11

Sedona wasn’t just another beautiful place, it was said to be magical. People went there to heal, reflect, reset, and perhaps even become enlightened and see and understand things about life and themselves they’d been missing.

They say it’s because of the strong electromagnetic field that manifests through specific spots called vortexes, of which there are four main ones. People report amplifications of self-awareness, understanding, emotional release, inspiration, mental clarity, awakening, and healing. Being an atheist, he didn’t subscribe to such things but nature was awesome and man had still so much to learn, so he kept an open mind. If Sedona could change him, so much the better.

 

It was nearly 7 AM when he took his place in the long security line at the airport. Of course, he was there with ample time and could enjoy the buzz of imminent air travel, where the body slips into a defensive reaction, blunting some senses and elevating others to cope with moving thousands of kilometres in a matter of hours.

Air travel always prompted thoughts of mortality, even though he knew it was statistically much safer than travelling by car. Would today be the end of his story? And if so, how would it colour the entire tale? ‘He left his family and four years later died on a solo trip to Sedona. But I thought he was dating someone? He was! Maybe he should have cancelled the trip, after all, he’d planned it when he was feeling terrible and since meeting Eva, he was feeling so much better. And now there he is, dead. It makes no sense. Why did he go?’

The gate security called out, “Take your laptops out … belts off …nothing in your pockets, please.” He went through without a hitch. Eva lounged in his thoughts, waiting for him to snuggle up. He ran through the logistics: land, pick up rental car, drive three hours, in Sedona by 1 PM. Was it really happening? It didn’t seem real. None of it. His age, his situation, Eva, how his life had unfolded, it all seemed contrived, and he half expected someone to appear and explain what was really going on, and it would all suddenly make perfect sense. He felt put on, as if everyone were playing a game of make-believe. Fly in airplanes? Airplanes? Ha, ha, that’s a good one.

At his gate, he was generously rewarded by a spectacular sunrise through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It sparked a fearless disposition. Strokes of yellow, red, orange, magenta, and various shades of blue soaked scattered clouds and seemed to make the irrefutable point that there was nothing to regret or worry about, all was as it should be. He was here and had a joyful life. Sure, some rough spots, but he was by far a lucky one. And there seemed to be the promise of more. He would do better to simply enjoy it more in the moment. In the moment, he repeated to himself, live in the moment.

He took a photo of the painted sky and texted it to Eva, hoping she would say she wished she were there. Or at least be glad that he was the kind of person who went on trips and appreciated beautiful things, and look forward to doing it together. Or maybe just be happy that he was thinking of her.

She texted back:

 

Oh la la! Beautiful

 

Heading north on Highway 17, the red-layered rock formations of Sedona appeared on the horizon as if they were waving, happy to see him. He had two hours to kill before checking into the Airbnb, so he parked near the main drag to get some lunch and check things out. It was touristy and of no interest to him. The best part was having a beer on a patio, feeling the 25-degree-Celsius sunshine on his face and bare arms.

After checking into the Airbnb, he immediately drove to the trailhead of Devil’s Bridge and had to keep a brisk pace to give himself enough time to return before dark. The trail was red dirt and rock that wound upward among low, scrubby, twisted Juniper trees. At other times, he passed over wide open flat rocks skirting the towering lumpy red layers of brown, red and white sandstone. A different world and all of it beautiful. It was impossible to take a bad photograph.

Near Devil’s Bridge the trail steepened and he had to crawl at times on all fours. When he arrived, people snapped photos of each other standing on the narrowest and most famous part of the natural sandstone bridge – Devil’s Bridge – which is only four feet wide with no railing and a 50-foot drop to the ground. He hated seeing people walk out there, turn around, smile for the camera, and then return, one after the other. How many people have fallen off? How many died? Silly apes walking right into their own death for their picture in a cool location, as if anyone cared.

Spencer sat down on a rock ledge and took a deep breath, trying to be present and focus on the natural wonder of the sandstone bridge, millions of years in the making. Exquisite. He was only half successful, for he had a hard time persuading himself that if they fell, it had nothing to do with him.

The sun was tipping orange when he started back. There he was, as planned, and not insignificantly, on his own. He imagined Eva walking by his side and instantly felt uncomfortable, and then relieved she wasn’t there, having to attend to her needs, worry if she was having fun, then felt guilty, which didn’t last, the yellow sun running over the red rocks was so beautiful.

He thought about trips with Jenna, which were lovely, but was aware they were about doing things that made her happy. But not just for her sake, if she was happy, he was happy. He had done so willingly, that was the purpose of a good partner. He grumbled out loud. What had he got from being a good partner? He was suddenly reminded how he hated the whole system of courtship, pleasing, and sacrifice, but that was the deal, right? If you wanted someone, you had to give and if they appreciated you, then they’d give back. Compatibility was less about having things in common than it was about how much you were willing to give to make them happy. He grumbled again, heavy in his chest. He knew he would do just about anything to be with Eva and make her happy, then shook his head, aware he’d walked this road before. Would it finally lead somewhere?

