in this desert.
And so I never wanted
to disappoint them by telling them
I’m terrified of heights.
FALLING
Looking down for another foothold,
my hair falls forward
over my eyes.
I blow at it,
but it flops right back.
I can’t see.
I can’t see another foothold.
I release one of my hands
and push my hair back,
but as soon as I look down
for another foothold,
it falls in my face.
I tuck it behind my ears
as securely as I can.
I move my foot to a small
foothold and settle it firmly.
But when I lift my other leg,
I slip.
The rough wall
tears my skin,
peels fresh layers
off my arms and knees and shins.
The ground knocks
the wind out of my lungs,
and I claw at my chest,
trying to find the air,
my whole body
stinging with scrapes
and scratches and tears.
NO ONE
I braid my hair again.
Once more I find the footholds,
going faster,
keeping my body close to the wall
to save my energy,
using my legs more than my arms.
One step at a time, Eleanor.
Soon, I’m ten feet above the ground.
Thunder booms loud enough to rattle
my teeth, my insides, my fingers.
They tremble as I look down
for a new foothold.
My hair breaks free,
falls in my face,
my stomach lurching
from both seeing
and then not being able to see.
My body is shaking,
my breaths coming too fast and hard.
I might vomit.
This was a mistake, a horrible mistake.
What was I thinking?
I can’t do this.
I need to get back down.
Pushing my hair behind my ears,
I look for a way down,
even though I know
there is none.
I slipped yesterday
after the flood because
no one climbs down.
YOU CAN
I’m shivering and sweating,
losing all the water
I’ve drunk, and worse,
my fingers will get slippery.
A flash of light, and I wait
for the boom to rattle me
right off this wall.
You can do it, Eleanor.
I’m going to fall!
Self-efficacy, Eleanor.
Stop telling yourself you can’t succeed.
The boom comes and goes
but doesn’t knock me from the rock.
I look up and find a handhold.
One step at a time.
A few more movements,
and I’m finally able to reach one arm up,
grip the edge of the cave
as the rock beneath my foot
breaks away,
plummets
to the canyon floor.
My body slams
against the rough wall,
all breath
leaving my body
in a terrified whimper.
I dangle.
Are you likely to die in this situation?
Yes.
CAVE
I kick and flail
and stub toes
and tear toenails
and shred heels,
trying desperately
to hang on
to the wall.
Breathe, Eleanor.
You’re almost there.
I peer through my hair
for a foothold,
my arms shaking
to hold my full weight.
I find one.
I settle my bare foot firmly
and pull myself up,
grunting,
growling,
teeth grinding
with the effort.
I crawl the few feet
across the small cave
and lean back against
a bumpy wall of stone,
waiting for my heart
and breathing to calm,
grateful I mostly used my legs
for the climb instead of my arms.
They wouldn’t have held otherwise.
I toss my rope and boots on the floor.
It’s cool in here, but the icy canyon winds
won’t freeze my shredded skin,
and raging floodwaters can’t reach me.
I hope they can’t reach Dad, either,
wherever he is.
ANGER
Watch your anger cues:
heart racing, body shaking,
breath out of control.
RAGE
My head topples forward,
and my hair once more
falls in my face.
I breathe so hard that my hair
rises and falls,
rises and falls,
with my hyperventilating.
I pull the razor-sharp chunk of shale
from my pocket.
Make sure you’re being kind to yourself, Eleanor,
no matter how angry you feel.
I press one finger
to the edge until it stings
before grasping several long strands.
I rub the sharp stone against my hair
until it tears apart,
gripping the sharp shale
with so much force
that it cuts into my hands
and blood drips
onto the floor of the cave.
Make sure you’re being kind to your body.
I work at
hacking,
tearing,
ripping,
sawing
my hair out,
piece by piece.
Never, ever harm yourself.
It takes forever with the rock.
It tears the roots out of my scalp,
leaving my hair jagged.
Pay attention to your anger cues.
But I won’t leave a single piece of hair
that can fall in my face
ever again.
What can you do to manage that anger?
My teeth clench and my body vibrates
and my heart races with rage as I
hack,
tear,
rip,
saw
my hair out.
Relax your body.
When I’m done, I feel the cave floor
covered in my hair, and my hands
covered in blood, and my head
covered in an uneven, torn
mop of only
After hair.
Remember your deep breathing.
My rage overflows
as I throw the brittle chunk of slate
against the cave wall,
and it shatters into pieces.
SCREAMING
And I scream
and scream
and scream.
And my screams
fill
the cave, and they
spill
over the side, blending into the
trill
of the red-spotted toads and into the
shrill
of the cold, windy canyon,
and the winds carry
my screams away.
I’m screaming out
the last of my water,
but I can’t stop.
I scream until my chapped lips
are stretched so thin
the cracks open and
bleed
into my mouth.
I scream until my voice
crackles and breaks and then is gone.
I reach out and swipe the hair
away from my body,
scatter the hair
across the cave floor,
push it frantically over the side.
When lightning flashes, I see
my bloodied hands have left
dark streaks across the stone.
The hair slides over the edge
of the cave into the canyon
to be carried away by the winds
along with my screams.
GONE
Collapsing against the wall of the cave,
I drop my face into my bloodied hands.
My energy is
gone.
My voice is
gone.
My Before hair is
gone,
along with all of my Before.
