I took a deep breath, gave Blondie a kiss on her head, and said, “See you someday, old girl.”
God smiled.
“Yes,” I told him. “I would like to go back. It’s hard to say that I regret what I did, considering this experience, but I do. And I don’t want to regret anything. Not anymore. I want to see what it feels like to be . . . to be . . . to be . . . myself.”
Ever the entertainer, God tried to be funny. “Take a moment, say your goodbyes.”
“Really? Are you kidding?”
God just shrugged as Jond, Mort, Ira, and the others were now walking out to the lake. My heart was jumping through my chest. I wondered if they would remember that I had been here. Would they be able to watch me and check in on my progress? Other than the bit at dinner, though, I hadn’t really seen any evidence that those in heaven, or wherever this was, could see what was happening on earth. Maybe it was something that came with acceptance and surrender. It’s a reward, of sorts, for having the kind of total peace in your heart that comes from making total peace with yourself. That kind of made sense to me.
The only times I ever cried as hard were in times of sadness. Out of feeling lost. I was neither. As tears streamed down my face, as I said my goodbyes and see-you-laters, I was smiling hugely.
Afterward, I found Fate and gave him the last hug. “I figured you out, you old clown. Thank you.”
It was time to say goodbye to God. If there were words for a time like this, I didn’t know what they were. So . . . I said nothing. I let the moment speak for itself. I looked God in the eyes. I saw myself for a quick second. The silence said more than I ever could. And then I thought of the question I wanted to ask.
“Wait. How do I write about it if I don’t remember anything?” And then, “Does everything really happen for a reason—”
Before I could finish, I was gone. I knew the answer anyway. Just like that. The last thing I remember was God mouthing, “Trust yourself.” And rolling his eyes at me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A man finds the name “Esther” written in pencil on a dollar bill. As he has just started dating a woman named Esther, he decides to frame it and give it to her as a gift. Several months earlier, after a breakup, Esther had written her name on several dollar bills. She told herself that she would marry the man that brought her one of these dollars. They later marry.14
That was fucking close! Standing at the start of the trailhead and basking in the bright light and quiet warmth of the full moon, I felt grateful that the SUV speeding past The Gym had just missed me. I hadn’t even noticed the car as I walked with my head in my phone, texting Jess. It was a black Mercedes. They were always black. Had I not stumbled, causing me to look up for a split second before I walked into the intersection, I’d be dead.
I gave myself shit for being the idiot dressed in black and wished the driver luck. Hope you make it safely to wherever you’re going.
I made it to the hidden dirt patch masking the beauty of what lay just beyond the rusty fence and started to climb. This was my trail. I knew every nuance. I knew the dip a hundred yards up on the left and the tree just beyond with the broken branch that hung out over the creek. It was about 1,500 feet uphill from the trailhead to the spot below the peak. One of my happiest places.
Even though I knew this climb as well as I knew the long drive down Interstate 5 from San Francisco to LA or the curve in the back of Jess’s spine, the top of the mountain was always further than I thought. And just like arriving anywhere after a long drive, or arriving at the base of that curve . . . I was always grateful for the journey. Especially arriving at the base of that supple curve.
This was a completely different experience. Having never done this hike at night, I hadn’t considered that the smells would be different from those during the day. The sounds of happy singing birds were replaced by howling coyotes and crunching footsteps in the darkness. I spun around on multiple occasions, squinting my eyes. What’s out there? Darkness always has a way of making you feel like you’re being followed. The happy daylight shade of a tree painted by the sun becomes menacing shadows when chiseled by the moon.
One of my friends had asked me multiple times to join him on a full-moon trek. “A silent quest,” he called it. There would be no talking. No flashlights. The moon would be our light. With one excuse or another, I always declined. The idea freaked me out. What if I got lost on the mountain? Not getting any sleep would totally mess up my schedule. I was intimidated by the depth of my friend’s soulfulness. As I hiked alone, I started thinking that my excuses were valid. The truth was, I felt embarrassed by the thought of not being able to keep up. Or of having him see how nervous I was. Old stories die hard.
I wasn’t sure what it was about this night that inspired me to “go climb a mountain,” to borrow the line printed on the front of my favorite T-shirt from Yosemite I wore as a kid. All I knew was that I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t like the usual “couldn’t sleep” where my mind was racing with a million different anxious thoughts. Those tortured nights when I replayed all the pain I had caused or wondered why I kept wasting my days.
No. I was calm. Awake. Peaceful. So I took a walk. And ended up on my trail. Perhaps it was a reaction to the perfect day. I had, for the first time ever, lived a full day exactly as I wanted. Every moment. It was a great birthday, and perhaps I just didn’t want it to end.
I walked past the small, heart-shaped rock that marked the halfway point. I first noticed it six or seven months ago while walking the trail in a particularly dark space. No bigger than a silver dollar, the rock was a perfectly shaped heart. My instinct was to pick it up, like finding a lucky penny, put it in my pocket, and display it somewhere in my house. Or maybe give it to Jess. I wondered how long it had been there. I unconsciously channeled those feelings I had so many years before in Joshua Tree when I lost my footing and kicked the rocks from their place.
