Trust

Trust

“You’re insane! That’ll never work!”

The look on his face? That smile that started innocent enough soon morphed into something that meant trouble then melded into a look that was insane. It was as if his face was made of putty. I backed up, afraid.

“What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of me? Is that it?” He took off his pack, took out some rope.

“Umm. Maybe. Perhaps.”

“Don’t you trust me? Is that it?” Another glance my way. This time a snarky one. “I’m the only one between you and death.”

That’s what I fear. Death. And him. That connection.

“Perhaps that’s what I do fear. I fear your control over my life. I don’t trust you.”

“Now George, you have to trust me.” The thin rope he held between his hands didn’t look like it could hold a small dog, let alone two men. “This rope has a breaking strength of 7,000 pounds. I’m sure it will do the job.” He then proceeded to instruct me on the belay system he used, how to secure the ropes, what to do in an emergency, plus other various instructions I would surely forget as soon as we got on the mountain. Insanity, pure and simple.


I lay on the ledge. The insanity of what happened hit my brain as hard as the rock had hit my body.

A helicopter hovered nearby.

“We’re here for you. George, can you walk to me?” A rescuer held out a hand as he dangled from a rope. I hoped it held more than 7,000 pounds.


W/C 262