You stagger up to the edge of the road and raise your hands. The car slows down for a moment as the rear passenger window rolls down. As it gets nearly even with you, a bottle flies out and hits the pavement halfway to your feet. You don't have the strength or energy to jump to the side so you can only stand there and watch as it bounces off the asphalt and hits you dead center in the chest before you can react.

The pain is so sudden and intense that the wind is knocked completely out of you. Your face feels like it swells to nearly twice its size and burns all the way to your ears. You slump and fall to your knees.

The car screeches to a stop and the driver's door opens. "Why in the hell would you do that to a kid?! I oughtta kick your ass. You could've killed him, you know that?"

You gasp for breath and can't take in any air. You want to cry due to the immense pain, but your eyes are so dry that they can no longer produce tears. Your vision starts to waver and you fall forward. Just before you eat the blacktop, you feel hands grab you and swing you back into a seated position.

"It's okay. I'm here to help. He was just being a dumbass and didn't know that he might actually hit you."

You wheeze and can feel your lungs slowly start to fill with air. Your vision is still fuzzing in and out, but it's slowly beginning to clear.

"What's your name?" asks the teenage boy with closely cropped hair.

You rock back and forth trying to help force more air into your lungs, and only wheeze louder in answer to his question. You look around to see several more teenagers standing around you.

"Take it easy, man. Don't try to rush it. I'm not going anywhere."

You're not sure you want to tell them your real name. After all, one of them just tried to kill you. Maybe it was an accident and maybe it wasn't. You try to think of a name—any name—and a sudden image of little Timmy that lived down the street from you before your parents got a divorce pops into your head. You remember how he used to say his name and before you can correct it, out comes "Tim-O-tee." You take a deep breath and try hard not to laugh or even smile. "Timothy. My name is Timothy."

"What are you doing out here all by yourself, Timothy?"

"I'm lost. I don't know where this is."

"Where do you live? We'll take you home," says a slightly gruffer voice off to the side.

You shrug as you try to come up with something to tell them. You look around, trying to come up with a story they might believe and your eyes settle on a far-off vertical rock piercing up through desert floor. "A long, long ways from here. I was s'posed to stay by the camper, but I wanted to look at the rocks."

One of the boys sucks air in through his teeth.

"That wasn't very smart. Kids get lost out here all the time and die," says the one crouched down by you. "Where were you going? Maybe we can find your parents or get you to someone who can."

If they take you to the cops, you'll never make it to the Grand Canyon. You have to change the subject. "I'm so thirsty. I need water."

The boy reaches up and snatches a bottle from one of the others and says "Here, drink this. We'll get you some water."

You tip the over half full bottle and guzzle the orange soda down without stopping. It burns like fire and doesn't help even a little, but it's wet and wet is better than nothing.

"We've gotta get back. We can't take him with us," says another boy under his breath.

"We're not leaving him out here, alone," snaps the one you've been talking to, "Not here!"

"There's a gas station right there! It's not like he's lost out in the middle of the desert."

"We can't go driving all over the country looking for his folks," says another.

"You shoulda thought of that before you chucked that bottle him!" he hisses up at the boy with slicked back hair—who just pivots around on his heels and stalks back to the car. Turning back to you, he says "C'mon. We'll go find a phone or something," picking you to your feet and helping you to the car.



You hang back as the boys head into the gas station. If they call the police, they'll take you home and you'll never get to the Grand Canyon for Jane.

As soon as the door swings shut, you dash to the end of the building and swing around the corner toward the back. There is a stack of oil drums at the base of the hill out back and you run in behind them. You hope this will be enough because there is no other cover close by that you can see.

You squeeze into a hole between two of the drums that are resting on the ground and wait. It isn't long before you hear them talking from not too far away from your hiding spot.

"Where could he have got to?" asks the boy that's been trying to help you.

"I dunno. He just ran off, I guess. Maybe we just imagined the whole thing."

"Maybe he's a spook and just went invisible," laughs a third.

"Don't be a moron," says the first, "He's just scared."

"We can't go traipsing all over the desert looking for him. When he gets tired, he'll come back. We're already gonna be late as it is."

"I guess. I just wanted to help the kid out, is all."

"Let's just go before we get into trouble, ourselves."

You hear the car engine start and gravel raining down in their wake before you poke your head out. You can't risk going inside because they probably already told whoever is in there about you and the police might still show up.

You spot a coiled hose on the ground by the corner of the building that you must've run right by without even seeing. It's just what you need. You trot over and reach for the faucet, but the handle has been removed. You study it a minute before picking up the hose a little at a time—working the contents out to the end—and manage to get a good mouthful of scalding hot water. You fight the pain and as soon as it's cooled enough, you choke it down.

You can't go any further in this heat so you look for any kind of shade to get out of this blistering sun. You spot a low-lying rock a little ways up the hillside behind the building and judging by its angle it might offer some shelter from the sun. You drag yourself over to it.

It looks like it would be the perfect place for a den of snakes, but peering under the shelf you see no sign of anything. You wedge yourself underneath where you'll wait for nightfall before heading off again.



You open your eyes to find that you are shivering. The temperature has dropped considerably. If you don't end up freezing, it'll at least be a welcome relief compared to that awful sun.

After pulling yourself out, you stand and slink down the hill. Your feet are like bricks, but you have no other choice other than to go on.

The gas station parking lot is deserted except for a run-down old pickup truck loaded down with all kinds of junk and covered with a tarp. It's parked in the shade of the pump lights around the corner of the building and you have to walk around it to get to the highway.

