DANNY MARTIN RAN within three feet of the rim of Bryce Canyon, screaming the word “Blam!” over and over with all the fullness of his ten-year-old voice. He didn’t particularly choose this word. It just arrived deep in his head, bouncing through his scull until escaping repeatedly through his wide-open mouth. He liked how it sounded. He even liked how the word tasted in the high-altitude, arid, Utah air on this spring morning.
“Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!” Danny shouted. His steps now took his sneakers within six inches of the canyon rim, but he barely glanced down to see the dangerous splendor of craggy red rocks stretching thousands of feet toward certain death.
He veered away from the canyon rim, kicking up dusty sand that scattered in the crisp, morning air and drifted over the edge to float along forever. Passing hikers and tourists glanced wide-eyed at the misbehaving boy just long enough to assure themselves that he was, for that moment, safe. Then they quickly looked away.
Jenny Martin, Danny’s eight-year-old sister, jogged behind him a cautious twenty feet from the rim. Seeing how close he came to the edge, she hissed, “You’re gonna be in trouble, dumbhead.”
Danny could feel his face flush at the insult form his baby sister. He faked a karate kick in Jenny’s general direction. “No, you’re a dumbhead,” he countered, convinced that he was making another winning point in their ongoing, lifelong argument.
An exasperated voice called out, “Daniel Thomas Martin! Stop running right now!” Danny’s grandmother, Elise Martin, an energetic, petite woman struggling to maintain the composure and dignity that served her well for decades in the insurance industry, shuffled up behind her two grandchildren. She maneuvered quickly between Danny and the head-spinning drop-off to the supernatural, sawtooth hoodoo rock formations below. “You have to stay with us, Danny!” she said, wiping a sleeve across her forehead even though the air was too dry and chilly to generate much sweat. “I’ve told you a dozen times that it isn’t safe to keep running ahead.”
“Yeah,” Jenny mirrored. “Don’t be not safe!”
Danny glared at his sister. “Everybody’s so slow,” he whined. He picked up a small stone from the trail, considered tossing it into the canyon, and then shoved it deep into his pants pocket. “It’s so boring to go so slow.” The long flight from their home in Connecticut was boring. The long drive to the canyon was boring. Running along the canyon trail was kind of fun. But walking like a slowpoke was most boring of all.
“I promised your parents you’d be safe with us while they stayed in Las Vegas,” Elise said. She put a hand on Danny’s shoulder and guided him away from the canyon’s edge back to a wide, flat, safer part of the Rim Trail.
“I’m totally safe!” Danny objected, contorting away from his grandmother’s hand. “I’m not a baby!”
“If you’re not careful, you could go running over the edge and into the canyon!” Elise’s voice rose to a level she knew made her sound a little crazy to anyone overhearing her. But, at the moment, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Her job was to keep her grandchild’s feet firmly planted on the horizontal surface of the canyon’s trail.
“Right over the edge,” Jenny said, mockingly emphasizing each word in exactly the way she knew from years of practice would annoy Danny. “Splat!” she said, slapping her hands together.
“Yeah?” Danny said to Jenny. “Maybe I’ll splat you!”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Burt Martin, Elise’s husband, a man with a flushed face and hulking torso balanced on skinny legs, shuffled up to the group. “You guys have to listen to your Nana!” he said, trying to sound firm despite panting from the unaccustomed exertion of such a strenuous hike with his tireless grandchildren. He could lead dozens of stockbrokers into battle on the trading floor, but he was never sure how to talk to children, his own and now his children’s children. A plaintiff, “Please, kids!” was the best he could muster.
“I am listening, Grampy!” Jenny complained, frustrated that she was once again lumped in with Danny. “He’s being a turdface!” She kicked dirt toward Danny and ran off ahead, not as close to the edge as her brother had ventured, but close enough to make her grandparents cringe.
“Jenny! Wait!” both grandparents called out as she ran.
Danny was just about to complain about his sister calling him “turdface” when his grandparents strode away more quickly than he thought they could, calling Jenny’s name. Elise and Burt pursued Jenny over the next rise in the Rim Trail and out of sight, leaving Danny unaccompanied for the first time during the family’s trip out west.
Danny was alone and unsure where to run with no one to run from. He felt directionless now that he could choose his own direction. He gazed out across the spectacular canyon as the rising sun melted the last of yesterday’s unexpected early May snow, revealing the captivating display of red rocks beneath. “Whoa,” Danny muttered. Now that he was still, he seemed to notice the view for the first time and suddenly felt no urge to catch up to his family.
“Hey, Danny,” a soft voice spoke over the youngster’s shoulder, closer to him than Danny had expected anyone to be. Danny spun around to see a man he guessed to be in his thirties because he seemed to be the same age as his parents. Unlike his parents, this man was tanned and rugged, dressed for a serious hike, standing just a few feet away. Danny stared at him, noticing his strong calf muscles. He flexed his own calves in response.
“I need to tell you something, Danny,” the man said.
“I don’t know you,” Danny said, a phrase he’d learned from “stranger-danger” instruction at school.
“Not yet,” the man said with a chuckle. “But you will. My name is Daniel. I’m from the future. I’m you from the future. I’ve come back in time to give you a message.”
Danny’s eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not.”
Daniel chuckled, and then he nodded ahead toward the space where Elise, Burt, and Jenny disappeared on the trail ahead. “I need to give you a message about Jenny and your grandparents and life and important stuff.”
“I …” Danny muttered. “I don’t believe you.”