Every morning, he was on a new trail just before the sun rose like an orange blanket over the red rocks. His pace was moderately brisk, but he felt he was missing things, so he slowed down, took more photos, or just lounged on the spot in awe. By the third day, he had completely let go of the overall thought to move from point A to point B on the map. He was simply there, without push or pull at any moment, hardly aware whether he was moving or not. He’d stand or sit or stroll for a minute or ten, then walk five steps, stop, turn, take a photo, walk twenty steps, take another photo, sit, breathe slowly and deeply and never know how long he’d stay there until an intuitive impulse rose him up to continue. He had never felt so relaxed and free.

The next day was a three-hour loop around Cathedral Rock, which would take him through a vortex.

 

He arrived at the trailhead before sunrise, there was only one other car. It was cool and very still with muted light. He wound his way upward amongst the twisted junipers, pines, and cacti. The first rays landed on the other side of the valley, creeping towards him. In the distance, the cathedral formation looked like nature’s version of the Sphinx. The sun was full on now, warming his core. Long stretches of the route were on smooth red stone. It felt like Mars. At the cathedral, people climbed up the spires. He continued into dense forest along Oak Creek, a welcome break from the direct sun. The vortex was just ahead. He stopped, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply to try to clear his mind. There was his sons, Eva, his sons again, a flash of himself in his condo, Jenna in Ireland. Suddenly, the bubbling creek seemed louder, he opened his eyes, but everything was as before, the trail leading forward, the creek on his right. He checked the map on his phone, the vortex was roughly 150 meters ahead. He set his intention: love.

There was nothing to mark the vortex. If he hadn’t located the spot on his phone, he would not have known he was at its centre. He sat down on a rock next to the creek and took off his backpack. He drank water, then closed his eyes and focused on how grateful he was for everything, everyone, the earth, the rocks, water, his sons, Jenna, Eva, his parents and siblings, all of his good fortunes. The creek bubbled. A short breeze passed through. A bird chirped. His butt was sore from the rock, so he stood and looked around carefully. He felt good, but no more than he had an hour ago. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and continued.
The trail ascended into a dry creekbed that twisted steeply up the cathedral’s backside. Junipers gave way to Opuntia cactus. He caught sight of someone coming down, disappearing behind a switchback. They appeared from behind a boulder, twenty meters ahead. It was a woman with a light-blue brimmed hat, blond hair tied back, a white long-sleeved linen shirt that fluttered around her khaki shorts, browned legs, and very high-tech hikers on her feet. She walked briskly with assurance. He guessed her around 35, maybe 40. He slowed as she approached. She looked up at him briefly and bid him Good morning.

“’ Morning!” he said, smiling at her broadly. He could see she was over 40 now, maybe 50. She smelled good, earthy and sweet. He turned and watched her take forthright steps down the rocky creekbed, her arms raised for balance as needed. Who was that?
Soon he was on flat stretches of rock again that rose toward the windy summit, which had a 360-degree view of red-layered slabs that gave way to the valleys of scrubby junipers and pine below, into which he was soon passing through on the final leg of the loop.

The parking lot was full now. He opened the car windows and sat on the open hatch for a snack and water. The woman appeared on the trail with the same assurance and headed to her car. It looked like she looked his way but it was hard to tell from a distance. She backed out slowly, then passed him to exit. She waved and smiled, and he returned it. He regretted not finding a way to talk to her. Maybe he should have said something on the trail, but women got that advancing crap all the time from men, and apparently hated it. And she was clearly not stopping for anything. But she smiled, she was friendly.

He’d probably never see her again, he decided, just a friendly passing, that was all. Why was he thinking of her anyway? Why did his heart ache? He missed Eva and wished she were there. And Jenna, too. And Jane, his childhood sweetheart. Yet here he was, intentionally alone. What the fuck am I doing?

 

 

 

Cool air washed over him when he stepped into Whole Foods. Suddenly, he was very hungry. He got some guacamole, chips, and a chicken and rice thing for takeout, a six-pack of beer, and more Power Bars. Back at the Airbnb he set it down on the patio table under the umbrella and took a long slug of beer. The peastone massaged his bare feet. He texted Eva some pictures from the day and texted:

 

 

Good day! Wanna talk a bit?

 

He took another fortifying drink and adjusted his reflective countenance to be positive and alert to her mood. He hoped for an enlivening, connective call, which he found challenging, blaming it on being unable to see the person’s eyes and body language, and on the loss of frequencies and the often halting cutouts in the voice when they overlapped. He was the kind of person whose brain tuned out everything when two people spoke at once. The last couple of calls with Eva had been tiring, and he’d been aware how he shovelled small talk, self-evident generalizations and repetition into the gaps of conversation to which she responded “Yep,” so weakly he had to ask her to repeat it.

