Miles
Artie and I were deep in the woods and had been arduously trekking for maybe an hour. My parents got me a compass for my birthday and I was pumped to use it. We could only take our bikes up the trail for a little while before it became too overgrown to keep riding, so we ditched them and continued on foot. I was sure that if we went far enough north we'd reach the creek, and no matter how hard Artie tried to convince me otherwise my resolve couldn't be shaken. For Artie, it was either leave me alone in the woods or trudge along with me. So there he was, clambering along behind me as I bulldozed my way through the dense foliage.
"Miles, we're going to get ticks!" Artie had been whining about this and that for the last fifteen minutes and I'd been brushing him off. I think he finally realized I wasn't going to stop and just resorted to throwing out any excuse he could think of.
"No, we won't. And I told you to get long socks!"
"I couldn't find any..." He sounded so disappointed. Then, silence.
For maybe ten seconds.
"How much furtherrrr... We've been walking for like fifteen hundred million hours."
"You're supposed to say it one thousand five hundred."
"You can say it either way." Artie retorted quickly and defensively.
"No, you can't."
"Yes, you can."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yes huh!"
"I bet you can't even count to one thousand." I challenged.
Silence.
I turned around and Artie was standing there, scowling.
"Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleven" He just kept going and going so I turned around and continued on.
I started to hear a babbling sound and I sped up, excited to prove myself correct. I crested the hill and there it was, the creek that flowed from the river in town through the park that Artie and I always went to. I knew it would be there. Unfortunately, only a sliver of the creak was even wet. I was hoping to go swimming but it didn't look like that was happening anywhere close by. I didn't want to go too far up or down the creek. All I really knew how to do was follow the compass directly north or south. Looks like we were hanging out in the mud and rocks for the day.
A red-faced Artie finally came over the hill, huffing and puffing. He pushed his glasses up his nose and shot me a glare.
"I don't think it was worth it." He said vehemently. I could tell he was really trying to say something mean and was completely oblivious to how polite he still sounded.
We climbed some trees, tried to skip some rocks, built a dam, broke down the dam, hunted for crayfish. Everything we could think of to do in the wilderness, we did. We were walking along the bank searching for salamanders when I found a huge fallen tree that spanned all the way across the creek bed. My immediate instinct was to climb. I had just reached the top as Artie came around the bend.
"Come across with me!" I called from the top of the log, a solid eight feet above Artie.
"We're going to fall!" Artie... Such a worrywart. But he said we, not you.
"No, we won't. It's big enough, just come up here already."
Artie scrambled up the end of the log as I started making my way across. I was doing just fine, no problems. I had gotten to the highest point of the log, maybe ten or twelve feet off of the ground, and was congratulating myself on my courage and bravery. But then I heard Artie's feet scuffle frantically against the log. I suddenly turned, thinking he was falling off, and my foot caught the base of a branch. I went down.
Everything happened in slow motion. Artie reached out toward me to try to pull me back up but I was out of reach. As I fell I watched him flap his arms, rebalancing himself just barely. I tried to land on my feet and I kind of succeeded, but my feet slid out from underneath me on the wet rocks. The creek bed was unforgiving as my weight hit the ground hard. For a second I felt nothing. My vision went blurry and white, and the wind was violently knocked out of me. I gasped desperately for a moment, then pain sank in, and fire lanced through my foot. I looked down. My foot was hanging limp from my ankle.
I screamed.
"Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh..." Artie was anxiously muttering to himself as he rushed back across and then down the log.
Suddenly he entered my vision, crouching over me with a stricken look on his face.
"Miles, oh my gosh. Are you okay? Oh my gosh. What are we gonna do." Tears were welling in his eyes and his entire body was shaking.
I could feel hot tears streaming down my face and I was sobbing helplessly. Still, I was cognizant of the fact that my reaction was not helping Artie any. He was going to have to calm down if we were going to figure this out.
"Artie, it's okay. I'll be fine." It hurt so badly to eek the words out, but I needed to say something to get Artie to relax.
I could tell he wanted to believe me as he tried to ground himself by looking into my eyes. But then he risked a look at my ankle, and he suddenly spun around heaving.
I tried to sit up and a scream tore out of me before I could even attempt to hold it in. Artie covered his ears. I fell flat again to the ground and more sobs came out.
Suddenly, Artie was back at my side.
"Okay, okay, okay. Where is hurt?"
"Foot. Head. Chest."
"Okay, can you get up?"