“Here’s the message,” Daniel said. “You may think you hate your sister right now, but that’s just because you’re both kids. It’s hard to be kids when you’re not in charge of your own lives. But when you grow up, your sister will be one of the best friends you’ll ever have. You’ll know her longer than you’ll know anyone else in your whole life. And because you’ll learn to be friends with her, you’ll know how to be friends with lots of wonderful women in your life. Because you’ll learn how to be nice to Jenny, women will know you’re a good guy instead of a jerk.”
Danny folded his arms. “Prove that you’re me and not just some turdface,” he said.
Daniel smiled. “Okay. You know that pretty teacher you have? What’s her name?”
Danny looked surprised. “Ms. Andrews?”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah, that’s her. Ms. Andrews. I know exactly what you think about her before you go to sleep at night.”
Danny’s face flushed. He stammered, “What … what do you mean?”
“You know,” Daniel said. “Right before you fall asleep. When you’re all alone. You think about marrying her when you grow up.”
Danny looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. “Do not,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay, man,” Daniel said. “Ms. Andrews is great. It’s okay to like her. But you’re not meant to be with her. She’s a full-grown human person already, and you’re still a kid. In your heart, you know that. But you’ll like lots of girls your own age, and lots of them will like you, too. And some really cool women will love you when you’re older. So many good things are ahead of you if you treat people well. And someday, you’ll love someone who’s perfect for you, and she’ll love you the same way. You’ll marry her. You’ll be happy.”
Danny hesitated. His face shifted. “What’s her name?”
“Can’t tell you that, buddy,” Daniel said. “You’ll have to find that out on your own.” He glanced at Danny’s family as they came into view on the trail ahead, backtracking and looking frantically around the trail, not yet seeing Danny rooted to the exact spot he’d occupied when they’d left. They must have assumed he’d run far ahead and out of sight, but then, after fruitless searching, they’d doubled back to find him.
“Here’s the rest of the message,” Daniel said, kneeling down and holding Danny’s gaze, the words rushing out because he knew he didn’t have much time. “Listen to your grandparents. They’re really trying. Stop running. Slow down and spend time with them looking at …” he gestured toward the canyon, “… this beautiful place. Thank them for spending the day with you and hiking around with you even though it’s kind of hard work for them at their age. Years from now, when they’re really old and don’t have much time left and you’re all grown up, remind them how much fun you had with them today. Tell them how they taught you to love this place because they brought you here when you were a kid. Tell them how much you love them for sharing this place with you and Jenny.”
Danny and Daniel stared at each other for a moment. Then Daniel asked, “Okay?
Danny blinked, then nodded. “I guess so,” he said.
Daniel stood up. “And keep saying ‘blam.’” he said.” It’s a cool word. Just stop yelling it so much.”
“Danny?” Elise called out, and Danny turned away from Daniel to see his family far up the trail and walking toward him.
“Nana? Grampy? Jenny?” Danny called to them, but his voice was suddenly hoarse, and they didn’t hear. When he looked back, Daniel was gone as if he’d never even been there. Danny looked around, dumbfounded, and thought the man might have ducked into the scrubby trees or leaped headfirst over the canyon edge or disappeared in his invisible time machine. For a moment, Danny thought about looking for him, but he didn’t even know where to start.
“Danny?” Elise called again. Then he heard Jenny and his grandfather join in with concerned voices: “Danny? Danny?”
Danny glanced around once more for Daniel but saw no one. Finally, he turned and ran to his family.
Just a few yards away, hidden just below the rim on the first section of the well-traveled Queen’s Garden Trail that descended into the iconic canyon, Daniel approached a woman his age in similar hiking gear.
“Hey, Lizzie,” Daniel said. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“What took you so long, honey?” Lizzie said as she slung a small backpack over her fit shoulders.
“I thought I saw someone I used to know,” Daniel said.
Lizzy took Daniel’s arm and pulled him close for a quick, sweet kiss. “Who?” she asked.
Daniel slipped his hand around her back. “Someone I knew as a kid. But I was wrong. Not him,” he said. “Blam, I missed you, sweetie! Thank you for sharing this day with me.”
Lizzie laughed and playfully slapped his arm. “Blam, yourself. I missed you, too,” she said, gently pushing herself away. “Okay, let’s start this hike!”
Daniel picked up a small stone from the trail, considered tossing it into the canyon, and then slipped it gently into his pants pocket.
“Let’s take our time,” Daniel said, and Lizzie nodded. “Let’s really see everything together. Really see, you know? I want to remember this day with you when we’re ninety years old, sitting on the back porch at sunset on our sixtieth anniversary.”
“I like the sound of that,” Lizzie said. She kissed Daniel again and led the way down the famous Queen’s Garden Trail into this otherworldly amphitheater, calling out the staggering views to each other. They enjoyed a leisurely, affectionate lunch in the canyon’s paradoxically forested bottomland. On the steep climb back up, they spoke less, just a few quick words between shallow breaths as they navigated the exposed switchbacks of the Navajo Loop Trail, back and forth, back and forth, always rising, glowing in perfect sunshine while the towering red rock walls pulsated like a living-stone heartbeat all around them.
— JOHN SHEIRER
John Sheirer lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, and is in his thirty-third year of teaching at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut, where he edits Freshwater Literary Journal. His recent books include Stumbling Through Adulthood: Linked Stories; For Now: One Hundred 100-Word Stories; and First-Person American: Personal Essays About Our Nation’s Public Issues.