Need to Catch Up? Quick Links: Part 5 Part 4 Part 3 Part 2 Part 1
March 12, 2023 - 6:50 am
Russel and I had woken to an apartment that was absurdly cold. A deep freeze had settled over Greymont, trapped beneath an inversion rolling down from the mountains.
It was -22°F that morning, and frost had accumulated along the thin windowpanes. We were curled together beneath his single comforter, neither of us particularly eager to face the day.
"Ughhhh. Noooooo. I just want to stay here with you." He groaned as his alarm went off, pulling me closer and hitting snooze.
Eventually, he made a dash out of the bedroom to turn up the thermostat. The furnace rattled to life, straining against the cold. He started the shower, then hurried back to crawl under the covers.
"Oh my God, don't touch me! You're freezing!" I groaned into the pillow.
He laughed and wrapped his arms and legs around me.
"Warm me up, then."
We eventually managed to get ourselves into the shower while the apartment slowly warmed, then got dressed. This would be the last time I'd see Russel for 18 days. He was heading back into the field to lead a GOLS course in the slot canyons of Utah, and the anticipation of our separation was beginning to weigh on both of us.
His roommate, Liss, had returned late the night before from her stay in Vermont. I hadn't met her yet, although she had apparently whisked Frannie away to her room at some point during the night.
The previous evening, we'd attended Jen's get-together, where I'd met a few more of Russel's friends. Jen was, as promised, quite a trip! She had cocktails prepared and a record playing when we arrived. Her home was amazing, with an interior that felt more like a cabin, its walls clad in pine and terracotta tiles covering the floors.
Parker was my favorite. She was around our age and had moved to Greymont from North Carolina five years earlier. She and Russel had met at GOLS, and their friendship had been almost instantaneous. There was a distinctly Southern inflection in her voice, and I was immediately drawn to her warmth. I felt as though I'd made a good impression, and everyone had made an effort to include me. I was beginning to feel like part of the crew.
Back in the kitchen that morning, Russel made coffee and showed me where to find his pans so I could put together a quick breakfast. We leaned against the counter, eating fried egg sandwiches, when I noticed a girl standing in the doorway wearing a long nightshirt. Frannie pushed past her legs and came bounding toward me, tail wagging.
"I see you know Frannie already!" she said with a smile. "I'm Liss. The roommate."
Her brown eyes were kind, and her blonde hair looked like a nest.
"Friend," Russel corrected.
"Yeah, friend, roommate, all of the above," she laughed.
"It's so nice to finally meet you! I adore your dog," I said.
She nodded, smiling.
"Well, I gotta get ready. I'm glad I bumped into you before you're out again, Russel."
"Me too! Missed you. I'll be back on the thirtieth. Mind handling the rent check? The landlord hasn't been by yet."
"I've got you covered!"
She disappeared into the living room, leaving us to finish breakfast.
I helped Russel wash the dishes before we started packing. My backpack contained a change of clothes and an overnight toiletries bag. Russel, meanwhile, was preparing a massive pack for the course. It was stuffed with clothing layers, flashlights, a Kindle, and what seemed like a hundred other essentials for spending time in the wilderness.
Every so often, he'd stop whatever he was doing to kiss me.
"I don't know what you did to me," he said between kisses.
"What does that mean?" I laughed into his beard.
"I have never been so upset to leave for work! Promise you'll be here when I get back?"
"I promise."
We eventually made our way out the door, Russel locking it behind us. We picked our way slowly down the stairs, gripping the railing and laughing as we navigated the icy steps toward the yard. He started his truck, while I hurried ahead to start my car, parked just in front of his. Then I climbed into his truck to spend the last few minutes together while our engines warmed.
We kissed. A lot. We cuddled close, neither of us particularly interested in being the first to call it quits.
"Okay, last time I'll say it. I swear!" he announced. "I'm going to miss! You! Elliot!"
He punctuated each exclamation with a kiss.
"Ugh, I'm going to miss you too!" I pressed my cold nose into the nape of his neck and groaned. "Be careful out there, okay?"
"I always am! But for you? I'll be extra careful."
He winked.
Eventually, though, it was time for him to go. He needed to check in at the GOLS Rocky Mountain branch, where he'd meet his students and prepare for the bus ride to Utah.