The first time I saw this rock, it reminded me that I had love in my life, even as I was feeling deeply sad and filled with shame. So instead of picking it up, I sat with it. I looked at it. It was perfect in every way. How does something like this just happen? Isn’t it fascinating? I wondered to myself. When we need something, we often find it. But we must be open to noticing. Since first seeing the rock, every time I walked past this spot, I expected it to be gone. The fact that it was still there showed me that maybe even a rock can have a bigger purpose. How many people had seen it? How many had missed it? How many were as affected by it as I was?
A couple of therapists had pointed out that I was on some spectrum. I was never surprised by this, of course. I had lived with myself since birth. I had lived through all of the highs and lows. All of the mood swings. All of the mania. But damn, the highs were magical. They were all so full of hope. Full of plans. Full of possibility. I felt this way as I continued my walk up my mountain. My senses were heightened, and even the fear I would normally feel as unidentified steps crunched leaves in the woods around me was at bay. I tried to walk the trail with my eyes closed. I made it a few steps before stumbling on a root. Luke Skywalker, I was not.
The creeks were running, and I could hear the waterfall calling me. Letting me know that I was nearing my destination. During years of drought, the waterfall was mute, and I missed our conversations. I was pleased it welcomed me back with rushing excitement. Hello, old friend. I had arrived.
Time had already marked the end of my birthday, but the moon was one last candle. I couldn’t blow it out, but I closed my eyes and made a wish on it anyway. A wish for Jess. My lovely Jess. As I made my wish, I wondered if she knew that I was gone. I had been careful not to wake her. Not that I could. She slept like a hibernating bear—the result of being the most aware and spiritually centered person in history. She went to bed in complete harmony with her life. She knew and surrendered to her place in the universe and its place in her, which, if you ever spent time with her, made it seem like she was gliding when she moved.
I knew that in the rare event that she had woken up to find me gone, it wouldn’t make a difference. She wouldn’t worry. Not because she didn’t care, just the opposite. She cared so much that she accepted I sometimes “just had to do something.” Usually, this meant taking a long drive down the coast. For a while, it was on a motorcycle. I had a beautiful Harley I would ride for hundreds of miles and days at a time. I’d pull off roads, roll out the pad, sleep for a few hours, and carry on. Riding my motorcycle was the most peaceful time of my life. Those nights under the stars were the nights I felt closest to God. Whatever that meant.
Just after high school was the first time I drove to Morro Bay, parked at the beach, and fell asleep in the back of my SUV while listening to the rhythmic patterns of the crashing waves. My favorite sound until I discovered crunching aspen leaves. Few things could ever make me feel more at ease than the crashing surf at night. So different from the way it sounded during the day. It was like the waves were talking to me. Everything will be okay, Erik. Just relax, Erik. Somewhere, something or someone has your back, Erik. And sometimes, Dude, would you just fucking breathe?! Even the waves could get frustrated with me.
Sitting just off the trail, listening to the waterfall, and leaning back against my favorite tree, I closed my eyes to imagine the sounds of the surf. I imagined riding my motorcycle to the beach. I imagined making love to Jess under the stars. I was startled when I heard crunching leaves. I wasn’t alone.
I slowly opened my eyes to find a deer standing nearby. Not unusual on the mountain. After all, I was more on her turf than she was on mine. Yet, something about this deer was different. The fact that she seemed completely unmoved by my existence was a little weird. She wasn’t scared. She stared at me. She was small. Like a pet.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Where’s your family?” In my experience, deer typically traveled in threes, and a buck couldn’t be far off. It tilted its head like a dog. Like Blondie. Even though she had been gone for forty years, my childhood dog, Blondie, was always easy to access in my thoughts. She used to cock her head just like that. I’d never seen a deer do it, though.
The deer kept staring at me when it started to paw at the dirt. Blondie used to do that when she really wanted to play. It was her challenge to me to find a ball, a stick—anything. She would play fetch for hours. Anytime. Anywhere. If I didn’t go find the ball or stick, she would. She had a sixth sense for tennis balls. I never had to bring one with us on a walk because I knew she’d find one. We’d be walking, and she would dive into the nearby ivy and come out with a ball as though she were a cat hunting gophers. I was tempted to throw a stick and see if the deer would chase it.
The most special thing Blondie and I had was a kind of secret handshake. My sister thought I was crazy when I told her that Blondie and I would communicate with each other. I couldn’t believe those memories were flooding back. I couldn’t believe the deer reminded me of her so much.
Suddenly, the deer walked right up to me and pressed her forehead against mine. That was exactly what Blondie would do. That was exactly our secret . . . I could barely breathe.
Oh, my God.
It all came racing back to me.
Blondie.
God.
Mort.
Jond.
