Free Finding Jim by Susan Oakey-Baker Page A

day, bugs of all shapes and sizes assaulted us as we descended through the forest. We walked briskly, at least four kilometres per hour, so that the biters were hard pressed to land. Sweat plastered the tightly woven cotton of our bug shirts to our skin. The mesh in front of my face drew strands of hair like a magnet, forcing me to continually blow at the clammy mess. At lunchtime we walked on the spot to discuss our options, slapping at miniature enemies on our hands.
    â€œThey’ll eat us alive if we unzip our bug shirts to eat.”
    â€œRight. We could set up the tent,” Jim offered.
    â€œLet’s do it.”
    As we yanked the tent from my pack, spread the pieces on the ground and fumbled to put them together, I growled, “Now I know what people mean when they say ‘she went crazy and ran screaming from the woods.’ Argh! It’s too much!” My hands were covered in red welts, and anywhere the mesh of my bug shirt stuck to my skin, black flies had left little bloody craters. We dived into the nylon asylum, boots and all, zipped up and thrashed about killing any bugs unlucky enough to have made it in. Satisfied we were safe, we unzipped our mesh hoods and breathed new air.
    â€œI like how if there is something that needs to get done, you do it, even if it’s uncomfortable,” Jim said.
    â€œThanks. That’s nice of you to say.” I stored the compliment for safekeeping. I watched Jim eating happily, covered in welts and stinky bug repellent and thought, he just doesn’t get riled. He’s so steady. “You’re great. I love you.” I returned his compliment although he didn’t need reassurance like I did.
    Jim urged us to get going again. We lurched along for the last two hours, half walking, half running under our hefty packs. At the side of our pickup lake, we heaved our loads to the ground but remained standing to avoid contact with our clammy rain gear. The floatplane pilot loaded us in with a cheery, “Pretty wet, hey?” Jim and I laughed.

FIVE
TAKING THE NEXT STEP
    (SEPTEMBER 1995–MAY 1997)
    Back in Vancouver, after seven months of travelling, we invited my parents out for dinner to reconnect. Over dessert, my stepmom looked at me expectantly and asked, “So, is there a special reason why you invited us out?”
    â€œNo, not really.” I raised my eyebrows trying to guess her meaning.
    â€œNo special announcement?” she pressed.
    â€œOh. I get it. Ha. No.” I laughed uncomfortably.
    The next day, Jim and I enjoyed a picnic at the beach in the sun. Several curt comments escaped my lips before I mustered the courage to broach the subject on which I had been ruminating for more than a year.
    â€œSo, I was wondering where we’re at,” I started.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWe’ve been together for three years. It seems like we could take the next step,” I ventured.
    â€œLike what?” Jim persisted with his oblivion.
    Impatiently I retorted, “We could move in together.”
    I wanted Jim to take the lead when it came to our relationship, to take the chances, to be vulnerable, just as he did when he was in the outdoors, but he made me ask. Jim moved into my place but was only there for a few months before the ski season began. He took a heli-ski job in Whistler instead of in the BC interior, to be closer to me, happily settling into my parents’ cabin for the winter. We fell into a pattern of me driving up to Whistler on the weekends to see him while he came to me in Vancouver on his days off.
    By early spring, I tired of having a part-time boyfriend. When I arrived for my weekend visit, Jim kissed my cheek, but I neglected to give him my usual embrace. We moved stiffly around one another preparing dinner. I went upstairs to lie on the bed while the sauce cooked, and after a few minutes Jim followed. He stretched out on top of me and said, “Let’s get