We said our goodbyes, and I started walking toward my car. But when I reached the driver's door, something made me turn around. I couldn't quite bring myself to leave it there. I hurried back to his truck, and he rolled down the window.
"I just..." I started, struggling to find the words. "I can't wait to see you again."
I leaned in, and we kissed one more time.
"I was hoping you'd come back for one more!"
And with that, we said our real goodbye, and off he went.
I sat in my car in front of his apartment for a while, watching the morning settle around me. For the next eighteen days, it would be just me, figuring out how to navigate the consequences of my decisions and whatever came next.
I had promised I'd be there when he returned.
And I intended to keep that promise.
March 29, 2023 - 4:15 pm
The next 17 days passed without much ceremony. Russel was away with his GOLS students, somewhere in the slot canyons of Utah, and I settled back into the routines of work and whatever else needed my attention. I don't remember every conversation we had while he was gone, or exactly how often we managed to talk. What I do remember is that life continued moving, as it tends to do, even when part of you is counting the days until someone comes back.
Work kept me busy. River Falls had no shortage of projects, people to meet, or things that needed doing, and I was more than happy to throw myself into it. There was also the business of figuring out what my life was going to look like now that things with Vincent had finally changed. I was beginning to find my footing, although I wouldn't say I had everything figured out.
One of the highlights during that stretch was a visit from Nikki, my best and closest friend. She came all the way from Nebraska, and it was wonderful to have her in Greymont for a few days. Nikki and I had the kind of friendship where we could pick up right where we left off, regardless of how much time had passed. We could talk about absolutely anything, laugh at things that probably weren't that funny, and generally make a day out of doing very little.
"Well, what are we getting into today?" I asked her at one point.
"That's a dangerous question," she replied. "You know I didn't come all this way to sit around."
"Fair enough. We should probably go see some of the canyon."
And so we did. At some point during her visit, we took a drive out through Vanish Canyon. I don't remember exactly what we had planned that day, but I do remember that the snow had other ideas. Before long, my car was stuck, and not in the sort of way that a little rocking back and forth or a push from a friend was going to solve.
We got out and surveyed the situation.
"Well, that's not good," Nikki said.
"No. No, it really isn't."
We tried to work it free, but the more we attempted to maneuver, the more apparent it became that we weren't going anywhere.
"Do you think if we both push..." she started.
I looked at her, then at the car, then back at her.
"I think we're past that point."
Eventually, we accepted defeat. The car was going to need a little more help than the two of us could provide, so I called Moran, my boss at River Falls, hoping she might know someone who could come get us.
"Hey, Moran. So, I have a bit of a situation."
"What's going on?"
"Well, Nikki and I are out in Vanish Canyon, and I've managed to get my car stuck in the snow."
She laughed. "How stuck are we talking?"
"Pretty stuck. I don't think we're getting it out ourselves."
"Do you want me to call the sheriff?"
"Absolutely not!"
There was a pause.
"Why not?"
"Because we have a whole bong in the car!" I was still not smoking regularly, but Nikki being in town was a treat. She always had a car bong, and we had been hitting it outside the car just prior to getting stuck. (I will not draw a definitive line of causation here).
Moran burst out laughing.
"Oh, well, that might complicate things!"
"Yeah, I'd really rather avoid that particular conversation."
"Okay, don't worry. I'll send Mason up to get you." Mason, Moran's husband was a stalky guy with a goatee and a short temper.
I laughed, relieved. "You're a lifesaver."
"Just stay put. And maybe don't get yourselves into any more trouble before he gets there."
"I'll do my best!"
Mason eventually arrived in his truck and got us out of the canyon. The car, however, was another matter. It was still sitting exactly where we'd left it, and getting it out was going to require something a little more substantial than a pickup truck.
Mason called the national forest office to see whether he could bring his tractor up into the area and winch the car free. Unfortunately, they told him no. Apparently, that was the end of that plan, at least officially.
For the next few days, my car remained stranded in the canyon.
I wasn't particularly thrilled about the situation, but there wasn't much I could do. Mason, however, apparently wasn't quite ready to accept defeat. A few days later, he decided to take matters into his own hands and brought the tractor up anyway. He managed to get it into the national forest portion of the canyon, hooked up the winch, and finally pulled my car free.
