Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [35]
As I watched her struggle in front of me, I wished there was something I could do for her, but the wind carried my words off before they reached her ears, and I was so preoccupied with my own footing that all I could do was walk slowly behind her and make sure that, finally, we both reached tree cover.
Tall, guardian-like pines finally appeared through the mist. Passing underneath their protective limbs, I fell beneath their branches in exhaustion. The hiker ahead of me collapsed nearby, and again we caught one another’s eye, this time with a softer look and a sigh.
“That was horrible,” she said. And then, out of nowhere, she started to laugh. I wasn’t sure if she was laughing with shock or relief, but it was contagious.
“I know, right?” I said through my laughter. “That was insane!”
“This trail is the worst idea I have ever had. By the way, my name’s Iris.”
“Is that your real name or trail name?” I asked.
“It’s my trail name. Iris is the Greek goddess of the rainbow, and I saw a rainbow on Springer Mountain. Plus I was a Classics major in college.”
“Really?” I was dumbfounded. “My name . . . I mean, my trail name is Odyssa, and I was a Classics major too.”
Iris laughed even harder. “That makes sense. It figures that two people who both chose to study dead languages would also lack the practicality to stay off an exposed mountaintop in this horrendous weather.”
“So where did you go to school?” I asked.
“I graduated five years ago from UNC Chapel Hill.”
“I love the Tar Heels,” I stammered. “In fact, I was the only person in my family to not go to Carolina.”
Then I looked closely at her. On second glance, something about her did look familiar.
At twenty-seven, Iris was six years my senior, and the youngest female hiker I had met on the trail. And since I had no clue what I was going to do with my Classics major, I eagerly listened to her recount the past five years of her life.
Iris sat at the base of the tree, resting, snacking, and telling me about the year she lived in Greece working at archeological digs and the two years she had just spent in West Africa with the Peace Corps. She explained that she had left her boyfriend in West Africa, as he still had six more months in the Corps, and the trail was a way to occupy her time until he returned.
“When I started the trail, I cried myself to sleep every night because I missed him so much. Well, because I missed him so much and because it was miserably cold outside. It is a little hard to adjust to winter after spending two years in Africa.”
Wait a minute . . . She cried herself to sleep? The pieces began to come together. I knew that I had felt a strong sense of familiarity toward Iris, but it wasn’t just an inner connection—I had already met her.
When I thought back to my second night on the trail, I was certain that Iris was the young woman who had been crying in her tent near where I had camped. I looked at her face and could now envision her poking her red wool cap out of the tent and briefly looking around the campsite before darting back inside.
She confirmed my story, and then laughed as she confessed, “I still take my cell phone out on top of every mountain, searching for a signal strong enough to call Africa. It’s really hard being half a world away from the man you love.”
“What will you two do in the fall?” I asked.
“Oh, my boyfriend will move to New Haven with me and look for a job when I start back to school.”
“For what?”
“Law.”
Yale Law School—I was in awe. I wanted a poster of Iris to hang on my wall after the trail. Moreover, I wanted my mother to meet Iris, so she could maintain hope that I would eventually do something productive with my life.
“Okay, so one more question,” I said. “What’s harder, the Appalachian Trail or the Peace Corps?