As I lurched along the sidewalk toward the Great Deli food light at the end of my hunger tunnel, I was expecting the place to be some kind of Buddhic, vegetarian hippie fest. When I entered the Grateful Deli’s red door, however, I found something entirely different. On the wall was an homage to the Grateful Dead, complete with a colorful mural of delighted concertgoers in a green-fielded, blue-skied Dead concert, with the band members themselves lit up by spotlights coming out of what looked to be flying saucers.
I bought a panini from the serene, long-haired man behind the counter, plopped onto a wrought-iron seat outside, and dug into the cheesy goodness.
“Stuck in the Middle with You” was playing in my head. How fitting.
It was Angelo, after all, who had told me it was a Grateful Dead song when the band who played it was actually Stealers Wheel.
I took a big bite and chewed slowly, trying to get the food to throw my harried thoughts into some kind of order. But it was no use. Questions rocketed through my head, more arising the more I ate: My parents—would they be okay? What about my best friend, Lila? What if Angelo systematically executed anyone I’d ever cared about to punish me, to force me out of hiding or to kill myself?
By the time I was done with the sandwich, I felt sick. The wind laughed at me, tossing my foil wrapper onto the ground. As I leaned over to grab it, a big tan boot stomped on its edge.
An equally tanned hand picked it up and handed it to me.
“Here,” the fully-bearded man said.
“Thanks.”
My gaze flicked to his backpack, which was the size of a small child. He must have been camping or planning to.
“Where’s the nearest trail?” I asked.
He turned until his body was perpendicular to mine, then said, “Shadow Mountain.” He took a closer look at me. “Though not sure that’s what you’re looking for. It’s a pretty difficult trail. Not many people on it. Real rocky; can be dangerous if you’re not careful.”
I thanked him and set off in the direction he’d pointed. Hiking was just what I needed, and the fewer people the better. Hiking had always helped me think.
Only recently had I gotten into it more, going for long walks in the glen five minutes away from Angelo’s and my house. There were only so many days you could spend alone in front of the TV while your husband slept away whatever he’d done the previous night before you started to go a bit crazy.
Even with this walk now, just getting out, stretching my legs, glancing in the interesting store windows downtown, already I feel better. With every step, new solutions and promising considerations occurred to me.
After all, Mom and Dad had always hated Angelo. They’d never approved of him in the first place. They wouldn’t let him close enough to kill them. Same went for Lila. Every other time we hung out, she would make some veiled comment about how he was basically the equivalent of Satan.
I nodded at my exhausted-looking reflection in the mirror of a homewares store window. My family and friends would be fine. Now I had to worry about myself.
When I reached the trail, I paused. The pounding in my head was gone. Did I really need this hike? The quickening of my heartbeat and the new deluge of worried thoughts (Where will I go now? What will I do next?) all made for a resounding yes. Besides, the forest looked so inviting. So, I started making my way up the already rocky terrain.
This time when I inhaled, a wonderful clearness filled my head. Ah, yes, the nice Aspen air.
I took one glance back at the diminishing downtown and inhaled deeply again. This time, the slightest rich aroma of coffee came with the Alpine clarity.
Maybe I didn’t have to go anywhere, do anything really. Maybe I could just stay here, in Aspen, get a barista job, find a nice little one-bedroom in town. Who knew?
As I walked on, time passed as an amusing consideration, not a reality. My feet reveled in the feel of the unpredictable rocks, lumps of dirt, and tree roots on the path. My lungs couldn’t get enough of the nature-infused air. And my eyes, well, this time they were filled with tears of a different type.
Every step I took brought me to a different picture-perfect sight: one shot of endless birches, one shot of little beige swells of mushrooms, another shot of wooly clumps of licorice root.
As I continued on, my sense of wonder only grew. There were so many pine trees and so much undisturbed nature everywhere that it was like man had never existed, had never set foot a hundred miles from here. Even the shrubs and bushes were a lush, surreal-looking green. As I walked along, nature serenaded me. The chipmunks chattered, the birds warbled, the trees whispered in the wind.