The First Time

Well, I've been injured much of the past few weeks, so I thought I'd give you guys something to read. Sorry for the delay, but I can't write much about climbing when I'm strapped into a boot that's meant to keep my ankle from twisting. I am hoping to get out this weekend if only to remember what rock feels like again. In the meantime, here is a short fiction story that I wrote last week...

He looked to the top of the dome and said, "Wow." It stood so tall and grand, and its wildness excited him. The granite was hard and grey and pink in spots, but mostly it was grey. It was cool to the touch in the shade and his fingertips dragged across the rough bumps through the warm sun and back to the shade again as he walked along the base. There was a wide, arching flake that spit off from the middle to the left and it rounded into a ledge where the gap narrowed two hundred feet off the deck. He wanted to climb to the ledge not because he could see the whole valley from the top, but because it looked so climbable; it looked easy and pure and safe and fun.

I remember watching him that first day. He'd never climbed before and yet felt the allure, and I felt that he felt it. He looked at me and asked, "Can I go up?" "Sure," I said and went back to the car for the gear.

When I got back he was already thirty feet up. His legs were stiff against the dome and his back pressed against the flake. He moved up the empty space perfectly, as if he'd done this a thousand times before and knew every move, every rest, and every grain of friction. An offwidth for me was a chimney for him, but I knew it would turn to an offwidth for him before he reached the top. His mother would kill me if she knew I had let him climb this without gear, and I was startled when I first saw him so high. But then I saw how he loved it and how free and graceful he looked from below. I tossed the rope around my back, put on my harness, clipped his to mine and stepped up.

He saw me climbing behind him and he waited a while. It wasn't long before I caught up to him. The climbing was harder here. He was still in the chimney, but now his knees replaced his feet and the rough rock made his knees bleed through his jeans.

I stayed below him, but I was close enough to talk him through the narrow section. Then we came to the narrowest part where the crack suddenly pinched down to nothing, and I thought he'd be stumped just ten feet from the ledge. There was a small ledge I knew he could climb to and I wanted him to go there to put on his harness. But without looking he said to me, "Papa, look at this." I looked up and saw him swing his legs out from the chimney to above the land below us. There was my son, thirteen years old and his feet and legs were flying away from the rock and his body only connected to the flake by the fingers on his hand that wrapped over a ledge and, after he'd had his fun, they pulled him back into the rock into a solid stance on the face below the larger ledge.

My heart skipped a beat and I shouted, "Be careful!" and he was. He recomposed himself, looked around, and stepped up to higher ground. Within seconds he was standing on the ledge and watching his old man top out.

We sat there on the ledge a long time watching the trees below us sway in the wind. It was fun to be above the birds.

We moved on when it was time. I got him into his harness and we simul-rapped to the ground with ease. He loved the exposure. While he was careful to listen to me and pay attention to what I told him, he bounced joyfully in the air while he let the rope slip through his fingers and his belay device. The wind pushed our hair around during the descent, and it was fresh and we were free, together, and happy.

I contemplated telling him to not tell his mother, but I was so impressed with him that day that I decided to see what else he had in him.

When we got him his mother asked, "how was it?"

"It was great, Mom. We climbed to the top and then we rappelled down." He went to his room and I kissed my wife, thankful for the day he and I had and grateful that there would be more to come.

A Climber's Taunt - The Legend of Tiara Girl

One day; a day when the crowds were thin at the famed Metro Rock climbing gym in Everett, Massachusetts; a lazy Sunday when the clouds were low over the sky and the wind chill dipped below thirty degrees in January; a day when no member of the MassClimbers climbing group felt the need to risk life and limb by scaling the most difficult routes in the gym, a birthday was held. And who could the honor of such an annual event be bestowed upon but a little girl, no older than five or six, sporting a chest harness, tiny climbing shoes that would make anyone swoon at the thought of once being young, a pink tutu and a fake diamond-encrusted tiara.

In a climbing gym she was, but climb she did not. Having tested herself on many of the challenging and, due to her appropriate size for her age, low-hanging bouldering problems, she found the only way to truly challenge and exhaust herself was to run around in circles being chased, nay followed, by her gang of squealing admirers. They found in thier excitement the joy of leaping face-first onto the soft, blue mats and the pleasure of swinging freely on the ropes that were not being used to challenge lesser people; those whom she laughed at as they attempted, ungracefully, to layback on a hold that was clearly meant to be used as a mantle.

