by Natalie Mead The tent is gray and orange—gray like the color of my face after a long bout of vomiting, or of my favorite wire-free bra after years of abuse and few washes. The orange is the sturdy International Orange of the Golden Gate Bridge. This is the same orange my friend Vivian wants to paint her house. The light coming through my living room window makes the gray tent fabric glow yellow, like the rotten-banana bruises in the crooks of my elbows. My husband Cory set up the …

by Lewis Scott The Drive There I rolled the windows down and drove toward the trailhead. The breeze carried in the sounds of birds, leaves, and distant traffic. Each familiar sight, sound, and smell filled me with bittersweet nostalgia as I embarked on this journey. 4,400 Steps The first 4,400 steps were the hardest. Each step was a battle against myself, a conscious decision I had to make over and over again. As the sun rose higher, the heat intensified. With every step, the …