Four Weeks Five People Page 7

  “Wow,” Ben says. He’s recovered nicely—or nicely enough to speak at least. “A hopelessly optimistic depressed person.”

  “You have to be hopelessly optimistic when you’re in a band. Otherwise, you’d just quit and go to engineering school.”

  Clarisa laughs. “Do you ever think about things that aren’t your band?”

  Well, there’s calories, I think. But that’s probably not the answer Clarisa is looking for.

  “I guess it just takes over your life,” I say. “It has to, you know? You spend years and years writing music and fighting with your band mates and changing A to Asus4 to Asus2 back to A again and releasing bad EPs and playing good shows and releasing good EPs and playing bad shows. How am I supposed to think of myself as someone outside of the band after all that?”

  “By developing a ‘healthy sense’ of ‘identity’ and ‘perspective,’” Ben replies, his fingers curling into air quotes every couple of words. “But you probably shouldn’t ask me about that. I am as trapped by the artistic impulse as you are, Andrew, perhaps more so, considering I often feel like I am straitjacketed into a tripart dramatic narrative and I cannot get out of epitasis.”

  “No one ever knows what you’re saying when you start talking like that, Ben,” I say.

  “I think I am the most normal person here,” Clarisa declares.

  “Please don’t flatter yourself, Clarisa,” Mason chimes in, and even Stella laughs.

  “If you think I’m crazy, you guys should see everyone else from New York City,” Clarisa says. “I’m high-strung, but at least I know I’m high-strung and I’m medicating. Or trying to medicate at least.”

  “New York?” I say. “Dude, I wish I was from New York.”

  Ben shoots me a skeptical look. “Andrew, you’re from Washington State. The worst you have to deal with is hipsters.”

  “Don’t tell me hipsters aren’t that bad until you’ve had to deal with music hipsters. You’ve never been forced to listen to six minutes of white noise and then been told that it’s ‘artistic.’ New York is... Well, New York is where the big record labels are.”

  “As I said. Hopeless optimist.”

  Clarisa laughs, and maybe I’m supposed to, too. But all of a sudden my stomach clenches, and I feel like I’m going to either throw up or cry. “I’m going to take a walk,” I say.

  They both look up at me. “I didn’t mean it like that, Andrew,” Ben says. “I’m not saying you guys aren’t good enough to make it or anything. I just meant—”

  “I know.” I pause for a second. I don’t know how to explain it. Wanting something so bad that it’s all you ever think about, but thinking about it hurts because of how much you want it. “I’m not, like, offended or anything like that. I just want to think for a bit.”

  I get up and walk toward the edge of the clearing, where the ledge drops off. It’s not that far a fall—probably fifteen or twenty feet. Part of me wants to jump. It’s not anything self-destructive. More of a thrill thing. Like jumping into the crowd during a show. God, the last time I did that was, what, three months ago? At Café Racer? At 115 pounds, probably. A good show, I think; people liked it a lot. We did an acoustic version of “Still” that the crowd was really into. We should probably put it on the next EP, once this whole mess is over. I don’t think the next show we played liked that acoustic as much, though, as the one at the Jewel.

  The Jewel. As soon as I’ve thought the words, memories from that night come flying back. December 10. A 700-calorie day, a sold-out show. When the lights came on and they were so bright that everything in the audience was blurry, impossible to see. When we started the set, how much energy in the crowd there was. When I realized that this was one of those shows that we were going to remember forever, that I could relive a thousand times and still not get tired of. And then The Incident happened, and everything fell apart.

  I’m “better” now, I think as we head back to The Hull later that night. But I can’t get it out of my head. I see my guitar next to my bed and think of the night at the Jewel—when we were still playing, just shattered silence and blinding lights and darkness behind us and something uncontrollable and raw in the crowd in front of us, before everything went to shit—and 700, and 2,100, and where I was then, and where I am now, and who I was then, and who I am now. Better, I think. I close my eyes as I take my shirt off and climb into bed.