The passive-aggressive little bitch that she was, she snidely ignored the climbers' grunts, pants and screams by brushing past the belayor's legs, letting him or her know that, despite her indifference, they were still in her presence and should not forget her due dominance of the air that we breathed and the playful voices that we heard. And somewhere, somewhere in the cruel state of denial, where the holds were as valuable as foreign letters and the steepness of the slope that she would walk up (without a rope) pulled back with all of Einstein's theories of gravity in full use, was a ghostly voice emenating from both Hell below and Heaven above taunting, "COME ON YOU PUSS! I DID THAT IN LESS THAN TEN SECONDS, WITH MY EYES CLOSED, ONE HAND TIED TO THE OPPOSITE ANKLE, A BUCKET OF HOT TAR BEING DUMPED OVER ME FROM THE TOP AND AN ARMY OF SPEARMEN HURLING THIER LONG, SHARP WEAPONS AT MY HEEL." We'd look around and see nothing; not a single sign of a humanly presence that could have possibly said such things. We'd look again, our belayor's wondering what was wrong with us, why our fright-stricken, white faces looked so perplexed. And just as we'd get ready to turn our focus back on the climb, off in the distance, a sound would be heard, a sound of a giggling girl in a pink tutu and a tiara taunting us every move therefore after.

Missing Out - Part II - Fiction from the MetroRock Newsletter

From the end of Part I (click here to read Part I first!)

She turned back toward the route and John thought, Hey, not only does she climb, but we share something in common too. Everything seemed to be falling into place, even though he didn't plan anything. Cassandra dumped him three weeks ago and he was given a few weeks to compose himself and move on. He hadn't tried to talk to Angel at all, yet there she was preparing to climb above his belay. Even when they first locked eyes, John thought it was nothing more than an awkward moment. He wasn't looking for romance, but it seemed to have found him anyway. The fact that her name was "Angel" was starting to sit well with him too. Maybe it is divine intervention. Maybe this was meant to be after all. Before she jumped on the first hand holds, she began to sing the opening lyrics to the song:

"Go, go, go,

Go, go, go - Push him away!

No, no, no,

No, no, no - Don't let him stay!"


Start of Part II

Before John could even begin to enjoy watching her climb, he heard the clank of the top anchors clip shut and saw her hanging from the top waiting for him to take the rope. When her feet touched back down on the ground, he looked at her and said, "That was quick."

"Thanks," she said as she untied her rope. Her breath was heavier than before, and she seemed to be warmed up now, maybe even ready to jump on harder climbs. I guess I have to get on the same page now, he thought and nervously tied in. He scoped out the route with his hands, as Angel had before him, grasping the invisible holds above. Angel warned him about a sloper just above the roof. "It's OK from below, but it loses it's effectiveness once you get high on it. I think you'll have to get your feet up first to get past it."

"What's the one above it like?"

"Good," she said. "Not great, but good."

Just as John was about to start up the route, a loud “HELLO” shouted across the gym. He looked up and saw a tall, thin, tanned man walking toward Angel with his arms outstretched, apparently waiting for a hug. She smiled, turned to her friend and gave him a strong, longing squeeze followed by a peck on the cheek.

“How are ya babe?” he asked as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Fine, and you?”

“Just jolly. You ready to climb?”

“I am, but I have a partner right now. Are you ready to climb?”

“Not yet, babe,” he said and turned to John. He extended his hand and asked with a huge smile, “And who is this?”

“John,” John said shaking his hand. “John Knowles, and you?”

“Phineas Costello,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

Phineas Costello? Interesting name. “Are you going to join us?” John asked. He hoped Angel and Phineas were just friends, close enough to share “European” kisses on the cheek but not much more.

“Join? This is my girl,” Phineas said, again walking up to Angel and hugging her. “You’re joining us.”

“Phineas,” Angel said, “stop. Be nice. We can climb together.”

“Yes we can my angel, but I need to stretch first, and drink some water, and use the bathroom, stink up the place –”

“OK,” Angel said as she pushed him away. “We got the point. Go get ready.”

Phineas walked away with a bounce in his step that suggested he enjoyed being provincial around Angel. He acted as if he knew she was his girlfriend, and that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. John was disappointed, however. Up until that moment he had harbored strong feelings that this was the right time to jump back into the game. Everything seemed to fit together so perfectly: her name, her timing, her mannerisms and ability to show believable, kind support, things that Cassandra rarely exhibited. Almost instantly, his nervousness was swept away by a fierce wave of competitiveness, but it wasn’t aimed at Angel at all. Instead, it was aimed at both Phineas and Cassandra at the same time. For Cassandra, he wanted to prove he could overcome setbacks such as this. He was foolish to have thought this would be easy, that someone would walk into his life and sweep him off his feet without him going through the lengthy pains of a breakup. He should have known better, but that only deepened his resolve to not give up. Angel was nice, pretty and desirable. She wasn’t unworthy of his wooing, and he wanted her to know that.

