His Mountain
“OK. Where’s the top of this thing?” I grumble, half under my breath,”My knee hurts, I have a rock in my shoe, and I think the high altitude is warping my nail polish.”
“Quit your belly-aching and hurry up,” Daniel scolds from a nearby log.
Why on earth had I let him talk me into this hike? I hate being outside. I don’t even suntan for longer than 20 minutes at a time. I miss the mall, the telephone, the TV, the refrigerator.
“I should have been a mountain man,” he states decidedly. “Do you think they have a major for it in college? Professional Mountain Guy. Sounds much better than Radiology Technician.”
I clutch my throat and make gagging noises. I swoon to the ground in a fainting motion, falling into moss, bugs, and quite possibly snakes. I get up fast, brush away the woodsy goobers, and glare hard at Daniel.
“I hate this. Sun gives you skin cancer; mosquitoes, yellow fever. The wind is ruining my hair.” I bite off every word. “And these charming little trees keep dropping their little needles down the back of my shirt.” My face reddens with anger and lack of oxygen. “Listen, Robin Hood, I hate to break it to you, but I’m no Little John.”
“How can you hate this, Buffy?” he questions, ignoring my obvious reasons. Daniel climbs higher on the rock. “Come up here and check this out.” I follow him to the top of the colossal stone, brush the long strands of ebony hair from my eyes, and gaze down the hill. The spruce and fir trees sway back and forth like people at a rock concert.
“I guess that’s kind of neat,” I admit. Daniel tosses me a quick glare. He runs his hand through his own inky hair and looks up at the blue sky.
“That cloud right there,” he says, pointing, “looks like a marshmallow.”
“Wow. Am I supposed to be impressed?” I ask. “They all look like marshmallows.”
He shakes his head sadly. We jump down off the stone and continue up the path to a clearing. There, a doe and two fawns nibble at the bistort. We sit, so as not to frighten them. They shy away, but make no effort to flee. Daniel and I watch, staying still and quiet, as the mother takes a few steps toward us, becoming a barrier between us and her babies. Her big, brown eyes look sad, but peaceful. A rustling in the bushes causes the doe to snap her head around toward the large buck with a 10-point rack that prances into the small clearing. He concentrates on us for a moment, then they all disappear into the woods.
“Did you see that?” I gasp. Daniel stares at me with a huge grin. “Oh, no. Don’t look at me like that. This does not mean I’m a convert. I’d still rather be at home.”
“Fine,” he responds through clenched teeth, “go home then. We haven’t hiked very far. You can find your way back down. Go watch your TV. Just go home, Buffy.” He turns his back on me and resumes his hike up the mountain.
“Maybe I will. But then again, maybe I won’t,” I say. He doesn’t tease me back. He doesn’t turn around to see if I start back down the mountain.
He pressured me into going with him in the first place. “This will be the last time we can spend together before I leave for college,” he told me. Now, with the pressure off, and taking care to stay a good distance behind him, I follow.
He wants me up here with him for a reason. He could have taken any of his nature-loving friends instead and had a great time.
I remember all the times he threatened big kids who made fun of me, all the times he took the blame for things I’d done wrong.
The trees ahead seem to beckon to my brother, as if they know him. That cloud really does look more like a marshmallow than the rest of them. I also see a turnip, a whale, and Mickey Mouse.
When I look for Daniel again, he has disappeared. Running in the direction I last saw him heading, I come to a small stream. Daniel kneels on the bank and puts his hands in the water. He splashes some on his face. I stay behind him, unsure whether or not he knows I’m here.
“I’m glad you decided to stay with me,” he says.
“Thank you for introducing me to your mountain, Daniel,” I whisper. We head back down.
“When we get home,” I ask cautiously, “you want to watch ‘Robin Hood’?” I stare up at my big brother, expecting a laugh and a refusal.
“Sure, Buffy,” he says. “Right after I take you shopping.”