On some level, I think that Lucian and I both craved an epic quest, a bold affirmation that the world was a place not to survive, narrowly, but to explore voraciously. And this is how we found ourselves at the top of Mount Katahdin, traversing the Knife Edge.
It was late August, but the air was crisp. To the south, there was a weather system moving through, and we could see the clouds beneath us. To the north, the sky was clear. It was like the Knife was cutting the clouds in half.
We proceeded along the ridge, in places, climbing hand over foot. Lucian moved with such agility and balance, it was clear to me that this kid was born to do this. Then suddenly, right dead, smack in the center of the Knife Edge, we encountered a thicket of scraggly grass. And that’s when the bee stung Lucian.
My wife, who is a doctor, had tried to prepare me for this moment. She had told me, repeatedly, that if Lucian was ever stung, we both had to remain calm, because panic would only accelerate the anaphylaxis. Lucian was pale faced, and he told me, very calmly: “Dad, this is serious, I could die.” If this were a novel, the perfectly timed calamity, and my son’s earnest yet grim remark, would all be cut by some clever editor. Too on the nose. But this was not a novel. It was real life. We both glanced about. We were in one of the most precarious spots in North America. There could be no rescue here — no helicopter to save us. We were on our own.
“What’s your favorite video game?” I asked my son. He looked at me incredulously. Clouds swirled around us. I pressed him, asking him again. Reluctantly, he began answering my question — or more accurately, he began explaining to me why it was totally inappropriate to talk about video games at a moment like this. By the time he finished, a minute had passed. He showed no signs of having an allergic reaction. I pointed this out to him. Another minute passed. And then, miraculously, we realized, he was totally fine. We didn’t even need the EpiPen.
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