For Phineas, well, John had always had a chip on his shoulder regarding larger-than-life figures. He wanted to be the star himself, but at the same time he never had the capability of holding on to such high ground. There were times when he had everything going at a party, when he had all the great stories, good jokes and one-line zingers that sent crowds of people into fits of laughter. But he always felt lonely at the same time, as if everyone expected him to lead the way, offering no support or advice from below. And when he disappointed, when his jokes ran out, people typically shunned him. But for people like Phineas, they got away with failure all the time. There was something about them that made everyone want to give people like him a free pass. It was as if talent had no expectations, but expectations were high for the untalented like John. In short, he simply couldn’t handle being that guy, and he envied those who could. Not only was Phineas one of those guys, but he was also Angel’s boyfriend, and that generated a roar inside John more vicious than the one he had when he first saw Cassandra climbing with her new beau.

“You ready?” he asked as he grasped the first two holds.

“Belay is on,” she said. “Good luck.”

Luck will have nothing to do with it, he thought as he powered his way through the start move into a tiny crimp hold that nearly sapped all of John’s forearm strength. He held on, however, and swung his feet up to the original starting hand-holds before standing up in a no-hands rest.

“Nice move,” Angel said from below. “I could never do that.”
Maybe I’ve got something to show her after all. The next section was short but steep, as a small roof protruded from the flat wall over his head. A series of underclings awaited him, and then there was the sloper she warned him about prior to his starting the climb. He grasped the first undercling with his left hand and shifted his feet higher to better utilize the angle of the hold. It was a stiff move, but he shot through it feeling strong for the first time that day. The second undercling was not as difficult because the feet were better, but the third and final one, the one leading to the sloper, required a shift in balance that John was not expecting. He stood up and grabbed the third undercling with his left hand, felt around for the best angle and decided it was too difficult for him to continue without scouting it first. He wanted to be able to switch hands on the second undercling because he felt the third one would work better with his right hand.

“Take,” he said as he began to lower his body off the hold.

“Uh, John,” Angel said, “you didn’t clip the first clip. Sorry, I thought you were going to before you went into the next hold.”

What?!?!? Jesus! His feet were now a solid seven feet above the floor, and his head and back were angled in such a way that if he fell he was certain to land on his back if he couldn’t get his feet under him first. Sweat formed again on his right palm, which was still holding the second undercling, the one he was going to have to retreat to if he wanted to clip.

“If you want to bail,” Angel said, “I’ll spot you.”

There was no way he was going to bail. Not when he heard Phineas walk back up to Angel and ask, “What’s his problem?”

John slowly lowered himself from the third undercling to the second where he shook out his hands, switched a couple of times to chalk up and then clipped the first clip. He was tired, his arms were pumped and he could feel his leg begin to shake underneath him.

“I’ve got you now,” Angel said as she pulled the rope tight. John nearly let go to rest until he heard Phineas say to Angel, “Is he really going to rest on the first clip of a 5.10?”

All at once, his rage ignited a fire in his chest and he threw himself into the third undercling, let his body barn-door and slapped his hand on the sloper above the roof. After clipping the second clip, he remembered Angel’s warning about having to get his feet up before moving past the sloper, but he ignored her. He was going to do this his way, to show Phineas, at the very least, he was his own man, capable of climbing a stiff route and being a threat to his relationship with Angel at the same time. It was a powerful move that required him to turn a two-handed mantle with solid feet into a one-handed mantle with no feet below him. The next hold was another crimp, similar to the one at the start, and he tucked his fingertips behind the tiny edge as he matched his right foot to his hand on the sloper. He stood up and clipped the third clip.

“Wow,” Angel said from below. “That was a really nice move.”

“Wasted some energy there,” Phineas said, “but you did it.”

“I had to get my feet up,” Angel said to Phineas.

“I can see that being the right move,” Phineas said.

It was amazing to John how tired and energized he felt at the same time. He wasn’t sure how long he would last if he held the crimp forever, but it seemed as if he could hold it for a long time. His fingers, shoulders and legs were tired and he had broken out into a sweat. But his heart was calm now, not racing as it was earlier. His head was clear of distractions, and his only goal was to show up Phineas and make him feel inadequate. The next five moves to through the fourth clip and to the top were slow and easy, and John crept up them without any annoying comments from below. When he was finally back on the ground, Angel congratulated him yet again on another solid climb. This time, however, there was a level of excitement in her voice, and her face suggested she was truly excited to see him succeed so well. Gone were the polite pick-me-ups from before, and John felt as if he had finally broken through to her. Phineas seemed less thrilled, and offered to belay Angel before John even had a chance to untie the rope.

