Grandiose

From above the small puffs of cloud speckled the brown rusted landscape like cotton puffs. “It looks like a drawing,” Yer thought to herself as she watched the dessert stretch across the curved horizon like a bolt of fabric spreading out underneath her. It was her first time flying over the desert and she had not expected it all to look so...small. The towering rock formations she imagined were so powerful and menacing in real life looked like tiny sculptures that could fit in the palm of her hand. “Little anthills,” She thought for a minute and then turned away to catch the passing steward say directly to her, “Please return your seat to its upright position to prepare for landing.” She obliged. The couple across from her were already compliant so to be called out in that manner would normally make her feel like a dolt but today she had a far greater embarrassment burning in her mind. On Monday, she found the following text exchange on her fiancé’s phone: “I miss you, bunny,” from a contact labeled, “TFS.” “The fornicating sidepiece? Truly forgettable sadgirl? Who cares?” thought Yer. But it didn’t matter who the sender was, all that mattered was the followup message from her fiancé that said, “Be patient. We’ll have all weekend.”

He was right, they did have all weekend because Yer was scheduled to be at a conference in Las Vegas. That was until the keynote speaker got into a horrible car accident last Thursday, thus cancelling the conference. But rather than give up on the trip, Yer decided to buy an extra plane ticket and book a suite for two as a surprise. “Well,” she thought, “at least half the trip isn’t going to waste.” Although she put up a strong front all week, the empty seat next to her moved her unexpectedly and she allowed herself to weep for the memory of love as the plane descended.

The hotel was kind enough to provide a bottle of champagne but Yer had no intention of staying. She grabbed the bottle and a map and headed off east, past the Hoover Dam, past the roadside attractions and straight to the only thing that mattered to her now, a giant hole in the ground, better known as the Grand Canyon. Yer had always wanted to visit it when she was growing up but her youthful road trips were dictated by locations of boyfriends and family who all lived in cities east of where she was. This vast emptiness called the desert eluded her up until now. She had packed a pair of hiking boots and a small tent. She was determined to make the most of the next 48 hours on her own.

She had done her research and packed a water bottle, satellite phone, first aid kit, and granola bars. She had read all the articles about how hikers go missing every year. Many are discovered dehydrated, mangled or swept away in the river after a flash flood, but some disappeared forever. She didn’t want to be a statistic. She took all the necessary precautions and set on her way. The hike was scheduled to take only two hours round trip but she was giving herself three just in case she got tired. She wasn’t the spry 20 year old who used to run up the Georgetown stairs. She was 33 now and couldn’t afford another twist to her already stretched ACL. She was going to take it easy and not feel rushed. Besides, this weekend was for her, so she wasn’t beholden to anyone. Not anymore.

The first sight of the Grand Canyon can only be described as breathtaking. It literally takes the breath out of you. You teeter up to the edge like a toddler meeting a mother’s open arms and then the scale knocks you down. The seemingly endless vista reminds you that you know nothing about anything. The layers of color in the rock show you how little your layer means in the sea of eternity. You feel the sting of insignificance swallow you whole. Yet after all the waves of hurt and humble, you finally feel it: the overwhelming sense of relief in the awareness that you don’t matter at all. Your tears and your laughter are a moment’s echo in this belly of time. This is what it feels like to see the Grand Canyon the first time and every time.

Yer caught her breath and set forth on her hike. Crowds of people passed her with carbon fiber walking sticks in each hand, high performance moisture wicking hats, and sinewy thighs of steel while Yer looked down at her feet with every step and tried very, very hard not to fall off the trail.

Her first rest stop was at a widened point at a switchback. The view of the river opened itself up to her. That naughty, selfish river carved this whole canyon and still it leisurely rolled unaware of the scar and beauty it created. Yer took out her small black notebook and sketched a quick impression of the river. She wrote underneath it, “Power in constant movement. Power and beauty in doing what you want.” She closed the book, took a drink from her water bottle and moved on. The crowds had passed her by and soon she was left alone for a stretch. The quiet was the balm she had wanted… she drifted for a while until she realized it had been a moment since she last saw a fellow hiker. She normally heard a “pardon me,” or “right behind you,” every five or ten minutes, but she had a feeling it had been more than ten minutes and when she looked at her phone she realized it had been thirty. She opened her map and looked at the view. She compared the two to see if they matched up. They didn’t. The trail she was on looked like a trail but it also looked like just dirt. She thought about backtracking but then she realized everything around her was dirt. She took out her phone; no signal. She took out her satellite phone; battery was dead. Did she forget to charge it that morning? It was charged on the plane. She kept her panic to a minimum and looked around. Downhill from her was a giant rock. The kind of rock that you could look out from if you climbed to the top. If she could look out far enough she might be able to see people or maybe shout for help. She couldn’t be too far gone. It had only been thirty minutes. “Those dreaded hikers,” she thought. But then she blamed herself, why couldn’t she have made a friend? Hiking alone is dangerous. What is the point of power when you are going to die alone under a rock? She could feel the panic rising and her mouth getting parched. No, she couldn’t drink again. Not yet. She had to save her water. At least she could remember that much.

