He puts his hand on my shoulder.

Sorry, I got lost too. You wandered

over here,

way off the trail.

Jorge takes off my shoes

and socks.

My … my feet, I say.

I can barely feel them.

He pulls a dry towel

out of his backpack

and wraps it tightly

around my feet.

My eyes open

wide, and my body

explodes into one icy shiver.

Then, suddenly,

the sun is coming out,

finding me through the trees,

and my head starts to clear.

Jorge talks to me

about hypothermia.

Are you okay, Ari?

You have every symptom.

Do you remember who you are?

I am okay.

But I feel different,

like the island

in the lagoon.

It’s meant to be

where it is.

There are things

that are true,

no matter what.

My body changing,

Mysterious World,

friendship,

trolls in the gallery,

boogie boards,

sleeping mats,

late-night laughing.

Lisa. Pick.

Gretchen.

Elysium,

drawings,

trees,

the ocean,

the voice of the rabbi

reciting scripture,

    Hope in the Lord. Strength renewed. Soar on wings like eagles;

run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint.

All of this is real.

All of this brings me back,

still exists.

We eat almonds

and sugar-free jelly beans,

until my legs

aren’t numb anymore.

Mikveh

We walk in the bright sun.

Coastal oak and redwoods

are earth brown and emerald green,

grass and trees,

boulders and ferns,

this unexpected foggy summer

has watered the valley

into furious growth.

We look back

toward the main trail.

If we walked up now,

we could turn and go right down

the hill to the bus stop in a few hours.

Jorge holds up his sketchbook

like he’s reading an ancient chart.

This forest is not on my map.

We decide to keep going.

Down and down,

we slip away from the main trail

and finally to a pond,

blue crystal

and water glass.

It’s more like a pool

spilling out into tiny streams

across the valley.

I heard these places are out here,

Jorge whispers,

but I’ve never

seen this before.

Look at that! Jorge shouts.

A giant black bird flies across

the valley, too big to be a crow.

We watch it circle over the water,

then directly over us.

We lay our stuff on a boulder

near the water, take off our drenched

shoes and socks, and lay them across

the dry rock.

My feet finally warm in the sun.

We stretch our bodies

along the banks of the pond,

dip our hands

into the cool of the water,

splash it on our faces.

I watch my reflection

watch me.

I’m not who I once was.

I know all of my reflections:

the mirror in our San Francisco apartment

has one swerve in the glass that widens

what it sees.

At the Dolan house, the mirror

is hung too high,

so there’s only time for faces.

Lisa has a full-length

mirror in her room

that captures everything.