“I have to wait for the rope,” she said with a half-giggle in her voice. It was clear she was amused by his territorialism, but was also telling him to be kind at the same time.

“Top rope something,” he said. “Over here, there’s a new eleven just put up last night. I’ll lead it after you top it.”

“Don’t you want to climb something?” she asked.

“Nope, I’ll belay you,” he said. “He can belay me on lead when you’re done.” She looked at John and he said he’d bring the rope over once he finished untying. Angel and Phineas then walked around the corner, out of sight from where John was resting, and John flopped down on his back, letting his arms fall out to his side as he tried to catch his breath. It was clear to John that Phineas wanted John to watch him climb a difficult route, more difficult that the one John had just come off of. There was no other reason why Phineas would be so adamant about wanting John to belay to him. John smiled. He figured Phineas also wanted to belay Angel so he could hold her and be her protector. It made John wonder if women saw these games that men played, if it was obvious to her what Phineas was saying.

Despite not being able to see them, he could hear Phineas’ deep voice teasing Angel, and her responsive shrieks of laughter. It was going to take a lot more than a stiff 5.10 to win her over. Phineas clearly had her heart entrapped, and John knew he was going to have to find a way to get him out of the picture. As he untied, he realized he had stopped thinking about Cassandra and had moved on to Angel. It might have been the adrenaline, but he also felt there was a separate peace inside of him. He wasn’t sure if it was acceptable to have moved on so quickly, or even if he had moved on. Certainly, Angel had captured his heart, but he also knew Cassandra could come stabbing back at any moment, making him feel lost and guilty at the same time. In one direction there was pain and in another there was hope. It was as if he was driving east at daybreak. It was still dark in his rearview mirror, but the sun was rising in front and he looked forward to the new day.

When he finally made it over to where Phineas and Angel were climbing, she was just coming down and was noticeably tired. She explained it was a tough route, but was happy she had done it cleanly the first time. Phineas was up and, without a word, grabbed one end of the rope and tied in. John looped his end through his belay device and nodded to Phineas to suggest he was ready. Phineas turned to scope out the route. His back was to John and he seemed to be muttering something John could not hear.

“What’s that?” he asked Phineas.

Without turning around, Phineas pointed to midway up the route and said, “Don’t short rope me there. I’ll need the slack to get up.” He then placed his body into the start move and began to climb the first section. John noticed he wasn’t as graceful as Angel was, but he was strong and powered through a series of laybacks and mantles with ease. He clipped the first clip with some difficulty, as he had a hard time staying in a locked, dead-arm position, but that moment was short-lived. The next three moves were completed with refined power; no grunts or heavy breathing but it was clear his core was stiff as he squeezed each crimp on his way up. He clipped the second clip from a jug and rested in a solid, dead-arm position.

John looked above Phineas at the area where he pointed to before climbing. There was the jug he was holding on to, then what looked like a half-moon off to his right. Above that there was nothing for several feet until John’s rested his eyes on a tiny foothold below a much larger jug of some sort. He couldn’t tell how positive the jug was, but he figured the move from the half-moon to the jug was going to be a big one, and if Phineas didn’t make it, there was a chance he could deck out if John had too much rope out.

“How did you get through this?” John asked Angel.

“I had to dyno through it,” she said. “But I’m shorter and I wasn’t on lead. This would be scary for me.”

Phineas breathed out three quick, heavy breaths before he grabbed ahold of the half-moon. It was obvious he was in a spot that was more stringent than any of the other areas at the start of the climb. John gave him slack, not knowing if Phineas was going to dyno from the start. Instead, Phineas started to power his way through the half-moon slowly. He wasn’t going to dyno at first, instead he was going to try to mantle up to the jug. But that didn’t work out, so he retreated to below the half-moon and chalked up. He went for the same move a second time, this time getting a little higher than before. But it still wasn’t enough and he retreated again. The third time he went up, he was able to just get his fingertip on the foothold below the jug. Phineas was now in a position where down climbing was not going to be as easy as it was the first two times. His entire body weight was leveraged on his right hand, which was in a stiff-arm mantle, and his balance depended on him holding himself by the fingertip on the foothold. His right arm started to shake under the weight of his body and John took in a little bit of rope just to make sure Phineas didn’t deck out if he fell. Slowly, Phineas’ finger wrapped itself higher up the foothold. He was getting a better grip each time he repositioned his finger, but at the same time, John thought his core was giving out and that he was going to fall at any moment. It was a tense situation for John. One the one hand, he didn’t want to drop the guy, but on the other hand, he desperately wanted him to fall. Seeing the difference in Angel’s facial expressions between when he successfully climbed his 5.10 and Phineas falling on this 5.11 was going to be worth it. It didn’t matter that Phineas was on a harder route. There was no doubt he was a better athlete than John was. But joy and happiness rarely come from failure, regardless of difficulty, and John understood he’d have the leg up on Angel’s admiration if Phineas fell. Seeing Phineas was about to fall, John took in more rope, but just as he did so, Phineas gained enough grip on the foothold to propel himself up toward the jug.