As you pass by it, its yellow license plate catches your eye. It says Arizona in green letters across the top and Grand Canyon State on the bottom.

You peek around the corner of the building and see an old hunched over Indian man with a pony tail halfway down his back stepping up to the cash register.

This could be your lucky break. You could try asking him for a ride, but what if he says no? Maybe hiding under the junk in the back and hope for the best would be smarter way to go. It won't be long before he's heading this way so you'd better hurry and make up you mind.

You hide in the back of the truck

You climb in the back of the truck and find a hole under the tarp that you can squeeze yourself into. You hunker down and get as comfortable as you can, but you can't see out from where you are. It isn't long before you feel the truck rocking and hear the door slam. The engine revs to life and you are jostled this way and that before the ride eventually smooths out.

All you can do is hope for the best as you settle back and try to get some much needed sleep.



You wake up with the old Indian man staring down at you. He has a mixture of concern and annoyance on his face.

"Where did you come from? Why are you in my truck?"

You rub the sleep from your eyes while you try to think of an answer. Your stiff back decides to contort all on its own and you are helpless to stop it. When you're able to do so you look back up at him. Not knowing the best way to respond, you say "I was hiding and fell asleep."

He looks you over and finally says "Come on out of there." He turns and walks toward the front of his truck as you sit up. He doesn't stop at the front and continues on to a short, shiny trailer with a tattered awning drooping from its side and props the door open with a beat up lawn chair. All around you as far as the eye can see is only desolation broken up by the occasional rock jutting up through the earth.

You climb over the side and aren't sure whether to follow him inside or to go somewhere else entirely. You don't know where you are and can only guess that the rough and rutted path behind the truck leads back to some road.

At the very least, you need water. It couldn't hurt to go to the door and ask for some before heading out. You also haven't a clue as to where you are so maybe he'll tell you that, too.

You walk over to the trailer and lean in. "Can I have some water?"

It's really dark in there and before you can make out any movement, a heavy black pot spattered with light blue specks and a long shiny handle sticking out of the top drops onto the corner of the built-in table into the slender patch of sunlight that makes it through the door. A hand reaches out of the blackness and grabs the handle, drawing a ladle dripping with water from inside the pot. "Here."

You lunge inside, snatch the ladle with both hands and gulp down the liquid in huge swallows. It's warm and you can taste the metal in it. It doesn't matter. You've gone without for so long that the only thing that registers is that it's wet. Even through you are choking for air you keep chugging.

Finally, you've had all you can hold. After dropping the ladle into the pot, you stagger backward and fall against the aluminum door facing. Your eyes have started to adjust and you can see the old man seated at the far end of the table and staring vacantly at the far wall.

"You want to tell me where you're from?"

You shift from one foot to the other trying to remember some of the towns from your map, but you draw a blank. Not sure if you should tell him the truth or make something up, you end up saying "A long way from here."

He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't turn toward you.

"I have to get somewhere. It's real important." The instant those words pass through your lips you flash back on a conversation from a long, long time ago, but it slips away before you get the chance to latch on to it.

He only sits there patiently and stares straight ahead without saying a word. It makes you feel all jittery inside. You have to tell him something.

"Jane died and I have to go to the Grand Canyon for her 'cause she never got to see it," you blurt out.

He sucks in his breath and stiffens as the words spill out with you powerless to stop them.

"Her mom hated her and she killed her and all she wanted was someone to love her and to take care of her! She was my friend! She was my bestist FRIEND!"

You fall to the floor in a heap. All of your strength has dissipated. Your body heaves and shutters and your eyes burn, but they are so dry that they can no longer make tears. A large, gentle hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you don't even bother raising your head. It has all been too much. Just way too much.



"Wake up. We're here."

You shove yourself up in the seat and peer through the dusty windshield. A red granite sign with dark inset lettering atop a light tan sandstone base stands off to the right in front of the pickup. You can see the words clearly over the hood. "Grand Canyon National Park". You can hardly believe your eyes.

After a long, slow grind, the engine whirs to life. Silas jams the truck into gear and it lurches forward. It isn't long before you come to a large parking area and he whips around into one of the paint-striped spaces, killing the old truck in gear causing it to shudder to a stop.

You look up at him. He's staring out through the windshield with that vacant stare he does. You can't help yourself. You shimmy over in the seat, reach up and give him a big hug around the neck.

"Thank you for bringing me here."

He doesn't move or even look around. He finally says "Go now."

You go now!

You look out over the vast canyon before you—the cool pastel painted walls, the shadowy crevasses and overhangs. You walk down a narrow trail cut into the wall. A flimsy railing is all that separates you from a terrifying fall to your death. You lean against it and peer over the side. You can't make out the bottom, it seems to just flow into the horizon.

You turn around and look at the cliff face behind you. The tool marks are still there—as they have undoubtedly been for decades—still unweathered in this arid environment. They will most likely remain long, long after your own death.

You carefully choose your hand and footholds and—after looking around to make sure no one is in sight—make the short climb. At the top, you sit admiring the view. Taking a deep breath, you pull out the folded up sheet of paper. You open it and stare at it one last time, trying to memorize every single line (though you don't need to because you have studied it many times before). You give it a soft kiss, remembering those few magical days, refold it and touch it to your forehead. Then you gingerly slip it into a crack in the wall that faces out over the great canyon.

You sit there as the sun sets and the light dwindles. The walls of the canyon gradually darken into deeper oranges and violets. You can feel her sitting beside you and know that if you just turn your head, you'd see that raven haired beauty with those bright, shining green eyes. After all this time, her dream has finally come true...



— The End