One Year Lived by Adam Shepard - Claire Diaz Ortiz

289 Pages·2013·7.99 MB·English

ADAM SHEPARD
ONE YEAR
IVED
L
Copyright © 2013 by Adam Shepard
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part
of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Content editors: Stuart Albright, Chris Hays, Jeff Wozer,
and Alexis A. Hunter
Copyeditor: Johnathan Wilber
Interior layout designers: Jay C. Polmar and Martha Delia García Márquez
Cover photos of the author at Lake Atitlán, Guatemala: Jan Laakmann
Cover designer: ImageTrance
ISBN 978-0-9796926-4-2 pbk
For book clubs, retail resale, educational institutions, gifts, or promotional use,
One Year Lived is available for 78 percent off the cover price at
www.OneYearLived.com.
For my pops, George Shepard,
a maverick who inspires me to live my life
off the beaten path.
And for Flora Herrera.
1. Raleigh, North Carolina
(author’s hometown)
2. Antigua in the Caribbean
3. Antigua, Guatemala
4. El Porvenir, Honduras
5. Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua
6. Auckland, New Zealand
7. Melbourne, Australia
8. Warrawagine Station, Western Australia
9. Boracay Island, Philippines
10. Palma de Mallorca, Spain
11. Zlaté Moravce, Slovakia
I peer up into a gray sky. I squint. I start making promises.
My pulse ϔights to exit through my neck and chest and wrists. I
can’t do this. Really? Can I? This is crazy. I can’t do this. Whose idea
was this anyway? Was this Ivana’s idea? Dammit, this was her idea.
Herein lies the consequence of running away from home and running
into a Slovak girl. I dig this girl, but I don’t dig this idea. My ϔingers
tremble, and I can’t seem to catch my breath, chest falling quick and
uneven. This is crazy. I can’t do this.
I look down over the bridge, to the left and to the right, and then
up: clouds stacked upon clouds, packing the leaden sky, no sign of
the sun. This isn’t the proper scene for memorable moments. Where
is the shine, the sparkle? I can see the start of a lake just over there,
but a heavy dose of mist conceals it. They tell me that in the distance
there’s a wonderful view of the High Tatras mountain range. I can’t
see it. Below, a hundred meters of open air and a spread of green
waiting for me, inviting me.
I can do this!
I turn around. They’re watching. A guy in a red hooded
sweatshirt. Another with a goatee, a girlfriend at his side. A lot of
back-and-forth in a foreign tongue; many darting glances, bouncing
from me to the platform and down to all that lies below. I know that
look. Yeah, “must be a ϔirst timer” is right. Cocky bastards. I bet you
were a little hesitant your ϔirst time, too.
It’s been a wild journey. I’ve seen beautiful places. Met fascinating
people. I climbed a volcano in Guatemala. Chased rambunctious
children in Honduras. Dug trenches in Nicaragua. Hitchhiked in New
Zealand. Castrated a bull in Australia and then fried the jewels up for
dinner. Offered my naked body to a beach in the Philippines. Rode an
elephant in Thailand. Visited Auschwitz. Swam in natural pools, hot
and cold. Skipped rocks. Contemplated the conquest of the natives. I
drank too much in Spain and not enough in Indonesia. I watched the
sun rise and then set all over the world.
And now, here I stand.
Ugh. Don’t pressure me. In a few minutes, another coward will
be standing in my place, people, and I’m going to give that person
all the time he or she needs to muster the courage—don’t you worry.
Don’t stare at me like that. Yeah, you. I’ll go when I’m ready.
I’ll go when I’m ready.
Just give me a second. Jesus. Y’all don’t have anywhere to be.
I’ll go when I’m ready.
The cheering and clapping isn’t helping. You can stop now.
I’m not ready.
Am I?
No, I’m not.
I can’t do this.
My gaze rolls to Ivana. She smiles but doesn’t press me. My nerves
fumble my return smile. Where is our relationship headed? This is
going well, right? I think it’s going well. I say it’s going well.
Yeah, it’s going well.
But there’s still no way I’m jumping off this bridge.
One of the guys says to me in broken English: “Just in case line
break and you not stop before ground, we really enjoy know you.”
Ugh, this is crazy.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready. Man, what a horrible idea. Ugh.
Okay, that’s it. I’m not ready. Unwrap the cord from my ankles. I
want outta here. Let’s all go have a drink and a good laugh, both at
my expense. Do you offer refunds? Partial? Can I still get a T-shirt?
Ahhhhhhh. Why am I doing this! Come on, Shep.
Screw it.
I take a ϔinal, lingering look over at Ivana, her expression cheery
and supportive. I spread my arms out wide above my head. I bend
my knees. I rise up off of my toes. I curl my head down over the rest
of my body. I dive. I soar. An exhilarated shriek explodes through my
lips, prying at my clenched jaw. The world opens up. My pulse pounds
even harder. I’m dropping. I’m ϔlying. The forest widens, widens,
widens—a sea of spiky green spreading beneath me. The fall lasts a
day, a week, a month. Three-point-two-ϔive seconds.
I bounce, retreat high back up toward the platform, and tumble.
The cord pulls me high, and I tumble again.
I come to rest. I look up. I can’t make out the details of her face,
but I know my girl’s watching me, laughing that melodic laugh that
infects everyone around her.
There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be.
THE LIST
wasn’t angry. I didn’t hate my job. I wasn’t annoyed with
I capitalism, and I was indifferent to materialism. I wasn’t
escaping emptiness, nor was I searching for meaning. I have great
friends and a wonderful family. The dude two doors down invited
me over for steak or pork chops—my choice—one Sunday, and I
couldn’t even tell you the ϐirst letter of his name. Most of my teeth
are natural.
I had enjoyed some nominal success: a few books to my name,
a bunch of speaking engagements across the country, a new audio
program for teenagers. Sure, the producers of The Amazing Race
had rejected all ϐive of my applications to hotfoot around the
world—all ϐive!—and my girlfriend and I had just parted ways,
but I’d whined all I could about the race, and the girl wasn’t The
Girl anyway.
All in all, my life was pretty fantastic.
But I felt boxed in. Look at a map, and there we are, a pin stuck
in the wall. There’s the United States, about twenty-four square
inches’ worth, and there’s the rest of the world, about seventeen
hundred square inches begging to be explored. I looked back, and
I looked forward. This life is serious: I want the wife, I want the
babies, I want the business success, and I understand the work
that is required ’til the wee hours to get them. But I didn’t want to
leave any experience unlived before that happened.
I felt as if I was a few memories short, as if there was still time
for me to go out there and get missing for a little while. Bust out
the List o’ Good Times, sell my car, store my crap, stuff a backpack,
buy a small mountain of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and hop on
a plane. Just this once.