On An Unrelated Note: Short Stories

Alan

Alan was 15 when he climbed his first mountain. His dad was really into it, and every summer he headed out west to "get away from it all". Alan usually stayed home with his mom and little sister, doing whatever he could find to do. He got bored easily and abandoned tasks. He always had. That's why he decided to climb the mountain, he guessed. To have some stability.

He and his dad left for 5 days to go to Mount Washburn in Wyoming. It was easy, his dad had said. Just a little above 10,000 feet, below the tree line.

They stayed in a tent at the base of the mountain and Alan woke up early. He was stiff, tired and unsure of his decision, and his fathers "come on you can do this man" and "it's good exercise. You really don't get enough exercise." didn't help. Alan had always been aware of his stomach, which stretched out all his shirts and belts, the way it looked and moved. He didn't want it there, but he was too stubborn to just get rid of it and give into the chastising calls of "see I knew if you just went to the gym you would have looked better". He didn't want to feel even worse after getting in shape. So he just let it be.

He realized what a mistake that was as he started up the mountain. He pulled himself along for a while, still sleepy and stiff and cold. His dad took too long of strides and it felt like Alan was just trotting along.

"How far have we gone?" He finally asked, when it felt like they had made good progress.

"Well," his dad said, looking at his phone. "If you look through those trees, you can still see the parking lot."

Alan twisted around and felt his heart sink.

"Oh..."

"Look, we need to be at the peak by, oh say 11:30. 12:00 if we're feeling adventurous." His dad said, resuming his long strides.

"Why?" Alan asked, looking at his watch. It was 7:45.

"We need to be there before the afternoon storms. See those clouds forming up over the mountain?" He stopped and pointed at some fog skimming the top. "They have wicked lightning strikes. Number one cause of mountain deaths." Alan must have looked taken aback because his father nudged him along and said "I think we'll be ok since this is below the tree line, but I just wanted to be sure."

Alan didn't say much after that.

They passed through trees and creeks and rock piles, Alan smiling when they hit a sunny patch of land and grimacing when the trees obstructed the warm rays of light. The terrain was mostly smooth and free of obstructions (his father had said this was a high-tourist mountain) but there was the occasional rock patch which made Alan's plans clam up and throat close a little.

He and his father didn't speak too much, both saving their breath for the long journey.

Around 10, they stopped on a rock to catch their breath and eat some trail mix. Alan's heart was pumping and the cold morning had turned balmy and humid. He wiped sweat continuously from his forehead and took sips of the black coffee his dad offered him a swig of.

"Come on, we're making great time," his dad said, starting back on the trail. Alan grumbled, saying he wasn't ready to go and just hold on.

His dad shook his head. "I thought you wanted to climb a mountain." He said, stopping and regarding Alan.

"I did. I mean, I do!" Alan said, defensive. "I just needed more time to catch my breath."

His dad took a long, deep breath. "When you reach the top, you'll regret wasting time on a rock, eating trail mix. The view is... indescribable."

"Whatever I can google it." Alan said, sticking a stick into the dirt.

"And not feel the wind on your face? His dad asked, sounding desperate. "And not feel that beautiful ache, knowing you've just worked hard for what you got, not feel that mountain air fill your lungs, free of pollution or smoke? You'd rather feel guilty for giving up and looking at picture than feeling strong and good and experiencing, really experiencing something?" His dad turned back to the trail. "Cause if so that's a godddamn shame."

His dad walked on and Alan sighed and trotted after.

They reached the top at 11:45, 4 and a half hours of climbing. His dad was beaming. "This is great. My little boy, all grown up and strong, standing with me on the top of a mountain." He helped pull Alan up the last few feet and said "now, what you've been waiting for." He stepped back and Alan sighed. The green stretched on forever, turning gray at the end, like a rainstorm had washed it all out. He took a deep breath and felt his lungs expand with the mountain air, let his sweat dry in the cold mountain wind. He stood, feeling happy and strong, experiencing something new, and something good.

"Chase this feeling, son. It's rare you'll find it again."