GRAND LESSON

I am standing on the edge of the Carnite Precipice at the Grand Canyon, the horns of my dilemma digging into my shoulder blades. No watery eyes but they are temporarily in a swollen ball in my heart and are ready to burst. Beauty surrounds me from the pink sky to the deepest depths of red, orange and brown boulders. The tour guide warns me to move back from the edge. I do it without an argument and fade into the group. We are preparing for a mule ride along the North ridge. More or less, I’m praying my mule loses its footing and we plunge over the edge, solving my problem.

This trip is my very first alone. From here on, if there are other trips, my Mike won’t be with me. He’ll be back in Omaha with his mistress of three years. What an actor he has been and what a fool I was. His sweetness and love were the food that nourished ‘our’ bliss. Now I smell his garbage, see the flies and worms on his words, his kisses.

Can I do it, get on the mule and kick it hard so we both tumble over the side? Mighty Mule and I are ready, in the center of the slow moving group on the way down. I hold tightly to the rope, touch the animal’s head, loosen my grip. We sway a tiny bit. I grab tight again. We are not going down to the river, unless I go alone.

The cliffs tower to the sky. The sun is high above them, shining directly on us. It is a beautiful ride back to the top and I have not done myself in–yet. There is no shortage of spots to make my exit but I keep finding excuses to wait for the next chance . It isn’t fair for me to ruin this trip for so many people. The guide might lose his job for not taking more precautions. More than one person will be assigned to go down and bring up my body, and the worst thing about my leaving is I’ll make Mike happy!

As the sun starts to hide behind the highest cliffs, the sky turns into a rainbow of colors and I drink them in. Whistles, alarms sound. ‘Visitors return to your cars and busses. Cold drinks are available.’ I take a coke and hand one to the lady sitting beside me. We start a polite impersonal conversation. Myra lifts her straw towards her mouth and her hand begins to tremble. The bottle spills on her lap and runs down her legs. Our guide instantly comes to help. While she wipes Myra’s clothes and legs, Myra apologizes to me, asks if she ruined my blouse. Without skipping a beat, she adds, ‘I have Lou Gehrig’s disease. It is progressing rapidly so I booked this trip with my husband. He had a stroke and died last month. Now I am taking it alone, and I have already booked a two week trip to China. I’m going to walk on the Great Wall before I can’t.’

I wake up from the Land of Selfish Stupidity. Those horns ease out of my shoulder blades. I’m healthy, wealthy and wiser, am not going to sacrifice my one and only life on a louse like Mike.

As soon as I get home, I’m calling World Tours and will keep my eyes peeled for Myra when I get to the Great Wall.