It was a mission, but I did it. Artie had to support most of my weight but I got to my feet. Or should I say got to my foot? I hobbled and pain coursed through my leg in waves. I felt each pulse of my heart pounding through my foot, and distantly I heard myself whimper as if I was an outside observer. Artie pulled my arm around his shoulders and slowly we made our way out of the creek and back toward our bikes. It took two hours to get back to the trail and I don't really remember much of it. I just remember Artie's voice in my ear reassuring me, telling me that I can make it and that we'd be home soon. I remember almost falling multiple times, and I was so sure I was about to tumble onto my bad foot, when suddenly Artie grabbed me and righted me again. I think I might have lost consciousness after that. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital, my leg in a sling and my torso wrapped tightly. Artie was sleeping sitting in a chair next to the mattress, his head resting on my leg
********
I dream about that day a lot, I have since it happened. My brain has held onto that day my whole life. Most of the time, it was the good parts I'd dream about. Just glimpses, a moment of us skipping rocks, or catching minnows. Sometimes though, on nights like last night, my brain makes me relive the horribly painful moments. While I didn't feel the physical pain of that day, the emotions that I had done a decent job of quelling would resurface. I'd wake up sweaty, anxious, and afraid. I was stupid and I would have just as easily gone alone if Artie wasn't looking out for me. On the way back to the trail I remember just giving up and letting myself drop, ready to curl up in a ball and cry. But there Artie was to keep me on my good foot, determined to get me to safety. For years I've woken up thinking about how Artie helped me that day. Normally after having a dream like that, I'd lay in bed wondering what Artie was doing. I'd wonder if he ever thought about me too. This time though I didn't have to wonder, I could feel his soft puffs of breath on my chest. I think when I woke up that morning, that was the moment it truly sank in how miraculous it was to have him back. I fell back to sleep holding him tightly to my side.
The next time I woke up the morning after the party my head was foggy as fuck. My brain felt like it was filled with cotton balls and focusing on any one thing too hard made my stomach roil. I knew I had to get up, hydrate, and eat some food but the idea of righting my body into a sitting position sounded like self-harm to me. Fucking jungle juice. I just lay there for a while, refusing to intake any information and remaining in the limbo between wakefulness and sleep. One thing was helping though: Artie. His solidness against my side felt like a heated, weighted blanket. Mentally and physically. I curled my arm tighter around him trying to absorb as much comfort as possible. I disturbed his sleep and he softly rubbed his nose on my pec before settling back in. I would periodically catch a whiff of the alcohol I had spilled all over my shirt and it would almost make me gag, but then Artie's faint scent would come through and my stomach would settle again. He smelled really fucking nice, like a hike in the woods.
He felt good too. I was laying on my back with my arm around him and he was nestled snugly into the crook. My hand, which was on his lower back, was making direct contact with the skin his ridden-up shirt revealed. It was so smooth. I had a dense patch of hair right on that spot on my back and I was fascinated by his smoothness. My fingers drifted back and forth, softly brushing across his skin. He squirmed and puffed some air out of his nose. I stopped bothering him and laid my hand flat, quickly falling back to sleep.
The third time I woke up that morning Artie's upper body was completely over mine and his head was resting on my chest like it was a pillow. There was a small wet spot on my shirt in front of Artie's mouth.
Nice.
I delicately grabbed my phone off the windowsill and took a long burst of pictures for blackmail. My head was pounding and movement was only making it worse, but it was either that or continue being drooled on. I removed Artie from my personal space and slowly got to my feet. I wobbled. What did I need to do? Food. Water. Shower. I groggily got my shit together and fumbled down the hall to the bathroom using the wall as support.
I stood in the shower letting it wash over me for way too long. I usually try not to waste water but fuck did I need that. I felt so much better by the end, and I turned it cold at the last second to really wake my ass up. I brushed my teeth cautiously, careful not to brush too far back on my tongue. I always puke so easy the morning after a night of drinking. A couple of times I accidentally made myself gag but I prevented the worst.
A solid thirty minutes later Artie hadn't moved an inch from where I placed him. I got dressed and downed every ounce of water I could find around the room. I needed carbs bad but the idea of sitting in the packed dining hall with the dishes clanging and the loud ass conversations was making my head throb. Fuck the dining hall for not letting us carry out. What the hell is up with that shit. I pulled up Lucy's website to place an order. I can make it there and back, I know I can. I grabbed my noise-canceling headphones and my sunglasses to insulate myself from any and all stimuli.
I made it there and back in record time, just trying to get home and lay my ass in bed. I prepped Artie's food how he liked it and the smell woke him up more effectively than I ever could. He was up in like five seconds flat, rubbing his eyes and searching for his glasses. Once he became conscious enough to realize what was happening he shook his head.
