Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Pen and Paper (07/17/14)
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TITLE: Walking Wounded | Previous Challenge Entry
By Vicki J. Cypcar
07/24/14 -
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It’s been three months since I began this trek and my feet have now carried me over 1,400 miles of the Appalachian Trail. As I sit in the confines of my tent I feel primitive with this pen and paper. Most hikers have Smartphone’s, but I would miss the simplicity of ink on thirsty paper. I feast on meals of macaroni and cheese and Ramen Noodles. Food taste better in the wilderness, then it did in the mess tents of Afghanistan.
There was a city girl tagging along with us from the start – totally clueless. She would apply her make-up every day before sunrise. Two weeks later I saw her dump her cosmetics into a trashcan. I figure about now there is a bear walking in the woods wearing lipstick. We essentially adopted this wimp of a girl and she inherited the trail name of ‘Runt.’
At times the rain is relentless. When I’m bandaging bloody blisters I ask myself why I’m doing this, and then I will see something amazing. It was deep in a tunnel of rhododendrons that Runt and I discovered a newborn fawn. Pink blossoms cascading down onto the new life. I looked at Runt, with her dirty matted hair and sun-burned face - but all I saw was radiance.
Each night, exhausted Runt would climb into her tent and cry herself to sleep. One day while we were perched on McAfee Knob she told me why. She promised her dying father she would carry his ashes all the way to Katahdin. Later that same day she tripped on a wet boulder and sprained her ankle. I think her agony prompted the torrential downpour we endured the next several hours. A dozen of us settled into a hostel. We scattered our gear to dry out in the bunk house. Runt was wrapping her ankle when Bandit grabbed the coffee can thinking he would make some fresh brewed coffee, fortunately I was there to intercept the remains. Around midnight Runt peeled off the remainder of her fake fingernails and hurled them into the fire pit, then used the rest of her nail polish to paint the coffee can.
The next day we met a youth group from a Baptist church handing out fresh fruit to thru-hikers. Runt said they were doing God’s work. She asked me if I believed in Heaven…I didn’t answer. She told me that to her Heaven was just like Virginia. She said she always knew Virginia existed even though she had never been there before.
One night we stopped at a campsite and pitched our tents near a wrecked Camaro. The field landscaped with rusted car parts; poison ivy choking a once shiny bumper. Clearly the oak tree snuffed the life right out of the car and its occupants, proud branches now shrouding its victim. I watched a platoon of ants march down the bark, onto the rusted skeleton; until they reached a discarded apple core… a testimony of how life marches on.
We were in Harper’s Ferry for the Fourth of July. I was fine until the fireworks started; then I thought my heart would explode. Beads of cold sweat dripped from my brow. I sat there wondering if the word mortified was derived from the words mortar fire. Runt turned to look at me; she took my hand in hers without saying a word.
With Lucky due to be married in September, he and Bandit would be pushing twenty mile days; I couldn’t leave crippled Runt in the wake, so we parted ways. As I watched Lucky and Bandit fade off into the distance, the war in me faded with them.
A week later I helped Runt board a Greyhound bus, even with a heart of a lion she couldn’t muster the strength to push on. I placed the coffee can into my backpack, and promised to personally return it after I summit Katahdin. She doesn’t want the ashes scattered, she said it isn’t about that – it’s about the journey. She hugged me tight, even though I hadn’t showered in over four days.
When I began this trek with Lucky and Bandit to walk off the war, I know my heart was black. I’m finally seeing this country and the people in it. It is the country I devoted my life to defend; and it is the country you ultimately gave your life for.
R.I.P. Lieutenant Adam A. Sullivan
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Also, I noticed a change in tense in the second to last paragraph: In keeping with the text it would say, 'She didn't want the ashes scattered, she said it wasn’t about that – it was about the journey. She hugged me tight, even though I hadn’t showered in over four days.' Thanks for sharing this interesting story. Keep writing!