This is my Mountain

I sit at the ledge of the mountain, a warm breeze playing my hair and small shards of rock
pelting me as I hear the steps of hiking parties above me. I don’t know if I’ve ever
panicked before, and today was no exception.
I hear a bird caw in the distance, a tiny little dot winding in and out of clouds. I
stay sitting there, listening for the birds, when I hear a twig crack. Close.
I nearly fall off the cliff, thinking it was a mountain lion. I regain my composure,
pretending not to hear, and continuing to listen for the distant birdcall.
“Hello,” I hear a voice whisper, soft as if wanting and yet not wanting to be heard.
I stay silent and still, but he knows I heard him.
“There’s a search party looking for you.”
I don’t even wince.
He sits down next to me, and we’re both swinging our legs now. “I could tell them
you’re here.”
Behind piles and mounds of stray brush and twigs. That’s where you’d find me.
“But you don’t want to be found.”
It isn’t a question but a statement of fact. His fingers fill the gaps in mine.
“I found you anyways.”
I give him a slight grin so slight I don’t know if he sees it. I know he does.
The bird caws again, and we both sit there for a while. I don’t know how long we
spend sitting there, waiting for the bird to call again.
“The bird isn’t cawing anymore.”
As I say this, I get up, letting my hand slip from his. He doesn’t get up. I leave my
small section of the mountain to him. I slip back to the hiking group and don’t tell him
where he is. Because, I have a feeling he doesn’t want to be found.
 Memories

I lie in the field; a warm breeze tickling my face and blades of grass and clover leaves
brushing against my bare arms and legs. A flower is intertwined between my fingers,
small and innocent with heart-shaped petals. Ethan scales up the oak tree and leans
against it, holding on to the branch he sits on. We stay in our positions for who-knows
how long, birds chirping and leaves rustling in the place of our silence.
I see the clouds settling on the horizon, slowly inching towards the field. Birds,
tiny dots below the clouds, skitter away, trying to find refuge from the dampness. I stay
lying down, daring the rain to come.
Eventually, though, raindrops land on my head, shimmering in the remnants of
sunlight the sun had to offer, a tiny drop of a bleeding rainbow. Ethan slides down the
tree, landing it the circle of moss that surrounds it. “It’s raining.”
The raindrops flow down my face like tears, yet colder and more comfortable.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s raining,” Ethan repeats, leaning against the tree again.
“And that means we have to go inside because . . .”
“Because . . .”
“My point exactly.” I lie stationary in the field, twirling the flower with my
fingers.
Ethan lies down next to me. The rain hits both of our faces, and they slither down
my leg like tiny streams of rainbows. They catch the light and play around with it,
magnifying its vibrancy tenfold. I hand him the flower and he grins; it catches the rain
and twinkles like Ethan’s eyes.
“What do you call moments like these?” Ethan asks, examining the flower close
to his freckle-spattered face.
“Memories,” I whisper to the sunny air, ages later, in that same grassy field, but
with no Ethan next to me this time.
 Wish.
The large red sun set on the grassy horizon that seemed to stretch out to the sun itself. Her
eyes followed the sun as it inched slowly, slipping gradually into the other side of the
world. Her dark brown eyes sparkled like the star itself, yet with even more warmth than
the sun’s baking rays.
Once the sun had been covered by streaks of crimson, violet and indigo, she
stretched herself out on the roof. A breath of soft wind danced past her. A wisp of hair
strayed from the rest, just as she did form the rest of the neighborhood. She was the only
one on a roof for miles—she liked to think that she was the only girl on the world on a
roof. Little kids would be staring out the window at the sunset, couples would be sitting
on a hill to watch the sunset, but this girl—this roof-climber—would sit on a roof to
watch the sunset.
One last ray of sunlight shimmered on the evanescent streaks of sky. It took her
one second to realize that it was a star, a small star, pushing hard to be seen.
She thought of all the stars—all the big stars, big stars that people made wishes on
and named after their loved ones. She thought of all the little, unnamed, unnoticed stars
as roof-climbers like her. The different ones. Maybe even rebels.
She looked around herself and saw the indigo obscure the crimson and violet
streaks of sky, and stars were sprouting everywhere like glowing, magical flowers. Stars
were everywhere—large stars, small stars, twinkling stars, fading stars.
Her eyes found the one first star. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms
around her legs as if afraid of falling out of herself. She made one wish, just one. Her
voice whispered into the evening air, intertwining into the breeze.
I wish I could just explore the world.
And so she did.
 Kira~May

The main event of Kira~May’s summer:

She jumped off her rooftop and broke two bones.