I was incredibly grateful, although I couldn't help laughing at the thought of the whole thing. The national forest office had said no, but Mason had apparently decided that a stranded car was a compelling enough reason to make his own arrangements.
After four days, I finally had my car back. It wasn't exactly the roadside assistance experience I'd have chosen, but I was certainly grateful. There's something to be said for having friends with access to heavy machinery when you live in a place where winter refuses to let go.
Nikki's visit was a welcome distraction from everything else going on in my life. Between catching up, exploring, and our little automotive misadventure, we managed to make the most of the time we had together. It was nice to have someone so familiar around, someone who knew me well enough that I didn't have to explain every little thing.
By the end of March, I had another major change on the horizon. I found an apartment above Silver Fork on Main Street. It would be a major shift, and Taylor would probably be happy to have her space back.
It was a studio, modest in size but perfectly situated. Being right above the restaurant meant I would be in the middle of town, close to everything, and I liked the idea of having that little corner of Greymont to myself. When I first walked in, I could immediately picture myself living there.
"Well?", the manager of the apartments said, "What do you think?"
I looked around again, taking it all in.
"I love it."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, look at it. It's perfect."
I could already imagine where I'd put my things, how I'd arrange the furniture, and what it would feel like to come home at the end of the day and have the place entirely to myself. It wasn't particularly large, but it didn't need to be. It was mine.
And that was both exciting and a little heartbreaking.
I was happy. I really was. There was something liberating about having a space of my own and knowing that I was finally moving forward. But there was also a sadness attached to it that I couldn't quite shake. Getting an apartment meant accepting that the life I'd previously imagined for myself wasn't going to look the way I'd thought it would. There were no more shared routines to return to, no familiar home to fall back into. I was starting over, and as much as I'd wanted that freedom, it came with its own kind of grief.
Still, I stood there looking around the little studio and smiled.
"Yeah," I said again. "This is perfect."
I signed a year-long lease, and by the end of the night, I had moved all of my belongings- or, more accurately, what Vincent had tossed into the garage at our house- into the little studio. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I spent my first night there surrounded by boxes and the unfamiliar sounds of a building full of strangers.
I remember wondering whether it really was perfect after all. The walls were thin, and I could hear conversations drifting in from neighboring apartments, along with the occasional argument between couples. Somewhere down the hall, someone was watching reruns of Roseanne, loud enough that I could practically follow along.
I eventually turned on the fan and set it to high, letting the steady hum drown out most of the noise. And oddly enough, despite the unfamiliar surroundings and the soundtrack of my new neighbors' evening, I slept deeply that night.
Russel would be home the following afternoon, and I had quite a bit to fill him in on. For the moment, though, I was content to be in my own little space, beginning to figure out what came next.
April 20, 2023 - 9:47 am
By April, Russel had moved out of the attic apartment and into the larger downstairs portion of the house, which he was now renting. It was a proper house rather than an apartment, with a little more room to spread out and, presumably, fewer reasons to negotiate around the peculiarities of shared living space.
I had called out of work that Thursday. Russel was preparing for another GOLS course, this one in the Wind River Range, and he would be leaving on Monday. He had a few days of preparation ahead of him, but we had decided to take advantage of the time we had before he disappeared into the mountains again.
And, apparently, he had decided it was time to introduce me to rock climbing.
We were getting our things together at his place when I started to wonder what exactly I had agreed to.
I'd climbed over rocks, scrambled up trails, and generally considered myself reasonably adventurous. A "tactical hiker". But standing at the bottom of a dolomite cliff face with the intention of climbing it was an entirely different proposition.
Russel, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease.
He moved around gathering gear, checking things, and getting everything ready with the sort of confidence that comes from having done something countless times. I watched him, trying to absorb what I could while also wondering whether I'd made a terrible decision.
"You're awfully quiet," he said, zipping 250 feet of rope into a large bag.
"I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous."
I laughed. "I'm just trying to figure out what I've gotten myself into."
"You're going climbing.", he pulled me onto the bed to sit next to him.
"Yes, thank you. I'd gathered that much."
He grinned. "You'll be fine, Elliot," he kissed my cheek, "I promise."
It was easy for him to say. He knew what he was doing. I was about to find out whether I did.
