~My Best Friend~
~My Best Friend Part Two~
~Witnesses to the Passage~
He died as he had lived, alone. Only God and the mountains were witnesses to his passing. He had risen early, a habit of over twenty years. The air was so crisp and clean, the mountains so beautiful, that he felt as if he stood in the center of God's creation. With a cup of steaming coffee warming his hands and the aroma rising to warm his soul, he decided this was the day to attempt what had remained a secret desire shared only with God all these years.
Lifting his silver-streaked head, he squinted sad, gray eyes and watched the hawks wheeling. One more swallow and he dashed the dregs of his coffee into the fire. He quenched the fire, tidied his camp, gathered his gear and walked off into the forest. Gray squirrels scolded him as he passed beneath their trees and goldfinch sprang from the branches in agitation, circling in careful watch until he disappeared from sight.
After several hours of hiking, he came to a cliff that rose straight up for over a mile. Beneath him was a pile of loose rubble formed by decades of falling rock. He laid his backpack down and sat down to rest as he went over the details of his plan once more. Throwing his head back, he could barely see the top of "Traitor's Drop", named for the men who had been thrown over the edge a hundred and more years ago. Details of the story were lost in history. Scant rumors were all that remained. Man and women had been led to their deaths by greedy trail-breakers who had eyed the few possessions of the hopeful settlers and had decided that, by all rights, they should become theirs. Instead, all that they had earned was a long drop over a cliff by vengeful men and a quick death at the bottom. He scuffed his boots in the dusty pile beneath him, thinking about bodies thudding into the earth and lying there in death, abandoned to wild animals.
With a shrug, he bent down for his pack and then stepped to the base of the cliff. Stretching out his arms, he found a handhold and pulled himself up, beginning at long last, the path that had pulled at him for years. His boots searched for and found a place to rest as his fingers sought a higher hold. The climb was not an easy one, nor was it gentle. After thirty minutes, he had climbed only several hundred feet and his fingernails were ragged and bleeding in places. Still, his heart soared at the fulfillment of his long-time dream. He reached out a bloody hand . . .
"Tom! Tom!" he hollered. "Get up, man! They're coming right behind us!" He shook his friend's shoulder but Tom never moved. He didn't need to look into the medic's sad eyes to know that Tom would never laugh with him again and he got up and ran on with the VC right behind him. He could hear the crack of their rifles and feel the bullets whistle past his ears. . .
The rock bounced against the cliff wall several times before it hit the bottom. He groped for another handhold, searching carefully for a place that was secure, that wouldn't give under his weight. Blood glinted in the sunlight where the rock had sliced his ear. He shook his head to clear it and reached out again. . .
"Keep your hands off of it!" his father raged. "Look at what you did, you stupid idiot!" His eyes looked up at his father in dismay and apology but his father had eyes only for the paint running down the side of his car. He turned and looked down at his young son then reached down and grabbed the boy's freshly painted wagon and smashed it into the driveway over and over again. When it was just a twisted, destroyed piece of metal, the father stalked into the house without one look back at his sobbing son. . .
"I'm sorry, Dad," he moaned in pain as his boot slipped and his shoulders were wrenched supporting his weight. He looked down and realized that he was almost halfway to the top. Sweat dripped off his forehead as he found another foothold and he reached to wipe it off. . .
"It's too bad that you don't have the conviction and desire to finish the term, at least," his profession said as he signed the withdrawal slip. "You could have been one of my best students if you would have just tried a little harder. Instead, you go off chasing ghosts and dreams. . ."
He couldn't meet the teacher's eyes for the disappointment and the questions that he knew would be looking out at him. . .
Pebbles clattered down the wall, echoing with the past. His limbs shook with fatigue and his eyes were narrowed against the sun's glare. It seemed as though shadows moved along the cliff with him, urging him to give up, to just let it go, but he ignored the voices whispering at him and strained to reach another safe hold. . .
"You don't know how sorry I really am," she whispered in embarrassment. "I just can't go on competing with the ghosts in your mind any longer. It's not that I don't love you," she tried to explain. "It's just that George has such a good future ahead of him and he wants . . . kids, too I'm so sorry . . ."
Pain seemed to stab his groin again. He could feel the shrapnel cutting deep, ending any chance of fatherhood and marriage with his girl. He clung to the wall, shaking, until the pain faded back into the shadows with the ghosts and he could manage to raise one weary foot in search of more support. . .
"Grab my hand! Hang on, Beater!" He stretched his arm out as far as he could, trying desperately to reach his partner. "Come on, Beater! Grab it!! God, no! Noooooooo!!!!!!" he wailed in despair and grief as he watched his friend lose his grip and get washed down the angry river, bashing against the boulders and then disappearing beneath the waves. . .
"Hang on," he muttered, shivering as the evening air chilled the sweat clinging to his body. He looked up and saw the top, only twenty feet above his head. Fighting back the memories, he found the strength to reach out again. . .
"Your father died in his sleep, Saturday, April 16th. Stop. Burial was Tuesday, April 19th. Stop. My condolences. Stop. Simon Finster, Attorney-at-law." The telegram seemed to scorch his fingers as he reached out to steady himself, his heart thumping and his eyes brimming with tears. Such simple language to destroy his hopes. Regret washed over him. Too late. Too late now to repair a broken relationship, to show his father his love, to find out if his father had ever really loved him. . .
The ledge was only three feet above him now. Fatigue slowed him down and it seemed to take hours to reach the top that loomed so near. At last his hand grasped a root that grew over the edge. He hung there, not sure if he had the strength to pull himself up the final stretch. With a super-human effort, he heaved himself over and lay belly down on the ledge, gasping and choking in the dust. Triumph coursed through his veins when he turned his head and looked down. He had done it! He had conquered "Traitor's Drop" and his own ghosts and fears. "It can't be climbed," all the old-timers had scoffed whenever hikers had mentioned challenging the cliff. He had never mentioned his secret dream of scaling it, not because he feared their scorn but because of the intensely personal nature of his dream. Still shaking, he crawled over to a tree and rested, watching the sun go down. As the sun sank below the mountain peaks, his head sank to his chest.
"Hey, pal. Gonna sit here all night? Let's go! We have a ways to go, man." "Tom?" He squinted against the bright light that appeared before him. Suddenly his fatigue disappeared and he sprang to his feet with joy. "Tom!!!" His friend laughed and pointed a finger. A second bright figure stood beside him. "Beater! Oh my God, Beater!" He grasped his friends hands in wonder and looked around in surprise. He saw himself, slumped against a tree, bloody and torn. His friends each held a hand and led him to a shiny path that appeared a short distance away. As he stepped into the light, he stopped stunned. "Dad?" he whispered. "DAD!!!!" he shouted with joy as he saw his father waiting with a smile and his arms spread wide open in welcome. "Oh, dad, I love you!" His heart swelled to the bursting point with happiness and all his ghosts disappeared forever when his father's arms closed tightly around him and he heard, at last, his father speak with love and pride. "Son, you did good." He took another step on the shiny path and soared into the loving arms of God, at peace with himself at last.
July 24, 1999More stories here.