The bus was rank with the smell of our sweat. We sat with our shoulders pressed together, muscles still hot and aching, staring out the windows- waiting. A few people rested, eyes closed, against the glass while its rattling held their dreams at bay. Every other word I wrote was interrupted by the need to itch my skin, or by an escaped laugh thrown from Satheesh, whose presence was impossible to ignore. He was a person as contagious as an illness. His dark, molten skin was smooth and pure, unmarred by the Utah brush that had cut up my own legs and feet. His spirited laugh was what had caught my attention, and what I liked best about him. It lit up his face, slit his eyes and coursed through his gangly six-foot-five body. He spoke with a Malaysian accent and his appreciation of life exploded through his lips as he said to me: "d'eym so bleessed". He laughed, again, this time accompanied by a wide grin. Something outside caught his attention, and now I'm the one laughing as he proclaimed "harses"! at the paint mares in the field out the window.
My feet are beyond sore, and seem to be permanently aching- a feeling I'm sure the majority of the van shared after seven days of strenuous hiking. It's trips like these where every muscle, even bones, are in pain. Dying of heat by day and freezing at night, we might begin to question why we are here; why are we doing this? The answer is not found in asking why, but in remembering who. As I write, my arm is bumping the tanned forearm of Logan, who is impatiently reading through his National Parks Passport that he picked up in Arches. He faithfully turns the pages, looking from Alaska to Maine, and I can feel his entire body tense before he turns to Satheesh and moans "I want to beee there, man". Logan is from Ukraine, but has spent his summers in Montana. I watch him continue to flip through the maps and as I study his face I can see the same controlled frustration there that I feel in myself when I think about everything I want to do in my life. We share that manic impulse somewhere in our heads or hearts that signals us to constantly be reminded that life is too short. Logan has shared with me his touching belief in his religion and and his desire to see all of the kingdom God's created on Earth.
My train of thought is again broken by Satheesh, who in the midst of the quiet on the bus leans over to happily whisper to Logan and I, "D'eym so glad you geys are here. D'eym so lucky. Thank you, love you", as he pats Logan's knee, leans back to his seat and lets the silence resume.
Logan laughs at each word Satheesh attempts to pronounce in English, while Satheesh is too enthralled and fascinated by each moment and he doesn't notice. Logan and I look at each other, and smile softly. The atmosphere is so pleasant, I couldn't have repressed the happiness if I had wanted to.
I can hear Green Day pounding out of Abi's headphones behind me, every now and then followed by the sound of his Indian accent muttering along 'don't wanna be...'. This time the guitar solo seems to have woken Josefin, who was sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. She pushes back her blonde hair, revealing her electric blue eyes and groggily turns them to watch the red rocks streak past the window panes as we drive. She doesn't say much, but when she does it is poised and meaningful. Perhaps being the oldest of the group at 23 (and ironically the shortest), she feels more inclined to watch our antics rather than take part in them. Her Swedish heritage is heard in her tone when she knows we're being dumbasses, but her smile softens the lecture that's sure to follow.
A few others have woken now, too. Andi suggests we stop to meditate, but the idea is quickly shut down by Brad who makes a snide remark to the Thai/Aussie native. Andi's response is a quick and cool "That's fine, mate", and again, the conversation is only between the open window and the wind. We are all too exhausted, too grungy and too sick of being cramped in the car to really care that we're not talking. Logan shifts to take his sweatshirt off, a feat in such a cramped car. In a while we'll talk about our favorite part of the hikes, the funniest parts of the trip, a near-death experience, or mention how sore we are, how we can't wait to get back home to Bozeman...but for now, as I begin to close my eyes and drift back to sleep, the still of the silence is enough.
