Sharing the Steps

Sierra City. I was so close to Los Angeles, so close to seeing my mom after so long. I had never planned to end up in this town, if you could even call it that. But that’s where my last ride ended, and so it’s my place for now.

I fish out one of the last dollars from my pocket to get a Butterfinger from the only store in town, actually the only building in town other than a decrepit looking post office. I’m eating the bar slowly out on the steps in front of the store when a woman (I think it’s a woman?) walks up. She’s wearing a baggy, crusty-looking Bob Marley t-shirt, her blonde hair is stringy and matted, and her legs are toned and covered with dirt. She gives me a cursory glance as she marches past into the convenience store with determination.

A few minutes later she returns with three bags of chips and two bottles of pink Snapple lemonade and sits on the steps next to me. We sit in silence as she devours two of the bags of chips and downs a bottle of Snapple within seconds. Then she turns to me and says,

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I respond.

“Does my voice sound weird? It feels weird. I haven’t used it for days. It’s really nice to talk to a real person.”

“Glad I could be of help.”

The woman started taking off her brown boots and tenderly rolled off her socks. She winced as she examined feet that were turning purple and blue. It looked like one of her toe-nails was falling off.

“What happened to you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

 “I’m hiking. I’m doing the whole PCT.” She sounded surprised to hear those words come from her mouth.

“By yourself? Why? Sorry, just never seen a…lady do what you do.”

“I guess I’m out to find myself. I think that’s something you have to do alone.”

Ah. Another one of those white people out to “find themselves”, bored with their comfortable suburban lives. I turned back to my Butterfinger.

She began again, “I guess, I guess I knew it had to happen when my mom died. Nothing worse could happen to me after that.”

I stopped mid-bite. She looked only six or so years older than me. I couldn’t imagine my mother dying. I might not even know my mom anymore, but she was the end of my trip, the destination, the promised home. I felt dizzy for a second, like something had shifted under me.

She looked at my paling face knowingly. “Yeah. It’s a bit like having the ground ripped out from underneath you. But sometimes that just means you have to keep walking, in the hopes of finding new ground to walk on.”