Ginny demanded.
“I’d help you!” Halli cried.
“No, you’d have to run away,” Ginny said.
“No, I’d stay and protect you!”
“You’re too small,” Ginny said. “You wouldn’t be able to help me.”
“But I couldn’t just leave you!”
“Yes, you could. And you’d have to,” Ginny said. “I’m counting on you to always protect yourself if I’m not here to do it—do you understand?”
Halli stared back at her miserably.
“Halli, do you understand?”
The little girl nodded.
Ginny made her resume the story: how she’d run away, hide, and wait for the moose to leave.
“And then what?” Ginny asked.
“I’d go back and find you,” Halli said.
“Why?”
“To see if you were all right.”
“And what if I wasn’t?” Ginny asked. “What if I was dead?”
“Then I’d bury you!” Halli cried. It was the worst conversation she’d ever had in her life. But still Ginny persisted.
“No, you wouldn’t bury me,” Ginny said calmly. “That would be foolish. You’re too small, and it would take too long. Then it would be dark out, and you’d be vulnerable. Think, Halli. What are the three most important things to have in the wilderness?”
Halli wiped her nose on her sleeve. At least she could answer that question. “Shelter, water, and safety.”
“Not food?” Ginny quizzed her.
“No, you can go without food for several days,” Halli recited. “But you have to stay warm and dry, and you need water. And you have to make sure you’re safe.”
“That’s right,” Ginny said. “So what would you do? You’ve come back and found my body, I’m dead, so what do you do?”
Halli wasn’t crying anymore. The worst of the shock was over. Now it was just a lesson.
“I’d look for your pack and find the tent.”
“Good,” Ginny said.
“I’d get the water bag, too, so I could carry that.”
“Good. And then?”
Halli sniffled. “I’d cover you up—can I at least do that?”
“It depends,” Ginny said. “Is it close to dark? Do you have someplace safe to go?”
“I don’t want the wild animals to get you!”
And then Ginny said the words that she couldn’t have possibly known would be so important to Halli now, eleven years later.
“I wouldn’t care,” Ginny said. “Do you understand? I’d already be dead. And there’s nothing special about the body. Once I’m gone, I don’t care what happens to it. All I want is for you to keep going and be safe.”
“How can you say that?” Halli argued. “That thing about the body? You always say we should be as comfortable as possible. You make me stop and put on extra clothes if I’m cold. Or fix something if it’s hurting me—my boots, or the strap on my backpack—”
“We should always be comfortable,” Ginny said. “I stand by that. Because as long as we’re in these bodies, we should treat them well and make them feel good. It’s a nice thing to do. But once we’re done with them—once we’re dead—it doesn’t matter anymore. Do you understand that? It’s just a body. It’s like those clothes you’re wearing. One day you’ll outgrow them, and you won’t need them anymore.”
Halli thought about it. And even though she hated everything her grandmother was telling her, she couldn’t say it wasn’t right. Or that it wasn’t true. Even at that young age, she knew how to be rational and practical.
And now the grown Halli stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom, brushing a set of teeth that belonged to me.
There’s nothing special about the body. Once we’re done with it, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Halli spit out the toothpaste and leaned in closer. She looked into my eyes. She tapped their reflection in the mirror, to see who was home.
Nothing special about the body. Her body was gone. This was her body now, in the same way she had inherited all the clothes in my closet.
Treat it well and make it feel good. It’s a nice thing to do.
She intended to. She already was. But beyond that? What was she supposed to do with this body of mine? Not just with my body—with this whole life of mine?
Use it. Mold it. Make it your own.
Halli knew that’s what Ginny would say. What Ginny would do.
Her grandmother wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment. She would have immediately accepted the reality of the situation, no matter how unreal it felt.
“I’m in Audie’s body now?” Halli could imagine Ginny saying. “All right, then, fine—what’s next?” Then she would have taken control of the situation right away—managed it. She wouldn’t have spent a week waiting and hoping I’d return and make everything right again.
Halli went to my room and dressed herself the way she wanted to: cargo pants, sneakers, a long-sleeved T-shirt. She fanned her fingers through my wet hair.
“Audie,” my mom called, “ready?”
Ready enough, Halli thought. It was time to put the first phase of her plan into action.
It was time she seized control.
- Writer
