The Last Forever Read Online Free

you’re at the Grand Canyon? The walk to the rim lookout is surprisingly cool. It’s dusty, though—my feet already feel gritty in my sandals. When we finally stand on the overhang of Mather Point—our first good view—I forget about the dust. All I can think is how it looks just like the pictures you see of the Grand Canyon. Then I try to remember to be awestruck. Dinosaurs walked there once. Once, the rock formed the bottom of a shallow sea.
    “That is some big hole,” Dad says. He has his camera around his neck, same as everyone else, and he leans far over the top of the fence. Looking down makes my stomach flop. It’s crowded at the lookout. There are little kids and strollers and tourists.
    “Tessie? Let’s get out of here, okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Let’s drive over to the trail. I can’t get the I’m-so-small-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things feeling when someone’s elbow is in my back.”
    *  *  *
    It’s fine at first, the trail along the rim. The beginning is paved, and there are waterspouts in case you get too hot or thirsty. There’s just the trail, though. No fence. I walk right up against the canyon wall because it’s scary. Dad’s happy. His camera is bouncing against his chest as he walks.
    “Tessa Bessa, look at that!”
    He stops, heads to the edge of the pavement, and steps down onto a jagged ridge of rock. “Dad! It says to stay on the path.”
    “Yeah? And who’s listening?”
    He’s right, really. People dot the cliffs. They crawl their way down stone ledges. One guy lays on a narrow, stone strip, his shirt off, hands cradling his head. “Dad, come on.” I hate seeing him there, at the edge of that rock.
    He turns sideways, eases farther down. I can hear the skid of dirt under his shoe.
    “God, Dad, what are you doing!”
    “This is gonna be a kick-ass photo,” he says. He snaps a picture, uses a hand to balance himself on his way back up. We hike farther, and after a while, the pavement ends. There’s only the curve of dirt path, down, up, around, until it disappears.The well is so deep, you can’t even see to the bottom. The trail is all earth and loose pebbles now. And narrow. Narrow enough to feel that plunge right there in your stomach. Narrow enough to feel yourself going down even though you aren’t. It does not seem a mile down, or two, or three. It’s ten thousand miles down, easy. More.
    “Dad?”
    He’s up ahead, but I’m ready to go back. I’m not good at this kind of thing. This is all seeming like a very, very bad idea. I should be in biology right now, watching some stupid movie because school’s almost out and there’s nothing else to do. It’s hard to see the beauty here; it’s hard to take in the red rock, the pink and brown layers, the magnitude, when I’m suddenly aware that all the other hikers have backpacks and water bottles and hiking boots.
    “This is fucking majestic! This is life !” Dad shouts. His voice bounces around. He holds his arms out, as if to embrace every bit of it.
    My feet are slipping on the loose rocks of the path. I try to grab at a clump of green brush on the cliff beside me.
    “Look at that hawk!” Dad says.
    I can’t take my eyes off of my own feet. “Can we go back?” I hear the panic in my voice.
    “Here we are!” Dad says. “The perfect spot. Wait till you see. Your mother would love this.”
    I don’t know what he’s talking about. I can’t even think about what he’s saying right then. My mother wouldn’t loveany of this. She wasn’t a hiking, outdoorsy person. She’d been camping only once. She’d be worried about us on this frightening path. This is how far apart my father and I are, right here. This is how we’re struggling. It’s hot, and my shoulders feel like they’re getting burnt. My mouth is dry, and the gravel is so loose, and there is only down, down, down. I see a flash of yellow, Dad’s T-shirt. He’s climbing the craggy notches of the wall again, to another boulder perch, farther