“Hey! What’s happening in the Vancouver world?” he began.

“Not much, how’s your day been?”

“Awesome, did a huge loop today around Cathedral Rock, which looks like a cathedral when you stand in front of it.” He felt the impulse to rattle on, but restrained himself.

The air went dead, and finally she said, “Sounds cool.”

“Yeah, another gorgeous day,” his mind flashed on the woman waving at him from her car. “I can’t believe how perfect the weather’s been – oh, hey – I went through a vortex today.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re these specific geographic spots where there’s a sort of energy or something, people go to the vortexes to become enlightened or heal, they’re supposed to bring some kind of transformation.”

“And did it?”

“Welllll, I went there with an open mind, why wouldn’t I want to experience something, you know?” I hung out there for a while, closed my eyes, really tried to soak up anything and…I can’t say I noticed anything.”

“Hm.”

“Exactly, maybe it just doesn’t work on me.” Again, he had the impulse to fill the dead air with more mentions of the vistas of layered rock and twisted junipers, but he’d said all that repeatedly in their previous calls. “What’s it like there?”

“A little bit of sun now. Grey this morning.”

“You been up to your usual routine?

“Yep.”

“Swim? Writing? How’s it going?”

“Good, yeah, was at the pool this morning.”

“How’s the play?”

“Moving along, wrote three new scenes yesterday, very rough.”

“That must feel great!”

“Um, yeah, in a way, they came out quickly, but they’re about some difficult things, so it wasn’t fun.”

“Right, I see. But you’re getting it out, that’s good.”

“Yep.”

“You have a lot of courage.”

“Hm.”

“What else has been happening?”

“Actually, I’ve got another rash, that’s why I’m kind of subdued.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, don’t worry. What is it?”

“It’s from the autoimmune reaction. They last about a week, itchy as fuck.”

“Shit, that’s awful.” He was glad to have something real to talk about, and that she’d told him why she didn’t seem very enthused. “What do you – it’s none of my business, but do you have to do something for treating them?”

“Nope, they just pass, I have to just keep sticking to living healthy, getting enough sleep, etcetera.”

“Okay, yeah. Drag.” He scrambled what to say next. “Amazing that you can write while experiencing that.”

“Maybe that’s why.” She chuckled meekly.

“I hope not, well, yeah, a fair amount of great art was produced by artists enduring something.”

She sighed.

He took a deep breath. “Just two more days here, I think you would love it here.”

“I’m sure I would.”

They chatted more about the meaningless logistics of his return on Monday. He wished her rash away and expressed how frustrating and annoying it must be. He was glad when the call was over, as if he’d been dancing, trying to appear he knew the steps. He moved his chair into the full sun to feel the heat and sip the rest of his beer. Despite the awkwardness, which he blamed on their not yet having broken through to the next level of knowing each other, he missed her and looked forward to when he could relax in her presence.
He went inside and lay down for a nap. When he woke, the woman on the trail was the first thing on his mind. She smiled at him and rested her hand on his. He could almost smell her sweet earthiness.

The outdoor shower in the garden was four walls of neatly arranged sticks that let the sun shine through the gaps and warm his skin.
The next morning, he walked the famous Coffee Pot Rock loop. At each turn, he wondered if he’d see the woman coming toward him. What was it about her? The way she decisively carried her straight up frame over the rocky trail? And what a lovely frame, crowned with that thick blond hair with streaks of wizened grey. He was then suddenly frustrated with himself, pining after a stranger and directed himself to focus on his surroundings or think of Eva, those were his choices, but it did little good. The more he tried not to think of her, Blondie, the more he did. It was the hottest part of the day, the direct sun so hot he took breaks in the shade of stubby trees, drank water, and imagined meeting Blondie later, having drinks and then going back to her place for wild, lovely sex. Then he shook his head, attempting to understand himself. Blondie, I want Blondie.

Soon, he caught up with two women in their 40s. One was tall with long limbs, a perpetual smile, large dark glasses, and her hair pushed under a large magenta hat. The other was compact with a full bosom, a shaved head and no sunglasses or hat, which felt unwise. He gave them a polite Hi! They asked where Coffee Pot Rock was. He pointed upwards. They were right under the spout, but at that angle, it was simply a protruding hunk of sandstone. He showed them the picture he took of it twenty minutes ago, from the right angle. They laughed at themselves and seemed a bit lost, and asked where the trail ahead ended up. They were heading in the same direction. He considered walking with them, wanted to, but what if Blondie appeared? He showed them the map on his phone. Thirty minutes down the trail, they would reach a fork, left was the big loop, which was what he intended, right was the small one.

“Oh! Okay!” the tall one said.

“Thank you!” said the other.