Unfortunately, John had taken in too much rope, and as the rope went tight Phineas’ hand went searching for the jug that was now just out of his reach. He hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to John, his suspension framed by the chimney-shaped walls below him. John prepared to jump in the air to give Phineas a soft landing, but as he did the rope fell slack again, confusing John as he slipped to the ground. He looked up, first seeing Angel’s hurt eyes and then blood dripping down from Phineas’ head. He had apparently hit his head on a nearby hold on the way down, and there was blood all over the wall. John quickly lowered him, and Angel rushed to see if he was OK. Phineas was dazed, but responsive. He didn’t look at John, only at Angel who was pushing apart his hair to see how bad the cut was. Other people ran to Phineas’ aid, including one of the gym’s managers, Gene Snively. Gene asked Phineas a series of questions to see if he was alright and then helped him to walk to the door. John stood below the route with the rope still in his belay device. He watched Angel place a towel over Phineas’ bloody head before they walked out the door. He wondered if he would see either of them again.

Gene then walked over to John, shaking his head as he approached. When he did, he asked if the rope belonged to him or Angel. John said it was Angel’s, and as Gene took the rope from John and started to walk outside to return it, he looked back at John and asked, “Was he short-roped or did you pull him?”

Note from the Author - Partial credit deserves to go to a favorite author of mine who wrote one of the most influential books I ever read. Kudos to the the first reader to guess the book and author that inspired this story.

I'm Getting Anxious

The weather is cold, but the blood is boiling...

Spring is here in spirit.
A tamed groan rises inside.
It's a rumbling cradled with love.
And as the breath dries up from sight,
A feral rage ignites.
Tis sweaty palms and chalk and balls
That dominate the fight.
I'll feel you soon of glacial might,
And lava crusted jewels.
Tw'ar my guide of sense and light.
My sanity rests with you.

Missing Out - PART I - Fiction From the MetroRock Newsletter

John sat on the spongy floor to stretch. He tried not looking around to see who was climbing, but he couldn't help glancing wherever his eyes took him. It was the first time he was going climbing without Cassandra in three years, and the first time he had climbed at all since he found out three weeks ago she had been dating another climber from the gym. He peered out of the corners and tops of his eyes, scanning, hopefully seeing no one he thought would be important enough to his social life to actually talk to. There were people he recognized, of course, but most were regulars he didn't know well who were bouldering near where he stretched. He knew the names of only a handful at best. He was relieved to be alone for just those first few minutes.

Tucking the bottom of his left foot against his straightened right knee, he leaned forward and pulled the toes on his right foot backward. He was tight, and was sure that had more to do with being stressed and tense than it did with a lack of stretching. Since he found out that Cassandra had been cheating on him, he felt like he had been sleepwalking. Everything around him became a slow blur; unfocused when he tried to concentrate. His boss noted his lack of attention and twice he exploded in meetings where he felt as if he was being attacked. A scream erupted from within his chest as he stretched. Thankfully, It was held back by a combination of the lump in his throat, a hardened chin, and his gritted teeth. What am I doing here? he wondered. Despite wanting to be alone, actually climbing alone was something he never considered. There were several friends of his who often climbed alone and enjoyed the solitude, but John preferred the company, the help he could get from his belayor below him and the camaraderie. He and his friends were constantly tossing barbs and cheers at each other. Cassandra was both his biggest supporter and toughest critic. While he understood that climbing was ultimately a solitary sport - his own courage against nature's impossibilities, all played out in his mind and no one else's - there was also safety in numbers. Without Cassandra, John felt that his climbing grades would fall precipitously until he found someone to catch him, and hoist him back up again.

He took a long time to stretch: twenty minutes beyond his normal five to ten minutes. He wanted to make sure that he was ready, completely flexible to take on whatever the world was about to throw at him. He had quite a shock when Cassandra told him it wasn't just a fling -

"It's pretty serious now," she said.

"How long?" John asked.

"Three months, or so. I like him, and I think I'm going to go with him from this point on. I'm sorry."

