Trust

“Dude, you definitely shouldn’t take him to China with you.” My roommate Nate laughed at me. We were in the kitchen, his laughter was interrupted by the sizzle as he turned his steak in the pan.

I was sorry I’d asked him. I shoved more spinach into the blender.

“I mean, how long have you dated him?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks? Damn girl, traveling is a great time to meet other people to hook up. Do you want to throw that all away for one guy when it might not even work out?”

“My days of hooking up are over. Plus, Yangshuo is one of the best rock climbing places in the world. And Sergey is a reliable climbing partner.”

“That shit’s bound to get boring…”

“Hold on a minute.” I turned on the blender and watched the spinach, blueberries, pea protein powder magically becoming palatable as they blended with the generous scoop of Nutella. I looked over at Nate who was still laughing, his red face nearly matching his hair. He looked like an overgrown frat boy. Why would I take advice from him?

I turned the blender off. Hipster Peter sauntered into the room and opened a cabinet. “You guys almost done in here? Mary and I are making pizza tonight.”

“Again?” Nate laughed. “You guys are so boring.” Nate winked at me. “Hey Peter, get this, Lauren’s thinking about bringing that guy she just started dating to China with her!”

“Really! The Russian?” Peter raised his eyebrows. “How do you know he isn’t just trying to get with you for a Green Card. Can you really trust him?”

“Thanks for the advice guys,” I sniffed, “I’m going upstairs.”

I set my smoothie by my laptop and sighed. It was a bit suspicious that Sergey was so sweet to me: complimenting me, holding my hand as though it were a precious gift, listening to me carefully… was he only interested in me for my citizenship?

There was one way to find out. He told me he kept an online blog.  I typed his name into Google and it popped up. It was all in Russian. I deflated. Then a box popped up on the right-hand corner, “Would you like to translate this page?”

Yes.

The translation wasn’t perfect. “It is very boring magazine,” the top of the page read.

I read his description of May 3rd, the day we met. I smiled as I read how he wasn’t much of a dancer, but after I asked him he was surprised to find that he really liked it.

I turned to May 8th, our first official date, and my heart filled with clammy rage. He described how we danced then added, “as long as everything goes well, I think of visas se flow.”

What the hell does that mean? Google Translate wasn’t the best, but how many other words would be translated into “visa?”

Tears sprung to my eyes. I was such a fool to think that he really liked me, to consider bringing him to China when I didn’t know him that well.

But maybe the translation wasn’t that good? A small, hopeful voice persisted inside of me. I remembered Nikita, my Russian friend from Boston. I copied and pasted Sergey’s blog entry into a Facebook message and followed with, “can you tell me if this guy is only dating me in hopes of a visa?”

Luckily, Nikita wrote back soon, before I got carried away with doubt. “Lol, no! He wrote that he’ll ‘go with the flow’.”

Three weeks later, we were in China. Sergey was belaying me up a beautiful limestone karst, called “The Egg.” I’d been climbing the route a while, “cleaning” the quickdraws Sergey had hung when he had led it.

I reached up for my next hold to find nothing: the once generously pocket rock was smooth. Maybe I should ask Sergey for advice. I looked down at him. Big mistake. Waves of dizziness came over me. He has to be at least 80 feet down! I’d never climbed so high before. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. He’s probably out of earshot. I can figure this out.

I heard a low rumbling moo. I looked at the landscape beyond Sergey: rice paddies, water buffalo, and more limestone pillars. Not a person in sight. Nobody to come help if there were an accident.

Just keep climbing, Lauren, I told myself. I found a good foothold and stood up on it, flailing my hands above searching for a hold. None to be found. I slipped off, shrieking a bit as the rope stretched down a few feet. Can I trust this rope? How old is it? It looked worn and dirty. Why did we think it was a good idea to rent the rope? I pictured the rope snapping, me falling 80 feet to crush Sergey under my weight. The sun shifted lower in the sky, suddenly glowing rather than glaring. I knew our taxi would pick us up soon. If we were late, it would leave without us. We would then either have to hitchhike back to Yangshuo or sleep with the water buffalo.

I took another try. I stepped on the high hold, carefully this time so that I could balance on my one leg. With control, I searched above me for a hold. There! I found a huge pocket that I could fit both hands in. I felt immediate relief and pulled my body up.

Then I heard the buzzing. Bees began swarming out of the pocket. Dozens and dozens of them. I screamed and climbed up as fast as I could. But the bees followed me. I felt a sting on my ass and screamed. I wasn’t allergic to bees as far as I knew. But maybe Chinese bees were different?

“Are you okay?” Sergey shouted.

“There are bees! Lots and lots of bees!”

“Do you need to come down?”

“There isn’t enough time. I’ll finish it.”

The bees buzzed around my waist like a glittering belt. Others hovered around the next quickdraw I was supposed to clean. I winced as I unclipped it. But I didn’t get stung again.

I climbed to the top faster than I’d ever climbed before, trying to out-run the bees. I cleaned the anchor and rappelled down.

When I got to the bottom, Sergey was sitting on a rock, inspecting his legs. They were full of bright red marks.

“What happened to you?”

“Right around the time when I heard you scream, I started getting swarmed by ants.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed really scared so I didn’t want to worry you.” He winced as he rubbed his calf. “It’s okay. The bites burn a bit but they’ll go away.”

We found our taxi by the same rice paddy where we had been dropped off. We held hands in the backseat.

I leaned into him and whispered, “I am so glad I can trust you. Thank you for the solid belay.”

Sergey gave my hand a squeeze. “Thank you for cleaning the route.”

And so, our love began, founded on appreciation, trust, and a love for adventure (aka self-manufactured terror). I’d found my match. I am so glad I didn’t take that horrible advice in the kitchen.

I love you, Sergey!