  “Crazy night, huh?” Ben says. But I don’t reply, and neither does Mason. I feel bad, because we’re probably fucking up whatever weird camp screenplay he’s got going through his head, but at least he can just write a new one tomorrow. Once a show goes wrong, you don’t get it back. I run my fingers along the sides of my chest, along the ridges of my rib cage. I miss the stage, I think. I miss who I was on it.

  BEN

  EXT. HIKING TRAIL—DAY

  A classic instance of MAN VERSUS NATURE as our FIVE DISSOLUTE CAMPERS struggle to overcome exhaustion, hunger, lack of motivation, the fact that this is exactly NO ONE’S idea of a fun Monday morning activity, and so on and so forth. Clarisa leans against a tree, breathing hard, eyes closed, mouth moving silently. Andrew is GULPING DOWN water from a canteen. Despite his repeated claims otherwise, Mason is clearly exhausted. Stella, of course, is the exception—she’s standing with Josh in front of the rest of us with her arms crossed with the expression of someone who has been roped into babysitting particularly ill-behaved toddlers.

  BEN (V.O.)

  I do not feel tired.

  I mean, I look tired. I can see myself breathing just as hard as Clarisa and Andrew, running the back of my hand across my forehead to get rid of the sweat on my face. I can also see that it doesn’t work. I am still red, still panting, and still sweaty.

  But I do not feel tired. I do not feel hungry. I have to keep reminding myself to drink water every five minutes because I can’t count on my brain to register when my body is thirsty. It’s not a bad problem to have right now—not being able to feel tired, that is—or at least, it won’t be a bad problem until I die of heatstroke or exhaustion or dehydration.

  JOSH

  How is EVERYONE DOING? Are you guys feeling the crisp, beautiful air flaring in your lungs? Can you feel your heart pounding against your chest, reminding you how powerfully, wonderfully alive you are? Isn’t it rejuvenating, being surrounded by Earth—real Earth, minus the wires and the batteries and the cords tying us down? Everyone, breathe in with me.

  * * *

  Josh closes his eyes and takes a deep, long breath. The fact that none of us join him does not seem to bother him in the slightest.

  BEN (V.O.)

  I’m not really sure what to say about Josh, other than that he is, quite literally, a hippie. A well-educated hippie apparently, since his nametag boasts not one but two degrees, but a hippie nonetheless.

  I didn’t believe it at first. Up until now, I figured he was just like all the other middle-aged men who are really confused about what kids find “cool” nowadays. I mean, yeah, there were all those ridiculous jokes during introductions. And sure, he had the exact same facial hair as The Dude from The Big Lebowski and was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. But, I reasoned with myself, my dad does things like that all the time! Besides, the nametag said, very clearly, Psy.D., LCSW, and a) hippies don’t get that many degrees, and b) hippies don’t have such good handwriting.

  But then today happened.

  * * *

  EXT. UGUNDUZI MAIN GROUNDS—EARLIER THAT MORNING

  Our campers are lined up next to the picnic tables in hiking clothes. Josh walks up and down the line.

  JOSH

  Before we start on this hike, let’s take a second to clear our minds. Breathe deeply. And leave our regrets in the past and our worries for the future. Everyone ready? Aaaaand—breathe.

  * * *

  O
ff Stella’s expression, clearly over this shit.

  * * *

  EXT. HIKING TRAIL—AN HOUR EARLIER—FLASHBACK

  We’re a mile and a half into the hike now. Andrew’s energy is clearly flagging—he’s a couple feet behind the rest of the group. Mason is trying to hide the fact that he’s breathing hard.

  STELLA

  Really, Mason? After all that talk the other day, I gotta say, I really thought you were the kind of guy who could last...longer.

  * * *

  As Mason starts to retort—

  JOSH

  Stella! Let’s take this opportunity to let go of our toxic energy and replace it with the energy of nature. Can you try to do that for us? You ready? Everyone else can join us, too.

