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of a stunt crew to prepare him for his fall.
And it must be noted, in Merrik's eyes, that he's not the villain either,
he's the hero. Heros aren't supposed to die this way. Heros aren't supposed to
die at all.
Following his favorite movies, Merrik counts off his other favorite
things on his fingers: his favorite song is "Iron Man" sung by Ozzy back in the
days of Black Sabbath. His favorite car is the one he now owns, the '79 Trans
Am with a pushrod V-8 parked in the almost empty lot somewhere above him.
His favorite food is something he'd never tell anyone about, but since he's
about to die, why not just admit it?
"Fruit Roll-Ups," he says out loud, though he can't hear himself from
the wind rushing past his ears.
He continues: Favorite drink: Mr. Pibb. Favorite color: cobalt blue, the
same color as his car. Favorite game: Battleship. Favorite bathroom reading
material: a tie between Hustler and the Sunday funnies. Favorite TV show: Face
The Nation. Favorite old TV show: Mr. Ed. Favorite girlfriend: Sarah Marks from
the eleventh grade, who didn't care that Merrik lost a testicle to Gunner Hall's
Rottweiler.
And last but not least, Merrik's all-time favorite vacation spot: ANY­
WHERE BUT BRY CE CANYON NATIONAL PARK.
The impact of flesh and bone against rock is swift and mostly painless.
Similar to the time when Merrik was twelve and Herbie Robinson hit him in the
gut with a baseball bat. He knows he bounces a few times, but he can't tell how
high or even where because his eyes are incapable of focusing on the spinning
terrain. The sensation of falling, the cold wind up his pant legs, the thoughts
about Sarah Marks, they all cease and Merrik quickly feels warm and tingly all
over, like he took a Vick's Vapor Rub bath.
He lies there on the rocks for a while, enjoying the whole breathing
thing and the tingly sensation, and wonders if what he's feeling isn't the life
oozing out of him. He must be bleeding buckets, he reasons, because that was a
pretty goddamn serious fall. But the fact that he's conscious and rational is a
good sign, and he's sure that, December or not, someone will stumble upon
him, and soon. Big National Parks never close, which means the rangers are
always working, which means they'll be patrolling parking lots and trail heads
and possibly even the trails themselves.
They'll look down from the canyon rim and see Merrick's body and
say "Sweet Jesus almighty, that was one helluva fall!" They'll hike to the bottom
of the canyon, ask Merrik if he can hear them, if he can count to eleven and a
half, if he can wiggle his toes, if he can remember I1 (3.14 haw!).
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