Picking Stones Chapters 3 & 4

"Off Topic" & "On Topic"

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3 & 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6 & 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12 & 13; Chapter 14, 15, & 16; Chapter 17 & 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23 & 24; Chapter 25 & 26; Chapter 27; Chapter 28; Chapter 29; Chapter 30; Chapter 31 (Final Chapter)

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Off Topic

There isn’t much of a point to rehash the details of that conversation to you people. First off, I was bored with the subject myself. Second, Phil was really aggravating me, and I don’t want you to form a bad opinion of him just because he argues against everything I say—it’s just his nature to be like that. If I’ve gotten used to it, so can you. You already know the gist by now anyway: Beth left me because she was done with the complacency, and the boredom, and the shit attitude. Phil’s response to the news, in a nutshell, was trying to convince me that a big wand can be waved over all of my problems that’ll fix them via an attitude adjustment.

I’m too late for fixing. He doesn’t get that it’s over for me. Too late to do anything about it. Don’t believe me? Fine. Allow me to explain.

There was this pet turtle that I had as a kid. He died. The end.

Alright, not exactly. There was a life lived somewhere in between that beginning and end. My point is there’s no difference between me and that turtle. Obviously it’s worse for the turtle, don’t get me wrong. He was stuck in a glass prison for the entire duration of his life, unable to escape, just seeing the world around him from the sanctity of his tank.

When you really start to think about it you’ll realize we may not be that far apart after all, me and that turtle—or you. The life story of the turtle (his name was Kenny for anyone who cares) is eerily similar to mine.

I was born and one day I’m going to die. If I end up having kids, maybe I’ll make it to a second or third generation’s memory. Then the day will come when I’m just a strange photograph pasted in a great-grandkid’s photobook, only there because they feel bad throwing out the photo of me. They might have a hazy idea of what my name was. My whole life will be summed up to them by some awkward picture of me sitting in a chair at someone’s barbecue.

If I don’t have kids, which now seems likely, I’ll be wiped out of existence as soon as the line goes flat. Sure, there was some stuff that happened along the way, but nothing of importance. Just a bunch of empty feelings and wasted opportunities that won’t be realized until I let the last microscopic pieces of shit out of my ass and keel over.

I used to feel bad for Kenny and let him out of his tank every now and then. The poor bastard would scramble for the nearest corner of the room and just claw at it. For hours. I don’t know if he wanted to escape or if he just liked the corner. There was a whole house—or world—for him to explore, but he always chose to shoot to the nearest corner and claw at the same spot until I put him out of his misery. By that I mean placing him back in his tank where he would resume basking under the light hovering above his little prison.

There’s a whole world out there worth exploring. But time and time again I’ve chosen to rush to my little corner and just mindlessly stay there, letting everyone else pick me up and put me in the prison where I feel most comfortable.

It’s fucked up, but it’s what happens. I always wanted to apologize to that turtle for taking his life from him, but I never had the guts to. When I found him dead one morning I buried him under gravel in front of my parents house and whispered words of sympathy. Then life went on. Just like what’s gonna happen with me, with you, and with everyone else. And when that happens there won’t be anyone apologizing over our lost lives, either.

On Topic

Sorry if I went a little off topic. There’s supposed to be a story happening here. I’m not sure where any of that came from. The further we ventured into the woods, the deeper my thoughts fell. It’s over now. Not the hike, but the tailspin my mind was falling into.

The hike itself had been relaxing and I was happy to be there. At this point Phil and I were sitting at the mountain’s summit, a massive clearing of gray rock that stretched for fifteen feet in all directions. Tiny shrubs and branches poked out of the cracked slits in the stone.

Butter Mountain stood peacefully across the river below our line of sight. It was a sea of soft emerald that lulled into waves stretching back as far as our eyes would allow us to see. The river reflected a vivid blue from the clear sky above us. Another train rolled through, headed south towards the city. I wondered if I could commute to work from here. Leave whatever I had behind to start something new.

Nonsense.

“Doesn’t get much better than this,” Phil said. He had his hands rested on his hips as he sucked in a deep breath of the cold, clean air. My gaze stayed fixed on the train until it reached the corner of my field of vision. Looking past the train I caught something far into the distance.