FEELING
Being alive means
sorrow, joy, pain, love, anger.
Feeling all the things.
NUMB
I pull my legs up to my chest
and gently rock,
my feet pressed to the cave floor,
the bumpy wall digging
into my back with the movement.
I focus on securing my wall.
I shove muddy
globs in the holes.
I stuff bloody
rags in the cracks.
I smear reeking
black tar over the surface
so nothing can get through.
Don’t build your wall, Eleanor.
This is too painful. I need it.
No, you don’t.
It will only make you numb.
Numb sounds nice.
It’s not.
You won’t just be numb to pain,
but numb to joy, numb to compassion,
numb to love.
Living means feeling.
Tell me, Eleanor,
do you want to be dead?
No.
Because no longer feeling means
you are dead.
PIERCING
A sharp pinch in my back
pierces my numbness,
shows me I’m still alive.
It feels as though someone
has stabbed me
with a saguaro needle.
I let go of my knees
and grasp frantically at my back.
And now something is
crawling,
creeping
on my skin.
I let out a soundless shriek,
jump up and hit my head
on the low ceiling.
Another sharp pinch.
I’ve been stung twice.
By what I don’t know.
Dizzy from the blow
to my head,
I struggle to peel off
my tank top
in the small space,
then throw it in the corner of the cave
away from me.
I grab my boots and strike and slap and slam them
against my shirt in the flickering light,
trying to kill whatever might be inside.
When lightning strikes,
I see the scorpion crawling out
and smash it again with my boots.
I try to make out what kind it is
in the flashing light.
The small size and shape
tell me all I need to know.
STUNG
I have been stung
by a bark scorpion,
the most venomous
scorpion in the desert.
Twice.
My thirsty veins
desperately lap up
every drop of venom.
My back begins to burn.
The flame spreads
like ripples over my skin.
Someone has taken a
blowtorch to my outsides
and filled my insides with ice.
My head
spins.
My tongue
swells.
My muscles
twitch.
My eyes
roll.
My insides
roil.
I lie on my side,
pull my legs up to my bare chest,
and concentrate on not vomiting
what muddy water I might have left
in my stomach.
HEART
I’ve never realized
how fast, loud, painful a heart
is able to beat.
REMEMBER
I pray for help,
though I don’t know
who or what
could possibly help me
here inside a hole
in a wall
on the side of a canyon.
How long would it take
for someone to find my body?
Will anyone care?
Will they remember?
If I die here,
will people remember
Café Ardiente?
Will they remember
me, Dad, Mom?
Will they remember
Sofía Moreno,
just a regular mom
with two little boys
in the booth next to ours?
Because of what she did,
maybe I can find the fight
to keep going.
But I feel like I’m fading away,
and I don’t have the strength
to stop it.
INSIDE A TENT
through the thin fabric.
I’m facing a wall—a tent wall.
I roll over and find Danielle
bundled in a sleeping bag,
big brown eyes watching me,
blankets pulled up to her nose,
face crinkled so I know
she’s smiling.
What?
I can’t believe you
threw my fish back.
It was too small to keep.
Two bites at best.
Not even enough for a fish taco.
I was going to raise it.
To become a full-sized fish taco?
Danielle laughs. She has such a funny laugh,
like someone sped up a video, fast and high-pitched.
No! For a pet!
You can’t keep a bluegill for a pet, dork.
She throws the blankets down, sits up,
curly black hair a big mess from two days of camping.
Yes, I could!
I would have named it Danny.
Yeah, you could have dressed it in little
fish clothes and taken it for walks
in a portable aquarium on wheels.
We both crack up,
falling back onto our sleeping bags,
burying our heads in our pillows.
Then Danielle sits up again.
Her smile falls.
Her eyes widen.
She looks afraid.
What? What’s wrong?
Danielle slowly raises an unsteady finger,
points at the wall of the tent.
There’s something out there.
I turn, press my hand to the fabric.
It’s cold and hard when it should be
warm and soft.
Hand still held to the tent wall,
I look back at Danielle.
It’s a monster, Nora.
ONE LAST LIE
Please tell me the truth, Eleanor.
Who is the Beast?
Don’t
Ever ask again.
My answer stands.
Once and for all, he’s
Not real.
HE’S HERE
A clap of thunder,
and I’m back in the cave,
one sore hand pressed
to the cold ston
e wall.
I pull my hand away and see
a dark handprint when the sky
flickers with light.
The booms fill the cave,
and the flashes reveal
the cave is covered
with blood.
And now someone is climbing
up
the
canyon
wall.
I hear grunts,
rocks breaking loose
and falling to the canyon floor.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
He’s here.
THINGS I DON’T TELL
The Beast
is dead, pale eyes
and jagged teeth
and sharp claws
and camouflaged exoskeleton
that glows
by the light of the moon
like the scorpions
under Dad’s black light
that creep up our walls
and over our ceilings
and then drop
into our beds
and in the worst
of my nightmares
the Beast begins
to molt
his exoskeleton
to reveal
what is underneath
but I always
wake up
before I have
to know.
But I can’t wake up
right now.
Because I’m not asleep.
TWO CLAWS
Ground yourself, Eleanor.
GASPING AND GRASPING
I am
panicking.
Breathing,
breathing,
breathing,
but can’t
catch my breath.
Gasping,
gasping,
gasping,
but there’s no air.
Lying
on my side,
facing what is