It Starts With Him

27

After fifteen minutes of dragging myself up the steep hill, it still feels like a mile until the top. I'm more than halfway up, and this thought keeps me going. My legs drag, my skin rubbing uncomfortably against the grass and hands gripping blindly at rocks sticking out of the ground to use as handles.

Of course, mom would choose a tall ass hill, of all things, to be the one place she actually makes me go. She always was able-bodied and fit. She almost never left the house without athletic shorts on, her hair in a high ponytail on the crown of her head. More than a few times, she would force me on hikes with her. I secretly dreaded every second but did it because I knew it made her happy. She left me in the dust every time, my forehead always glittery with a sheen of sweat and my lungs feeling like they were about to be coughed up. I loved the nature aspect of the hikes, but the walking aspect? Not so much.

I push myself harder and harder as I near the top of the hill, feeling my eyes well up with tears at the thought of my mom trudging up the mountain-like hill next to me, or even at the thought of Ace there, too.

He would have loved this. Every adventure we had together, his face would light up in a way I'd never seen before. And he would look at me in those moments, and a twinkle would be in his eye that told me how much he appreciated those times just as much as I did. That they meant something to him too and maybe made him feel more alive than he had in ages, just like me. That we brought something out in each other that had been buried deep, not able to unearth itself without a little help. But we had been that for each other.

We had taken the other one, so cold and fizzled out, and set each other aflame. What started as a spark quickly transformed into a forest fire.

And now I'm without my personal matchbox. And I'm cold again.

With a quick swipe of my hand under my eye, I reach the peak of the hill and grip my knees to push myself up. The top of the hill is quite small in comparison to the height, the only thing residing on it being a large, dark grey boulder even taller than me. Since the climb took me so long, I know the view must be incredible, but it's the last thing on my mind. I need to figure out why mom's coordinates led here.

After taking a moment to catch my breath from the grueling climb, I start to pace around the boulder. Is there something else here? Anything else?

After a hasty inspection, I confirm there's nothing on top of this hill except the massive rock. I glare at it, resting my pants promptly on my hips.

A hill. A boulder. What an amazing place, I think while rolling my eyes.

Why, of all places, would this be where mom wrote down coordinates to? Why does it seem like, my whole life, every time I come even remotely close to reaching something great, it's snatched away from me?

My eyes well with tears, but from what? Disappointment? Anger? Maybe both. I was expecting something memorable from my mom, and I got a rock. The thought of Ace's hand grasping mine at this moment to calm me, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my palm is too much.

I fall to the grassy ground, my hands digging themselves into the dirt. I rip out the grass, and flex my hands in the damp soil, biting my lip so hard that I taste blood on my tongue. I want mom. I want Ace. I want dad and Lucas. I want normality and passion, and I wanted something from my mom that maybe, just maybe, could have made things better. But I guess not.

With a deep breath, I lean my head against the boulder next to me and close my eyes, the tears streaming down my face starting to slow. I breathe slowly, in my nose and out my mouth, trying to calm myself.

When I finally feel near sane again, I peel my eyes open. The ground on either side of me is shredded from my hands' desperate grip, two jagged holes in the earth with soil sprayed onto the boulder.