My lungs feel like the lemons my sisters and I used to squeeze to make lemonade. We would squish and squash them as hard as we could, swirling the juice with water and sugar. I have no doubt the lemonade actually tasted terrible, just as my lungs feel terrible right now. Looking back, I see Anthony making his way up the trail. The mountain is as steep as a ladder. "We're almost at the top," I call down to him. Our eyes connect and he nods, smiling, but too breathless to answer.
I am used to this climb. I tackled it many times with my childhood friends. We used to have so much energy, practically racing each other to the top. Now, I take the time to appreciate the scenery. The sounds of birds serenading one another. The feeling of sweat dripping down my back. The taste of humid, fresh air. The sun peeking through the branches and the leaves of the trees, as if it is spying on us. My childhood friends changed, but the mountain never will.
The ground levels beneath us as we get to the top. "So, where do we sit?" Anthony asks. "You'll see," I respond. Anthony doesn't know this yet, but there are ginormous boulders protruding from the cliffside of the mountain. Some of them are balanced on top of each other, like huge cairns. The townsfolk named the cliff the Devil's Tea Table because of this. I wonder who the devil would be having tea with. I wonder if he cares that I use his table sometimes to clear my head.
The boulder that I bring Anthony to is scribbled with graffiti, like a child's coloring book. We sit cross-legged and scan the horizon. The Delaware River is stretched out in front of us like a snake. It divides New Jersey (my home) and Pennsylvania. The setting sun casts a blend of reds, yellows, oranges, blues, and purples onto the water. If this is the Devil's Tea Table, the river must be God's canvas. My heart immediately warms at the view. I rest my head on Anthony's shoulder and hope he can feel it too.
The ground levels beneath us as we get to the top. "So, where do we sit?" Anthony asks. "You'll see," I respond. Anthony doesn't know this yet, but there are ginormous boulders protruding from the cliffside of the mountain. Some of them are balanced on top of each other, like huge cairns. The townsfolk named the cliff the Devil's Tea Table because of this. I wonder who the devil would be having tea with. I wonder if he cares that I use his table sometimes to clear my head.
The boulder that I bring Anthony to is scribbled with graffiti, like a child's coloring book. We sit cross-legged and scan the horizon. The Delaware River is stretched out in front of us like a snake. It divides New Jersey (my home) and Pennsylvania. The setting sun casts a blend of reds, yellows, oranges, blues, and purples onto the water. If this is the Devil's Tea Table, the river must be God's canvas. My heart immediately warms at the view. I rest my head on Anthony's shoulder and hope he can feel it too.
Comments
Post a Comment