Тонкое искусство пофигизма

           Myfeetbecomelighter.Iletlife’smagnetdrawmein.

           AsIstepbackoversomerocks,backtothemainpath,Ilookuptoseeamanstaringatme.Istopandmakeeyecontactwithhim.

           “Um.Isawyousittingontheedgeoverthere,”hesays.HisaccentisAustralian.Theword“there”rollsoutofhismouthawkwardly.HepointstowardAntarctica.

           “Yeah.Theviewisgorgeous,isn’tit?”Iamsmiling.Heisnot.Hehasaseriouslookonhisface.

           Ibrushmyhandsoffonmyshorts,mybodystillbuzzingfrommysurrender.There’sanawkwardsilence.

           TheAussiestandsforamoment,perplexed,stilllookingatme,clearlythinkingofwhattosaynext.Afteramoment,hecarefullypiecesthewordstogether.

           “Iseverythingokay?Howareyoufeeling?”

           Ipauseforamoment,stillsmiling.“Alive.Veryalive.”

           Hisskepticismbreaksandrevealsasmileinitsplace.Hegivesaslightnodandheadsdownthetrail.Istandabove,takingintheview,waitingformyfriendstoarriveonthepeak.