What if she shows up? What am I going to do? How am I going to react? he asked himself over and over again. These were questions he should have answered before showing up, but he came to the gym that day partially to find the answers at the same time. It’s sink or swim time now. He figured that climbing the past three weeks had been easy on Cassandra without him at the gym to bother her. All she had to do was show up, look around, be relieved that he wasn’t there and enjoy herself. His absence gave her all the room that she would need to completely move on, or at least that is what he hoped. I don't need drama when I'm trying to move on myself. Still, tightness had formed in his throat when he left his apartment to come to the gym. He desperately wanted to see her, but only as his flame, not someone else's.

Finally, he took a deep breath and sighed, slowly, anticipating the worst, before looking up and around him. There was no sign of Cassandra just yet, and that made him feel a little better. At least she's extending me the same courtesy of not showing up, he thought and breathed a sigh of relief this time. She wasn't there when he wanted to climb and he wasn't there when she wanted to climb. Not only was it convenient, but it was typical of their relationship. There was no question they cared deeply for each other, maybe even loved each other, but they were always too wrapped up in their own worlds to make accommodations when the other needed support. When he didn't see her at the gym, it was more than a matter of consequence to him; it was about respect, breathing room, trust, courage – Argghh!!! Keeping his emotions in was proving difficult. Every little thought triggered another thought, and then another. After a while, he resigned to believing that he couldn't single out one element. It's was about everything. The problem was figuring out which thoughts were priorities that had to be dealt with, and which ones were born from pettiness and anger.

“Wow,” he said to himself, “the hurt never changes. It's just as confusing today as it was ten years ago.”

No matter how many times he’d been through this, from his first high school crush, to the various college encounters, workplace romances and his recently finished five-year relationship with Cassandra, he always felt the same, as if he wanted to scream, shout, run around with his arms flailing, punch walls, hit people – whatever it took to take away the pain. He felt his chest tighten, even as he stretched it, and his eyes bounced around from one object to the next, never staying focused long enough to make out who or what he was looking at out fear that, when he did rest his eyes, he'd be staring at Cassandra, maybe even longingly, to her discomfort. Eventually, however, he did lock eyes with a blue-eyed, blond girl who was also stretching nearby in a long-sleeved, dark, green shirt and a yellow headband. John had seen her before and thought she was attractive, but he had never spoken to her let alone lock eyes. There was never any need to because he was always firmly attached to Cassandra and his or her friends. She smiled, and he returned the smile thinking that it was just an awkward moment that she diplomatically diffused by not being rude.

"OK," he said to himself as he stood up. "What am I going to do?" He honestly had never climbed alone before, but that didn't mean there weren't opportunities to do so. There was always bouldering. If he did that, all he needed to do was stand up and start climbing. If he fell, there were always plenty of mats to fall on. That's what bouldering is, he thought, climbing for people who don't like heights, don't have gear, prefer power to grace, or don't have many friends. It sounded like the perfect activity for him until he saw that he was wrong on the last point. To his surprise, few boulderers were actually climbing alone. Most were spotting other climbers or, at the very least, cheering them on as they grunted their way up the short, powerful routes. While he knew there was a strong likelihood that no one would ask him where Cassandra was, he didn't feel like talking about it to anyone. All he wanted to do was get the lump out of his throat and the pain off his chest. He never really liked bouldering anyway, mainly because it required a combination of strength and dynamic moves that caused his joints to snap back painfully. He had tried it several times before, and each time ended up hurt, straining a muscle or aggravating a nerve, usually in his elbow or just below his neck. His friends who bouldered called him weak, but his head didn’t work like theirs did. He needed to conquer the fear of falling to make him feel like a man. Strength was never his strong suit.

He browsed over the bouldering routes in front of him anyway, studying the various grades and he gritted his teeth. The easiest bouldering grades were usually the equivalent of moderate roped grades. He never even started his days on the moderate grades; preferring instead to ease into his sessions by warming up on the easiest routes in the gym. Because of this, he ruled bouldering out, at least for the time being. I might have to come back if nothing else works out, he thought. He shrugged his shoulders and looked toward the roped climbs.

"Excuse me," a voice said to John. He turned around and saw the girl with the yellow headband trying to squeeze past him toward one of the easy bouldering routes. He apologized and stepped aside to let her through, watching her as she sat down on the ground and grasped the two starting holds with each hand. She placed her feet solidly on the jibs and, in one single motion, she stood up and reached across her body with her right hand to the next hold above her. She then brought her left foot across her knees and gracefully turned a barn-door into a move up to the next hold. Four more moves of similar elegance brought her to the finish, where she brought her feet up into a squat and walked off the top.

