Take a Hike

The mock orange had never smelled sweeter that night. Noah’s hands began to swell from the heat, the continuous swaying of his arms to steady him on the dusty ridge trail. The sun was low in the sky.

Noah walked behind another man, David, who was smaller. He took smaller steps, wore smaller shoes, and was generally risk-averse. For Noah to bring him hiking on the ridge, he had to lie. He had to say snakes didn’t live in all the holes and burrows that pocked the path between the wild grass and yarrow.

The kicked-up dust from David’s boots settled on Noah’s legs, clinging to sweat droplets weaving their way through his leg hair. They were nearing the summit of the ridge. Noah felt the breeze change, the whisperings of spring creek carried on a cooler current. He also heard David panting.

“Almost there,” Noah said.

“How do you know?” David said.

“I can feel it. This time is right.”

David kept moving. Noah kept following. Together, they reached the peak in time to watch the sunset. David grasped for the water in his pack. Noah looked out over the valley below. He had a perfect view of an intersection, where the cars looked like small cubes and the only distinguishable visual cue was a traffic light changing.

“You like hiking in the dark?” Noah asked.

“What?”

“Unless you want to run, we’ll be in darkness for the back half.”

“I thought you said—”

“And that’s when all the snakes come out.”

David and Noah smiled. They would jog down. David would fall, but he’d be fine. They would make it to the parking lot. They’d get in separate cars, returning to their separate domiciles. Nothing else needed to be said. Both waited for the other to initiate the gathering, the excuse to walk. They waited a long time.