The drive out into Vanish Canyon didn't do much to settle my nerves. The cliffs were impressive enough from a distance, and they seemed considerably more intimidating as we got closer. The rock face rose above us, its surface broken into holds and features that I was sure Russel could identify immediately. I mostly saw a very large wall that I was expected to somehow get up.
When we arrived, it became apparent that Russel was something of a familiar face there. People greeted him as we approached, stopping to talk, asking how he'd been, and exchanging the kind of casual conversation that suggested this was very, very far from his first visit. More than a few seemed to know exactly who he was.
I found that interesting. I knew the version of Russel who sat across from me at dinner, teased me relentlessly, and curled up beside me at the end of the day. Here was another version of him, one who belonged to this little community and seemed entirely comfortable in it.
He introduced me to a few people, and I did my best to keep up with the names while quietly taking stock of the cliff in front of us.
"Everybody seems to know you," I said once we had a moment to ourselves.
"Not everybody."
"Well, enough people that I'm beginning to think I should have done some research before coming out here."
He laughed. "You'll be all right."
I wasn't entirely convinced.
Russel took the time to explain what we were doing and walk me through the basics. He was patient, which I appreciated, especially because I suspect my face was giving away just how nervous I was. He didn't make me feel foolish for asking questions or for wanting to understand what I was getting into before leaving the ground.
When it was finally time for me to climb, I looked up again.
"Okay," I said. "That's higher than it looked from the car." I tightened my harness again, wondering how much force it would take to smash my balls in it during a fall.
"That's usually how it works," he smiled, "I've got you. Just take your time. You don't have to rush anything. And if you do fall, the gri-gri and I will catch you!"
I started up cautiously, concentrating on where to put my hands and feet and trying not to think too much about how far off the ground I was getting. Every movement required more thought than I expected. What looked like an obvious place to put a foot from below wasn't always quite so obvious once I was standing there trying to use it.
Russel kept talking to me, offering encouragement and the occasional direction. His voice was steady, and whenever I hesitated, he reminded me that there was no hurry.
"Look for your next hold," he called.
"I'm looking!"
"Find one?"
"Working on it!"
I was scared shitless, if I'm being honest. There was a moment when I wondered why anyone would voluntarily put themselves in this position. But there was also something strangely satisfying about figuring it out one movement at a time. I was learning to trust my feet, trust the equipment, and listen to the person on the other end of the rope.
And then, somewhere along the way, the fear started giving way to something else.
Exhilaration.
I was actually doing it. I was climbing a dolomite cliff in Vanish Canyon, something I hadn't imagined myself doing a few weeks earlier. I could feel the effort in my arms and legs, and I was concentrating so intently on the rock in front of me that the rest of the world seemed to fall away. I understood what attracted climbers to Greymont in that moment.
When I finally made it through the climb, I was equal parts relieved and excited.
"Well?" Russel asked.
I laughed, still catching my breath. "That was terrifying."
"Terrifying?"
"Absolutely." I laughed.
"But?"
I looked back up at the wall. "I want to do it again."
He gave me that familiar grin and planted his lips hard on mine, his mustache scratching nose. "I had a feeling you'd like it."
I don't remember every detail of that first climb, but I remember how it felt. I remember being nervous, how reassuring he was, and how good it felt to accomplish something I had been genuinely afraid to try. I also remember watching him move around the climbing area, talking with people, offering advice, and generally seeming so completely at home in that environment.
It was nice seeing him that way. I was getting to know more than just the man I spent my evenings with. I was getting a glimpse of the things that made him who he was outside of our little corner of the world.
We still had the rest of the day ahead of us, and the weekend before he would leave again on Monday. His next course would keep him away for another four weeks, so we had a limited amount of time together.
For the moment, though, I wasn't thinking about Monday. I was thinking about the climb, the strange new feeling in my arms, and how much fun I'd just had doing something that had scared the hell out of me.
Russel had been right. I was going to be fine.
And while I was happy and feeling closer to him, I was also grieving the life I was letting go of with Vincent and trying to navigate the emotions that came with building something new. For nearly half of that new beginning, Russel had been absent. Not because he wanted to be, and I knew, to some degree, what I was getting into. He would leave again for several weeks, and I would be left waiting, wondering whether it would ever get easier. It felt as though we were starting over, at least a little, every time he came back.
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