When she disappeared over the railing above the boulder, John took a closer look at the roped area, this time paying attention to what he saw. Still no Cassandra. He was feeling better now; more confident that maybe she wasn't going to show up after all. He knew that there was still a chance that she could be climbing around the corner where he couldn't see her, but he was OK with that. I can always climb where she can't see me. He smiled until he realized he still didn’t have a climbing partner. Seeing the girl in the yellow headband gracefully work her way up the bouldering route made him think about traversing instead of bouldering. Traversing, to him, was different than bouldering because there was significantly less impact on the joints. Sure, it was pumpy and required strength, but the required-strength was more based on a sustained diligence, an ability to maintain a hold, cross over, lay back and shift one’s weight to better work with the angle of the holds and the wall. Sustained climbing sounded good to him, but if Cassandra was climbing in the gym then he’d certainly come across her as he made his way past every single route. It would be lame to be traversing and, all of a sudden, see her, get off the wall and walk away to another part of the gym to finish his workout. I have to be my own man at some point, he thought. Because he wasn’t sure about his emotional stability, he passed on traversing and turned toward the cork board behind him.

Attached to the cork was a whiteboard with a dry-erase marker dangling by a piece of black tape. There were three names already written there, but John figured that, because most of the time people from the previous day didn’t erase their names when they found a partner, the names on the board wouldn't be relevant to him. He paid no attention to the names already on the board, and wrote his own (John), the time he showed up (3pm) and his identifiable clothes (long-sleeved, navy fleece). After he wrote his name, he read the others names for kicks, and looked around to see if anyone fitting the descriptions was climbing.

Name one: Barry – six o’clock – black shirt. Obviously yesterday considering it’s only three o’clock now. Besides, who writes “six o’clock” on a dry-erase-board? He erased the name, not caring if Barry’s watch was wrong and he was sitting in a corner somewhere lonely, waiting for a partner or wondering why no one was talking to him.

Name two: Jackson – 10am – brown shirt, black pants, orange harness, green chalk bag, yellow shoes. Whatever. Either he’s already found a partner or he lied about what he was wearing. That name disappeared with one swipe of his forearm across the board.

Name three: Angel – 2:45 – long, green shirt, yellow headband.

"Do you need someone to climb with?" someone asked from behind. Great, he thought, I'm going to be saved by an angel today. Whoopee! He turned around, and was immediately taken aback when he saw the girl in the headband standing next to him.

"Uh, sure," he said. "Do you?"

"I'm Angel," she said as she extended her hand, apparently saying "yes" to his question.

"John," he replied as he shook her hand in return.

"Do you have a rope?" she asked.

"No, sorry."

"That's OK," she said, "I'll get mine. You can lead belay right?" He could, and nodded to her to suggest that as she walked off.

Huh, he thought. What do you know? He wondered if this was some sort of divine intervention, as if he was being told to forget about Cassandra and focus on Angel instead. Her name certainly lent itself to that ideal, but he shook head thinking that it was too soon. I can't be expected to jump back on the horse after only three weeks. My head is just playing games with me. Forget about it.

When she returned with her rope, they ventured over to a warm-up route that she picked out, a 5.7, and he belayed her as she led her way up the wall. He was impressed with her movements, each transition was so smooth, so carefully thought out just as she was on the bouldering route earlier. She clipped each draw with poise too, almost without looking, and scouted each move above her without stopping to think through the sequence. She just moved up the wall. There was no wasted energy. He felt that he was watching someone with real talent, and couldn’t wait to watch her climb the harder routes later on.

When she came down, it was his turn. He complimented her on a nice climb and tied in. But as he grabbed the first hold, an odd nervousness came over him that reminded him of the first time he had climbed with Cassandra. Despite the fact that he and Cassandra had already been together for two years, John felt as if he needed to impress her that day, to show her that he could do this despite everyone's general fears of heights and unfamiliarity with climbing in general. While John and Cassandra enjoyed climbing with each other, it became a source of competition between the two, with each trying to out-climb the other. It was always a race to see who could flash the first 5.10, then cleanly lead the first 5.11, and so on. They encouraged each other, and hoped that each would succeed. But deep down inside, John always wanted to get there first, to be one step ahead of her. He cringed as he remembered that, and realized that it was she who was one step ahead of him now. Proving himself to Angel at that moment was just as important as keeping up with Cassandra. It was the same thing in his mind. If he was going get back at Cassandra by moving on before the hurt should have subsided, he needed to impress Angel that day, and he needed to start by climbing as well.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Belayor is ready," she said.