“You can see the city from here,” I said. I pointed until Phil confirmed he saw it too. From here you could hardly see the the skyscrapers through the haze. The structures jutted out of the landscape and looked like toothpicks from where we stood. An eyesore in an otherwise perfect painting. I fixed my eyes back on the mountain across from us. My lungs filled with air slowly. Exhaling, I felt a release and let myself stay on the mountain and not teleport to the stress and troubles waiting for me back home. The rippling river sparkled as it reflected the sun. There was peace for a second.

“I’m glad you finally joined me on one of these,” Phil said.

“Me too.”

“Come on, let’s keep moving.”

He started toward a yellow arrow spray painted into a boulder.

Before long the scenery disappeared, and we were on a downward spiral through tall trees casting shadows across the whole forest. Mud covered our boots. I felt myself sinking further into the ground with each step. A cold wind blew. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. That feeling again. A cross between confusion and abject terror.

I shuddered and looked over my shoulder. No one. Just trees and leaves and leaves and trees. What was I expecting to see?

It happened all at once this time. My chest constricted. The heart pounded against the sternum. Phil was a few feet ahead of me and elaborating about a new video game I never asked about. Good thing he couldn’t see the look of fear on my face. Maybe it was just a hot flash?

The tree branches above us grew closer together; the limbs interlocked with each other until a tight tunnel had formed. I could barely see in front of me. Phil’s voice was muffled. My eyes darted toward him in confusion. Where was his panic?

Look behind you, I told myself. To the sides, in front, back behind you. I could feel it there, right behind me. My eyes were met by nothing. A branch snapped. I jerked my head to the side, sharp pain shooting down to my shoulder. A squirrel dodged across my feet and up a sycamore tree. My temples were scorching.

Claustrophobia was wrapping its tendrils around me as the walls of the forest crashed in on me from all sides. Phil’s words were mere vibrations bouncing off of my forehead and onto the muddy ground below. The earth was spinning and ready to vomit us into deep space.

A black shape shot in front of us. I screamed.

Before Phil had a chance to react—his brain hadn’t even sent the signal to his neck to turn around—a bolt of lightning crashed and sent a shock wave through the entire forest. It had struck just as I let out the scream. Birds flew, squirrels ran, and when I looked up the trees were parted. A dark gray sky was visible. Lighting crashed again, this time even louder. Dead leaves shook off the crooked limbs they hung to and floated around us.

“We’re about to get drenched!” Phil shouted and broke out into a run. “Come on, we’re almost finished, let’s get back to the car.”

What were the chances that lighting struck just as I screamed? No time to ponder that. I broke out in a run behind Phil before I lost him.

“I checked the weather. It was supposed to be clear all day!” he called out.

Another bolt of lightning sounded, the sky grew even darker. At least the claustrophobia had disappeared. Droplets of rain had yet to fall, but Phil was at a full sprint. I kept up; there was no chance I’d be caught dead in the forest alone.

We hurried past a roaring brook rushing towards the Hudson. A deer was kneeling down to sip some water. Were those red eyes that glanced at me? I veered wide to keep away from the deer, in case it had parasites.

What had that black shape been that darted in front of us?

The mud dried up and turned into a flat gravel path. Ruins of a brick mansion from the nineteen century stood off the trail. It was almost the size of the building I lived in. How much wealth did the man who lived there need to build such a palace? I felt a ping of jealousy as the ruins shrunk behind me.

My pocket vibrated. I stopped to catch my breath. “Let’s break here, I can’t keep this up,” I called. Phil reluctantly stopped and walked over to me. Thunder rumbled. The downpour was about to commence.

“It’s Brendan,” I said putting the phone away. “He’s seeing if we’re still on for dinner later.”

“How else are we getting back all the calories we burned on this hike?” he said. Good. Dinner with friends would be just what I needed. I couldn’t imagine staying home with my thoughts that night.

Our shoes finally met the asphalt of the parking lot. The dark clouds seemed to be descending from the sky ready to engulf us. The once beautiful view had turned harsh and brooding. We threw our backpacks into the backseat and hopped in the car just as the rain started pouring.

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