Hanging off the side of what felt like a cliff, I should have been practicing staying alive. Instead, I’m having a panic attack and can’t stop crying. My tears have salted my view and I can’t see clearly. Shale is hitting my head, and I can’t keep my footing.
“Lluís, please get me out of here. I can’t hold on any more,” I cry, counting on my boyfriend’s sure-footedness to get me out of the mess I created. I cursed myself for picking this route. Who climbs at a 90-degree angle straight up a sheer face? And, where did those people come from? There’s a trail? I didn’t see a one. Damn it!
“C’mon we just a few meters away from where it gets flat,” he tells me. “You’re doing fine. You’re not very far up off the ground. And, if you’re not going to die.”
“No, you’re right. I’m not going to die. It will be worse than that. I’m going to be paralyzed for the rest of my life,” I blabber, trembling at the idea of never being able to walk again.
“Look at me. No, look at my face, not my boots,” Lluís says from above. “You’ve climbed harder, steeper trails before. Yeah, I was bit surprised you wanted to go this way, and not me. But, you’ll get there. No big deal.” Ah, my superman!
I knew logically this wasn’t such a big feat. It wasn’t like I was scaling Everest, or even Half Dome. It was more like I opted to spread eagle on the sidewalk of the Lombard Street hill in San Francisco instead of winding through the zigzagged street. I was on a relatively ridiculous incline in Purmamarca, Argentina trying to get a better view of El Cerro de los Siete Colores (Hill of Seven Colors) across the road. Screw the view. I’ll buy a postcard.
“Ok, we can about the route later. Right now, pleeeaaase, just get me off this part. I have no grip,” I plead.
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This is really nicely done! Great description of the scene, the fear, the tension. And a terrific use of dialogue. Now get the hell off that cliff!
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