Mountain

 

Eli parked at the edge of the gravel lot where the trail began and sat for a long while with the engine off. The mountain rose ahead, green at the base and fading into clouds near the peak, exactly as it had when he was twelve and his father first dragged him up it. Nothing had changed. That was the problem.

He hadn’t been home in six years. The town looked smaller on the drive in: too many empty storefronts, too many people who stared just a second too long when he bought gas or coffee. Faces he half-recognized, older now, watching him like he was a trick of the light.

Roy was waiting by the signpost when Eli finally stepped out of the car.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Roy said. His voice carried the same gravel as the path.

Eli gave a small nod. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Roy was shorter than he remembered, his shoulders stooped but solid. A ranger’s hat hung from his neck by a cord. The beard was grayer now, but his posture was the same; quiet, self-contained, as if the trees might overhear him.

They didn’t hug. They just started walking.

The trail wound through spruce and cedar, roots knuckling out of the dirt like veins. The air smelled of wet bark, sharp with sap. Mist clung to the undergrowth, and each breath drew cold into Eli’s lungs.

Roy kept a steady pace a few steps ahead, using a walking stick to test the ground before each incline. Eli followed, boots slipping slightly on the damp stone. The only sounds were their breathing and the rasp of gravel underfoot.

After a while, Roy asked, “You been keeping well?”

Eli nodded. “Yeah. Got a job in the city. Tech support stuff. Pays the bills.”

“That right.” Roy gave a slow nod. “Your dad never could figure out computers. Said they were just another excuse to avoid talkin’.”

Eli smiled faintly. “That sounds like him.”

It was strange, hearing the man mentioned out loud. Even the word father felt foreign in his mouth, like a title from someone else’s story. He’d come back because the lawyer said there were a few things left to settle: a small insurance payout, a storage unit, a request in the will for his ashes to be scattered “somewhere high.” That was all.

They reached the first clearing about forty minutes in. Sunlight broke through in a narrow column, glinting off a stream that crossed the trail. Roy stopped to drink from his canteen and offered it over.

“Your dad used to stop here every time, you know,” he said. “Pretend he was checking the map when really he just needed to catch his breath.”

Eli took a sip. “Yeah. He’d make me carry his water so he could say I was building character.”

Roy gave a low chuckle. “That he would.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly, just heavy. The kind with too much history to fit into words.

The trail narrowed as they climbed. Eli’s legs began to ache, but he said nothing. He focused on the sound of birds, the smell of pine, the thinning trees that revealed the valley below as a patchwork of rooftops and silver river.

Roy said, “You came up here a lot, when you were young.”

“Yeah. Every summer.”

“He used to brag about how fast you could make it to the ridge, you know.”

Eli shrugged. “Guess I had something to prove.”

Roy glanced over. “You still do?”

Eli didn’t answer.

He hadn’t known what he was hoping to find here. Closure sounded too clean. He’d told himself it was about respect for the ashes, for the past. But that wasn’t it. He wanted to see if the world still recognized him after everything had changed.

They stopped near the halfway point; a flat ridge overlooking a ravine. The trees opened to reveal distant peaks, still dusted with late snow. Eli sat on a boulder and pulled out a thermos. Roy joined him, lowering himself with a grunt.

“Your dad brought me up here once,” Roy said after a while. “After your mother passed. Didn’t say a word the whole way. Just hiked till sunset, then sat right there, same as you.”

Eli nodded. “He wasn’t big on words.”

“No. But on the other trips he kept talking about you, you know. Every damn trip. Didn’t know how to… say things right, I guess.”

Eli’s grip tightened on the thermos. “He didn’t try much either.”

Roy didn’t flinch. “Maybe not. Some of us get stuck in what we know. Doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

Eli stared down at the dirt. “He called me his daughter in the obituary.”

“Yeah.” Roy sighed. “That wasn’t right of him. But he wasn’t used to changing what was written down, you know.”

“That’s a lame excuse.” He shot back coolly.

Roy nodded, “Of course it is. Maybe he’d have a different one.”

The wind picked up, carrying the smell of rain. For a while neither spoke. The silence felt less sharp this time, more like air after a storm.

Finally, Roy stood. “Come on. We’ve got another mile. He’d hate to think we quit halfway.”

Eli huffed a laugh and followed.

The final stretch was steep, the path turning to loose rock. His calves burned. He remembered hiking this same route at fourteen, trying to match his father’s pace, pretending not to cry when he slipped on the shale. He remembered his father’s hand reaching down; not gentle, but firm. Up you get.

When they crested the last rise, the summit opened in a wide bowl of grass and stone. The view wasn’t grand, not like postcards, just rolling hills fading into haze, the sound of wind moving through scrub.

Roy took off his hat and held it against his chest. “Didn’t think I’d see this again.”

“Why not?” Eli frowned.

“Didn’t feel right, hiking the trail alone.”

Eli unslung his pack. Inside was a small tin, light as a memory. He opened it, and the ashes stirred faintly in the breeze.

He knelt, letting them fall through his fingers. The wind carried some over the valley. The rest settled among the rocks.

Roy stood behind him, silent.

After a moment, Eli said, “He always said he could see everything that meant something from up here, you know. Guess this’ll have to do.”

Roy nodded. “He’d have liked this.”

Eli closed the tin. “He ever tell you why he liked this place so much?”

“Because it made him feel small,” Roy said. “Said it was good for him.”

Eli smiled, and it was a real one this time. “That’s the most him thing I’ve ever heard.”

They stood there a while longer. The clouds broke apart, sunlight sliding across the slopes like slow gold. Far below, a hawk circled, catching the thermals.

Roy said quietly, “He’d be proud of you, you know.”

Eli didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The words sat between them, soft and true, asking for nothing.

On the way down, Roy took the lead again. The light through the trees had shifted, afternoon gold softening into gray. Eli felt lighter somehow, though his legs ached.

They didn’t talk much. At the final turn before the trailhead, Roy slowed. “You staying long?”

“Couple days. Gotta finish the paperwork. Then I’ll head back.”

Roy nodded. “If you need anything, my place is two houses past the diner. Still got the same mutt barking out front. Your dad never got along with him, you know.”

“Thanks.”

He hesitated, then added, “You don’t have to keep saying ‘you know.’ I know.”

Roy smiled, lines deepening at his eyes. “All right then, Eli.”

The sound of his name spoken plain, no question mark, no pause, landed heavier than the ashes had.

Eli swallowed. “Thanks for coming up with me.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Roy said. “Trail’s better with company.”

They reached the lot. The sky had gone pale gold, the first chill of evening setting in. Eli looked back once. The mountain loomed the same as always; unmoved, but not indifferent.

He thought of the years it took for trees to bend toward the sun, the way stone held the warmth of a vanished day. Maybe change didn’t need to be loud. Maybe it could be as quiet as breath.

He turned back to the car.

“See you around, kid,” Roy said.

Eli smiled. “Yeah. You know it.”

He got in, started the engine, and drove down the winding road, the mountain shrinking in the mirror until it was just another line on the horizon, steady and waiting.

 

Prompt credit to createglue