What was she thinking, you might ask. Well the answer was: nothing. Summer

was sprinkled in the air and the smell of freshly mown grass was dabbled in Kira~May’s

nose. The birds were in the air, chirruping, and the sky looked so inviting you could

almost reach out and grab it. Clouds were swirled into the perfect, solid blue canvas.

Kira~May sat on her rooftop, curled into a ball. Her chin rested on her denim-clad

knees. The sky was displayed around her like ice cream at the ice cream shop. A bird

floated past, a black, fluttering dot on the peaceful jumble of blue and white. She

wondered what it was like to fly. With the blue and the white a blur around you, no

windows or metal walls between you. She wanted to catch a glimpse of the heavens. She

wanted to hold a piece of the sky and take it home and bring it to momma. She wanted to

be a bird.

She wanted to fly.

Without thinking, without worrying, without considering, she unfurled from the

fetal position. The roof seemed to shake underneath her, encouraging her to go. The sky

invited her. The ground—she hadn’t gotten to the ground yet. The birds were whistling,

“Come along!” and a cloud saved her a spot.

Kira~May closed her eyes. Her bare, crooked toes were aligned perfectly with the

ledge of the roof. Her chest moved up and down ever so slightly whenever she took a
breath. In. Out. In. Out. One corner of her lips turned up slowly and slightly. One, two

three . . .

She took a daring lunge into the heavens—she flailed her arms and screamed,

“Woohoo!”

The clouds whistled and the sky rumbled for a girl named Kira~May.

The main event of Kira~May’s summer:

She learned how to fly.

 Excerpt from For the Shame
Nathaniel.

My soul whispered it in my sleep, I’m sure of it. That April, Nathaniel was my

everything. He was the sky I stared into in class and the grass that caressed my arms. He

was the boy with hair the color of lemons and eyes like sea glass. He was the boy that

knew that Popeye was Rudy and Popeye Rudy Vogel.

Nathaniel stood on the swing, gently moving with the rise and fall of his breathing

chest. The air was full of spring and it was breathed into my lungs.

“You know, it’s kind of weird knowing that you’re the same girl from Mord with

that stupid smile and stuff.”

“I guess.”

“And that you never really say anything when you used to talk all the freaking

time.”

“True.”

He jumped off of the swing and leaned on the slide next to me. “So . . . whaddya

think of that Nadine?”

“Saumensch.”

He shoots me a crooked grin. “Are you sure?”

“If you think that she’s actually kind then you’re a Saukerl.”

Smirk. “Look who’s talking. You were her best friend in preschool.”

“I was young and Saumensch—ish.” I smirk too, but it’s nothing compared to

Nathaniel’s.
 “Ha. You still are.”

I leaned over to hit him—or something of the sort, hit kind of sounds like kiss—

but he jerked backwards. He turned on his heel and yelled the words he had after so many

years on Palm Street.

“Try and catch me now!”

Except, with his added age of fourteen, he added a “Saumensch”. His lemon hair

was a streak against the solid spring sky and his red T-shirt was ablaze with childish

mischief.

I set off after him, six years old again.

“Get back here, you filthy Arschloch!” I laughed, hair whizzing behind me.

“Make me!” Nathaniel playfully threw the words over his shoulder. What a

Saukerl.

A small exchange of words after I tried and caught him:

“You know, this is nice.”

“It sure is, Saumensch.”

“I want to be six again.”

“You act like you still are.”

“Shut up, Saukerl.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“What, that you should shut up?”

“No. I want to be six again. Don’cha remember when we were six and we

couldn’t wait to be ten? And when we were ten we couldn’t wait to be fourteen? And now

we want to be six again . . . Damn, we’re hibbllycrips.”

“It’s hypocrite.”

“Who gives a crap?”

“This is nice.”

“You’re right for once, Saumensch.”