“My pleasure, you have yourselves a great day.” He stepped away as if he need to be somewhere.

“You too!” said the tall one, somewhat forlornly.

The afternoon followed the usual routine: a chat with Eva while snacking on guacamole, chips and beer, a nap, a shower, and then dressed up nice in tan chinos and a short-sleeved button shirt with the top two buttons undone. He wanted to eat somewhere nice and decided on Picazzo’s, recommended by the Airbnb host.
“One for dinner,” he said to a red-bearded man of about thirty, wearing a crisp white shirt.

“Would you like the dining room or at the bar?” Spencer normally preferred a table but looked over the bar to his left. It was a square of white marble with chairs that had backs, not stools, half of them taken. All of the sun-kissed patrons were over 40. On the far side, a tumbling wave of blond hair sat in front of a matching glass of gold wine.

“The bar looks good.”

The host gestured with an upturned palm, “Please, take any seat you like.”

It was definitely her. She sat beside a heavy-set couple chatting with each other, but the seat beside her was empty. Spencer crossed toward it, attempting not to show how excited he was. She kept her eyes forward as he settled into his chair, then acknowledged him politely.

“Hey,” he said, “I believe we passed each other on the trail the other day.”

She smiled calmly. “Yes, we did.” His mind purged, he had no idea what to say or do, but managed to return her smile and force a breath into his lungs. The skin was pulled tight over her high, sunset-brown cheekbones beneath bright blue-green eyes that were a little watery. Her neck was lightly corded, the bones of her bare, browned shoulders protruded slightly, and her arms were tanned and smooth. She wore a white buttoned-down sleeveless V-neck that showed off her lean, brown chest and a hint of breasts. Her floral summer skirt fell past her knees, nearly reaching her wedged sandals that wrapped her lovely ankles. She wore a modest gold necklace with a heart and two simple bracelets, one gold, one silver. She was in her seventies, perhaps even late seventies. He caught her sweet, earthy smell as she shifted to cross her legs the other way. He wanted to surrender and tell her she was beautiful and lovely and that he was helpless.

“Are you from here?” he asked.

“Not from here, but I live here now, for the last ten years.”

“You’re from?”

“Albuquerque for many years.” He nodded. The bartender put a menu in front of him and took his drink order, a glass of beer.

“And you?”

“Vancouver.”

“Beautiful, I love Vancouver. I’ve been to Revelstock a few times to ski.”

“Never been, I used to ski, not so into it now.”

“We’re too old,” she said, chuckling.

He laughed. “Come on, not too old to hike these trails – you were moving at quite a pace.”

“I’m out almost every day.”

The bartender set down his beer and moved off. Spencer raised his glass, “Cheers.” She clinked it. “Tell me, what’s your take on the vortexes?”

She looked him up and down quickly, which was an interesting yet enigmatic response. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, I’m a tourist, so all I know is what I’ve read, that they have a special energy from the earth’s electromagnetic field – is that it? – that people seek them out for enlightenment or healing, and energy. I’m curious what locals think about it.”

She nodded slowly and intentionally. “I used to come to Sedona two or three times a year for a long weekend when I lived in New Mexico, and I always left feeling energized, which I never did elsewhere, not in that way. It’s why I moved here twenty years ago.”

“Interesting. It’s certainly a beautiful place. Everything I look at is gorgeous.”

Her eyes flashed subtly. She was radiant, beguiling, but what was he doing flirting with her? Something felt very right about it and not just for sex. Her presence was inexplicably enlivening in a way he’d never felt. Ach! Guilt twisted his gut. What do you know about what you feel? Nothing! He thought of Eva and wanted her just as much as ever, but imagined leaving the bar with Blondie. She would take him to her place, where she lived with a view of the valley. Inside, there would be lots of windows and natural light, brown-tiled floors with rugs, local art on the walls, indigenous wood carvings, and leafy plants. The view would be magnificent, as good as any he’d seen on his walks, the green valley with red layered rocks lumped here and there. There would be a pottery wheel, and maybe a guitar on a stand, and on a table, many vases and bowls with exquisitely feminine shapes, some already fired and glazed. No pets, no signs of anyone else who lived there. She would turn on low music, pour wine, and they would sit on the stone terrace as the sun went down. And he would tell her he’d been thinking of her since seeing her on the trail. And she would say the same and had hoped to see him again. After eating, they would move to a soft two-seater on the terrace and have their first kiss, soft and slow.

She would ask him to tell her what he didn’t want her to know. He would take a deep breath and say, “I…feel like shit most of the time.” And then she would lead him to her bed, and she would make love to him and time would stand still.
The bartender put a take-out pizza container in front of her. She finished the last sip of her wine and stood up. “You have yourself a good rest of your holiday,” she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder and scooping up her pizza.

“You as well,” he said, then realized his error, “- your summer, good to meet you.”

She smiled and left.