She made her way safely down to the big rock and before she began pulling herself up, she decided to reward herself for staying so calm and getting down such a steep slope without tripping. She took out a granola bar and sat on a little rock at the base of the big rock. As she ate her granola bar, a shadow glanced over her. She startled at its chill and then heard the cry of a hawk...a falcon? an eagle? She should really learn her bird calls. She looked up and saw the outline of a big bird. Did it want her granola bar? Or did it want her? Certain carrion follow the dying for an eventual meal… was she dying? The bird called out again and she scrambled. Behind her was a small alcove. Instinct had her duck in and crouch down. She watched as the regal bird circled and then disappeared behind her. Relieved, she sat and laughed. How silly it seemed to feel danger from a bird. She had chicken for lunch. Now she was afraid of being lunch to a glorified chicken. She laughed again. Glorified Chicken. She thought that might make a good title to today’s journal entry. As she reached for her notebook, she knocked a rock down from the side of the alcove. Behind it was a piece of paper which turned out to be an envelope. A wide envelope with a red ink stamp in bold print, “PRM.” It was thick and heavy for its size. She looked it over carefully for any other markings but found only a few scuffs from the rocks and ragged corners from possible animal niblings. It wasn’t too weathered, so Yer figured it was left relatively recently… maybe a few years ago? She opened the envelope to find what is only found in daydreams and hollywood movies. A stack of $100 bills. US currency. Most of the bills were big-faced Franklins meaning they were newer, but there were a few small faced Franklins mixed in among them.

Yer’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She didn’t know if she was awake or dead. This didn’t seem real. She threw the envelope and the bills to the ground. “This isn’t right!” she thought to herself. She felt a sense of dread wash over her. “This is bad money. No one walks around with this type of money. This is blood money. This is drug money. This is cursed money,” She thought to herself. She was terrified. She was of one mind to walk away from it. She got up, looked around for people, cameras, criminals… she felt this was a set up. She looked around some more...dirt, canyon, rocks, emptiness. She paced and thought, “Ok. Ok. Ok… if I leave this here, it will just go away. I can just walk away and nothing will come of this. I can just walk away…” She knew this was the best course of action but then she remembered, “but what if I take it and use it to help people in need. Give it to a homeless shelter or library… do some good. If it stays here and no one comes back for it, it will just rot away like it is right now.” She paced some more. Suddenly, she heard the strangest sound, one she hadn’t encountered in a while; a human voice.

“Hey!” a man in a blue baseball hat shouted to her.

“I knew it! They found me! I’m dead!” She thought to herself.

“Hey, are you lost?” the stranger asked. “ You’re off the trail! I saw you from over there!” He pointed towards the far end of the visible canyon edge.

“You need help?” He asked.

Yer didn’t know what to say. She knew she had a split second to respond before she started looking suspicious so she said quickly and without thinking,

“Yeah.. I’m fine… Just… uh… looking at this rock,” as she pointed at the huge rock in front of her.

“OK,” the stranger yelled, “just wanted to make sure you were alright. Have fun with your rock!” he laughed as he walked away.

As soon as he turned away, Yer noticed an older woman and a teenage girl waiting further down the trail. “The trail… that’s where it is!” Yer thought to herself. “OK, so if they’re not in on this, I must be safe.” She watched the group walk away behind the ledge and disappear into the canyon. It was then that she noticed her own perch. She was too busy focusing on the big rock that she failed to see the sheer drop beneath her. It was so deep and jagged it made her dizzy just looking at it. She stepped back, drew a long breath, and drank from her water bottle. She stashed the envelope full of cash into her backpack and left.

Back in her tent, she stacked the $100 bills into neat little piles of ten. Each of those piles of tens were lined up into rows of five. Those rows of five found themselves to be a set of four. Four rows of five sets of ten $100 bills added up to $20,000. That was more than a normal amount of money but less than a fortune. She could use it as a down payment for a new house and not have to worry about living with that worthless liar another minute. She could use it to leave the city and start over. She could use it to travel for a year and heal or figure out a better way forward. She didn’t know. But $20,000 could mean change.

She also knew her flight was in less than 24 hours and she couldn’t fly with $20,000 cash. She could legally fly with $9,999 cash, but the rest had to be dealt with. She went to sleep that night with visions of slot machines and roulette wheels but in the morning she knew that was not her way out. She was no gambler. She drove back to Vegas with thoughts of stopping off at a post office and sending the money to herself. It was risky, but she couldn’t think of any other option until she saw a sign on the horizon, in bright neon letters, “CASH,” flashed red atop a run-down pawn shop. She immediately pulled over and rushed to the door. The hairy, unwashed man behind the counter buzzed her in and she anxiously scanned the glass cases for the most expensive item she could buy. Watches, gold chains, loose gems; all too conspicuous. Then she saw the one item that signaled to her. The one item that made sense; a three carat diamond engagement ring with sapphire baguettes, her birthstone. They were destined to be together. She asked the price.

“$30,000,” barked the pawnstoreman.

“How about $20?” She replied.

He shook his head and said, “Look, lady, that ring’s been here a long time. It’s a flawless diamond. The guy pawned it because his fiancé broke his heart. He never came back for it. He might’ve drunk himself to death or just died from sheer heartbreak. $30,000 is what a broken heart’s worth.”

Frustrated and impatient, Yer tapped her finger to her chest and said, “I know what heartbreak looks like and it isn’t special.”

She lifted her ringed finger to him, “This is heartbreak. It happens everyday.” The pawnstoreman leaned in, took out his jeweler’s loupe and examined the gleaming rock on her finger and said, “You throw this in and you get your $20 grand.”

Yer thought for a moment. A Vegas pawn shop was an appropriate end for this symbol of betrayal. She nodded and handed over her ring and the $20,000. The pawnstoreman handed over his ring and the receipt.

As Yer walked back to her car admiring her diamond upgrade, she looked at the receipt. At the top, was a stamp in red ink and bold letters: “PRM.” She turned around to look at the storefront once more, “Pawn, Redeem, Motor on.”