The Scenic Route

by Ashley Heffernen (United States of America)

Making a local connection USA

[Two days after] The hospital looms in front of me. Behind me, the cheerful sun. I turn and scowl at it, then head inside. Outside Eric’s room, I hesitate. "Just cross the white tile," I think. I do. Eric is on the bed, eyes closed. My throat constricts. There are cables everywhere. Dangling from his wrist, connected to his head. Kathy wraps her arms around me. Tears drip down my face. [Four days before] Reclined in the passenger seat of Eric’s truck, I turn my eyes between his hands on the wheel and the rolling Iowa countryside. Fields of tall corn slide by through open windows; Iowa is 92% farmland. Nature parceled. I say something to Eric about it and he replies, “But it’s still beautiful, isn’t it? In fact...” He plows down a random road and the GPS interrupts: IN 250 FEET, MAKE A U-TURN. IN 200 FEET… REROUTING … Eric flashes me a devilish grin, the corners of his mouth up to his ears. “We’re taking the scenic route!” [Three days after] A nurse in white tennis shoes putters into Eric’s room. I ask her for shampoo. When she comes back I get to work, washing out the glue that held electrodes to Eric’s head. His forehead is oily and the glue is stubborn, like melted plastic. [Four days before] We round a bend in the road. Something in the distance catches our eyes; we don’t realize what until we pass it. A giant dead tree… covered in hula-hoops! We pull over, scramble out. The tree’s dead branches reach for the blue sky like witch fingers. Caught on every branch are hundreds of brightly-colored hula-hoops. Eric picks a stray one off the ground and flings it into the air. It lands nowhere near the tree. It is further away from the tree than it was before. Laughing, he selects and hurls another. I choose a sparkly blue-and-green-striped hoop and give it a toss; it bounces off a branch and falls to the ground. We run through the tall grass and retrieve hula-hoops, determined to reunite them all to their mother-tree. Eric lets another hoop fly and it lands behind him. Giggling, I chase after it. Eventually we climb into the truck, exhausted. I grin at him. “I’m glad we took the scenic route.” [Day-Of] [From Eric, via-text] “I relapsed and won’t be around to fuck anyone else over.” “You’re a wonderful person.” [Five days after] Kathy is holding my hand. Doctors and nurses shuffle by. “They keep changing the time and day of Eric’s donations,” she says, voice flat. “My son can give so much. Eric will save so many lives.” She smiles a little. The heart monitor beeps. “It’s his gift of life.” [Four days before] We arrive at Maquoketa Caves State Park, known for having the most caves in Iowa. We spring out of the truck and slam down the trail heading to the biggest cave in the system: The Dance Hall. Lights and shadows flicker across Eric’s face as we walk through the trees. Our boots plod softly on the damp earth. High above us, woodpeckers tap-tap-tap. “You know, I’ve been making dehydrated food for through-hiking the Appalachian Trail. It’s less expensive and healthier. So far my spaghetti has turned out the best.” Eric’s voice bobs as he skips over rocks and logs. “I think I’ll have enough money saved to go next year. Can you believe it? I want to travel like you do, go on a BIG trip. Five months on the trail, in nature...it sounds perfect, doesn’t it?” He is jumping now, his energy radiates into me. “I have most of the gear and I’ve done a few practice hikes. One night I even slept in my hammock instead of pitching my tent!” We reach a wooden bridge over a creek. The railings have been worn smooth by countless hands. We each find a perch on the top railing- winding our legs through lower ones for security. Water trickles by, shallow and smooth. Silence. “I can’t wait a whole year!” Eric blurts out. “You’ll go in your own perfect time, Eric.” I smile at him. “Just wait!” He smiles back, blue eyes beaming.