  * * *

  Off Mason, “what the fuck” written all over his face.

  * * *

  EXT. HIKING TRAIL—DAY—BACK TO THE PRESENT

  BEN (V.O.)

  I’ve never watched a Woodstock documentary, but I imagine it would look a lot like this.

  JOSH

  All right, is everyone ready to start hiking again? We’re probably half an hour from the top, and I promise you, the view is going to blow your minds.

  STELLA

  Stop being babies. This hike isn’t even that bad.

  JOSH

  There’s that positive energy I’ve been looking for! All right, guys, let’s start walking again. That’s the key to getting anywhere, you know—taking the first step.

  ANDREW

  That is not real. You cannot be real. It is just not possible for you to be a real person.

  JOSH

  Why do you say that, Andrew?

  ANDREW

  No one talks like that. No one. I mean, if people did, I would know, you know? I’m from Washington. Washington is the hippie capital of the United States!

  JOSH

  Hmm. No, I’m pretty sure that’s Oregon.

  BEN (V.O.)

  Andrew doesn’t say anything, and neither does anyone else, because what can we possibly say to this guy? You are insane? Go back to the ’60s? Can I have some LSD? He would probably just laugh and say something about channeling the energy of the woods. This is what I get for letting my parents send me to wilderness therapy camp.

  The path has gotten steep again, so we’re all quiet as we hike. Eventually the only thing I’m registering is the chirping of the birds, the sound of Clarisa and Andrew breathing hard behind me, the backs of Stella’s hiking boots as they go from shiny black to dulled black to brown from the dirt.

  But I guess this is hiking: taking one step, and then another, and then another, and then another. Lifting the canteen to your mouth, keeping yourself alive even when you can’t remember why you’re doing it. A step. A breath. A drink. Ten feet, twenty feet, a hundred feet, five hundred feet, fifteen hundred feet. A mile. Sunlight. Wind. Movement.

  JOSH

  And here we are.

  * * *

  I am so lost in my mind that I do not realize we’ve reached the destination until Stella stops sharply in front of me. The trees on both sides of the path are gone. The moss and dirt have disappeared off the ground, leaving only a bare outcropping of rock. Thirty feet in front of us, the rocks drop off. In front of that is nothing. Air. A thousand-foot drop to the forest of trees below us.

  Josh spreads his arms around him and lifts his eyes toward the sky.

  JOSH

  Look around, guys. Open your eyes.

  MASON

  Open your eyes—our eyes are open.

  JOSH

  No, Mason. That’s not what I meant. I meant, open your eyes. I meant, take it all in. I meant, stop thinking about what to say next or what you should have said or what anyone should have said at any time and look around.

  * * *

  As he speaks, we fan out around him. There’s a red line of tape running across the rocks ten feet before the cliff. I swing my backpack off my shoulders, sit down on the rocks, and try my hardest to “look around” as opposed to merely “looking around.”

  JOSH

  This is the first hike. They always send me to lead the first hike. I’m sure you guys are all wondering why. You’re all annoyed at how positive I am, how I seem to be living in my own world, how I can’t possibly understand you. But I want you guys to think about it. When we started this hike, Stella was angry, and Mason was trying to be more angry than Stella just to prove a point, and Clarisa thought this was a waste of time. What did I do? I stayed positive. I wouldn’t let negative energy affect me. I told you to breathe. To look around. To channel nature’s energy. And what happened? Stella stopped complaining. Mason stopped being so negative. Everyone breathed. And looked around. And tried—I hope—to channel nature’s energy. And here we are.

  I think that positive energy always wins out. Perhaps you think I’m wrong. That’s your right. But I hope as we keep hiking throughout the next month, and even as we share stories and hopes and fears and regrets, you remember that. That positive energy will win out. But only if you let it.

  * * *

  Everyone takes a second to digest Josh’s speech.

  ANDREW

  Dude. That was pretty badass.