"Climbing," he said as he pulled himself up onto the first set of holds. Easy enough, he thought as he positioned himself to make the first clip. When he grabbed the rope with his right hand, however, he felt his left palm moisten from sweat and begin to slip off the hold. As a result, he rushed the rope up to the clip and dropped it in unsteadily, trying three times to get the rope through the gate before it fell in. That was weird. He never broke out into a sweat until after his third or fourth climb of the day, - after he was well-warmed up - and he had never fallen on the first clip of a 5.7.

"Belay is on," she said from below. Great, he thought. He was convinced that she had sensed his nervousness. What a way to start out. The rest of the route went much the same: hand holds that he should have felt relaxed on were slippery under his fingers; foot holds that he should have been confident on were too slopey, small or in the wrong place. Three times he nearly dropped the rope while trying to clip. He simply could not get into a rhythm. When he finally came down, she said "nice job" to him and added that she thought he looked smooth and strong throughout. OK, he thought. What was she looking at exactly?

"Not bad for the first climb of the day," she said. "What's next, 5.8?"

"Sure," he said. She picked out the second route and it felt much the same as the first; her advancing through each move with the grace of a cat, and John struggling to find his hands and feet. Thank God I haven't needed to rest, he thought as she lowered him off the 5.8. She complimented him again, which made John feel odd. What is she seeing up there? I'm barely holding on and she thinks I'm flying up this stuff.

"How long have you been climbing?" she asked.

John was breathing heavily, so he used the fact that the knot was tight to not answer her right away. No need to let her think that I'm wasted this soon, he thought. When he finally got the knot loose enough to untie himself, he looked up and said, "Three years. That's it."

"You do well for only three years," she said. "I liked watching you climb this last route. You seem like you are really in control. Real strong."

"Thanks. So do you, by the way. Real graceful."

She blushed, and John looked away to give her a moment to regain her composure. He didn't want to embarrass her the first day they met, so he asked her if she had another route in mind just to get the embarrassment out her head.

"Sure," she said, "over here." She walked over to what John thought was a 5.10 and dropped the rope.

"I need a drink," he said. She acknowledged him by nodding her head, and turned to map out the route with her hands by grasping into the air every time she felt she had read the sequence properly. It was so casual to him, the way she moved about. Even in moments of uncertainty, she held her arms above her head in the position she imagined herself being in until she knew what to do next, and then she moved on to the next set of holds. John became nervous again. This was going to be a test for him. He knew he couldn't compete with Angel. She was simply too good. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to prove to her that he was worthy, that he was confident enough to take on challenges without letting on that something was, in fact, a challenge. It was the same when he first met Cassandra. They sat across from each other at a rapid-fire dating event, where each person sat with another for one minute, asking and answering as many questions as possible in a short period of time before moving on to the next person. He wanted her to ask all the questions so he could show her that he had all the answers. It somehow worked, albeit for only five years.

When he returned from taking his drink, a song ("Push" - by The Cure) came over the speakers that made her smile. "I love this song so much," she said as she fixed her hair into a ponytail.

"Yeah, so do I," John said. "I saw them live a couple of years ago. I never realized how talented Robert Smith is."

"I know what you mean," she said. "I never fell into that crowd when I was growing up, the "Cure" crowd; you know, the crowd who always wore black clothes with black eyeliner, white faces?"

"Oh yeah," John said. "I'm the same way. It took me years to discover them just because of that. It's funny how one holds on to stereotypes from high school. I wish I had been exposed to them earlier."

"And you know what? Before I got into them," she said, "I thought they were all about depression and suicide, but that isn't it at all. All their songs are about love. Kind of weird isn't it?"

"It is," John said. "And to think when I saw them in concert, not only was I surprised that it wasn't all about depression and suicide, but I was shocked to see Robert Smith smiling throughout the whole show. 'I'm happy!' he seemed to be saying. It was an education, I'll say that much."

She turned back toward the route and John thought, Hey, not only does she climb, but we share something in common too. Everything seemed to be falling into place, even though he didn't plan anything. Cassandra dumped him three weeks ago and he was given a few weeks to compose himself and move on. He hadn't tried to talk to Angel at all, yet there she was preparing to climb above his belay. Even when they first locked eyes, John thought it was nothing more than an awkward moment. He wasn't looking for romance, but it seemed to have found him anyway. The fact that her name was "Angel" was starting to sit well with him too. Maybe it is divine intervention. Maybe this was meant to be after all. Before she jumped on the first hand holds, she began to sing the opening lyrics to the song:

"Go, go, go,

Go, go, go - Push him away!

No, no, no,

No, no, no - Don't let him stay!"