Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [117]
When Mooch and I finally caught up with him, he was stumbling up the trail, gritting his teeth, and squinting his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Just keep hiking and let me walk alone.”
Mooch heeded Nightwalker’s request, but I stayed behind.
“Really, I can help. Just tell me what it is.”
Nightwalker flashed me an angry glare and snapped, “My shorts are chafing my manhood.”
“What?”
“The humidity and hiking are chafing my penis.”
Oh, wow. I guess I really couldn’t help.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Then I turned so he couldn’t see me and smiled. I know this was one of those times when you weren’t supposed to laugh, and I didn’t, but it was hard.
“Hold on, I have to stop,” he said. “I need to duct tape my shorts.”
Duct tape has a million uses on the trail, but I didn’t know that this was one of them. Nightwalker put a big strip of it on the inside of his shorts to help with the friction, and it worked for a little bit. But after a while the pain came back, and so did his outlandish solutions.
“Odyssa,” I heard him call behind me. “Odyssa, hold on.”
“What is it?”
“I have to hike without shorts.”
“Hah. Riiiiight. That’s funny.”
“Look at me, Odyssa. I have tears in my eyes. If I don’t take off my shorts and hike in my briefs, then I won’t be able to keep going.”
Why did it have to be briefs? Why couldn’t he be a boxer guy?
“Okay, fine, but I’m hiking ahead of you to make sure no south-bounders come down the trail.”
I hiked several minutes ahead of Nightwalker without incident. This could actually work, I thought. We might be able to make it to the end of the day without seeing anyone else.
Then a black fly flew into my eye.
It landed right in the corner of my eye and dug its way underneath my eyelid where I couldn’t get it out. I batted, I rubbed, but still my vision was blurry and a painful bump remained trapped beneath my eyelid. I needed help. I turned around and started hiking in the opposite direction.
When I saw Nightwalker with my one good eye, he looked naked. I knew he wasn’t, but his shirt hung just low enough that it looked like he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Stop fidgeting,” Nightwalker said as he examined my eye.
“I can’t help it. I’m nervous.” It was taking him forever to work the insect out, and I was quite sure that I would soon see a hiker coming in the opposite direction, while a man who looked like he wasn’t wearing underwear held my face and poked at my eye.
“Got it,” he said triumphantly.
Finally I could see clearly, and there was still no one around. I had been spared. And so had Nightwalker.
He walked without shorts for the remainder of the day, and the only person he had to explain himself to was Mooch. But Mooch didn’t want to hear it.
“No, really, whatever you two decide to do in the woods is up to you. You don’t have to tell me about it.”
“Mooch, come on. You know we wouldn’t—”
“Seriously, how far you take your relationship is none of my business. But next time I would remember to put your shorts back on.”
Mooch was cracking himself up. He thought he was so funny.
He was.
The next day, Nightwalker was able to wear his shorts again, so he walked fully clothed into Maine.
We had made it! Granted, I had developed a rash on my upper body, my pack was heavy, my legs were tired, it rained that day, and my stomach was a mass of cramping, air bubbles, and foul gases. But that made entering Maine all the more uplifting.
At a blue sign that read WELCOME TO MAINE, the three of us rejoiced: we took funny pictures, we hummed the Rocky theme song, and Mooch did a ridiculous celebration dance.
And then we did what we always do: we kept moving forward.
So much of the trail had been about hiking from Georgia to Maine, and so much of my mental encouragement and positive self-talk had suggested that making it to Maine would mark success. And now I was here.
After crossing the state line, I hiked in front of the group. I mostly looked at the ground, because looking up was demoralizing,