  * * *

  Stella laughs.

  STELLA

  Damn, Josh. You should take his word for it—Andrew here is our resident expert on “badass.” I don’t know if you’ve heard, but he’s in a band.

  BEN (V.O.)

  I’m not really processing what anyone is saying anymore. I can hear everyone talking, but they’re in the background, like a reporter on the evening news when you’re not really paying attention to the television. I vaguely register Andrew replying to Stella and Stella laughing again, but there’s a gust of wind and by the time the voices are carried away it feels like I’m remembering the moment instead of living it. They’re sitting five feet away, but they feel incredibly insignificant when compared to everything that’s stretching out in front of me: the trees, and the sky, and the jagged, bumpy line where they collide. I can see the shades of green blending into each other in the canopy; the flurry of the wings exploding out of the stillness of the sky; the clouds clustering together above us only to pull apart a few minutes later. I can hear leaves rustling below us and above us and around us and Andrew and Stella joking around behind me, somehow both a few footsteps and a universe away. The cliff drops off ten feet in front of me and then there is nothing but canopy and sunshine and wind and I can see myself sitting there, on the rocks, on a cliff, almost at the edge, almost in the air, almost floating, almost falling, and everything is so incredibly large around me and I am so incredibly small in the midst of it all and all of a sudden it breaks; the dissociation breaks and I can feel it all. Lots of people say lots of different things about euphoria, but I will describe it for you right now: I am sitting on the ground after a five-mile hike and I can feel the muscles in my legs falling in love with the sensation of rest and my soul is supernova exploding in an empty room, light bouncing off white walls and white ceiling and white floors; the breeze against my skin is a whisper from the universe that everything is going to be okay, and better, and good; it is so incredibly quiet, but the quiet sounds so, so vibrantly loud. Josh is such a hippie with his never-ending slogans of nature and rest and energy, but I can feel it now, I swear, running through my body and coursing through my veins and seeping into my bloodstream with every breath and I am looking around, no, I am looking around, and it is so beautiful, and there is so much life even in the stillness, and in a few minutes or six hours or one day or a couple of small eternities I will step away from the edge and walk away. I will go back, I will return to camp, I will say goodbye to the sky, the canopy, and the wind and my legs will forget the sensation of rest and the universe
will start shouting again like it always does and I will forget this place and this quiet and this peace, but I am here now. I am here on this mountain sitting on this air ten feet away from death and everything else is so far away, even Stella even Andrew even Mason even Clarisa even hippie Josh, and I can feel the words in my head echoing and getting louder and louder with every bounce back until they are vibrating through my head until they are vibrating through my body until they are everything until they are inside me until I am light until I am stars until I am supernova until I am nothing but words ringing in an infinity of space.

  I am trying to look at everything at once.

  I am trying to hear everything at once.

  I am trying to take in everything at once.

  I am trying to feel everything at once.

  I am trying to be everything at once.

  I am everything at once.

  I am everything.

  I am

  so

  happy.

  STELLA

  I’VE ALWAYS MAINTAINED that this whole wilderness therapy camp stuff wouldn’t actually be that terrible if it weren’t for the, well, “therapy” part. For starters, it’s obviously better than being locked up in Wethersfield all summer, where everywhere and everyone reminds me of all the shit that happened last semester. And it’s nice to be away from my psychotic parents, even if they’ve just been replaced by equally if not more psychotic people my own age. Even the hikes are actually kind of nice, especially when they end in views like this. But the stuff that comes after all the hiking, the stuff like this—Josh making us sit down in a circle at the top of the hike so we can ascend the mountain of our complex and beautiful minds—pretty much kills it.

  “Not too close to the edge,” Josh warns, which is really a shame, because I was just starting to realize all the pros of hurling myself into the abyss and ending it all now. Josh gives us a minute to sit down, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in the way that I’ve been around long enough to know he’s about to launch into some serious hippie-dippy shit that no one can actually understand.