It Wasn't Meant to Be

I took her to the mountain to entice her to say, but something else happened.

 

 The mountain is my mistress. It provides a sanctuary of escape from the city that I have always lived in, loved, and loathed.  For every reason there is to leave the city there is a competing reason that compels me to stay, and I’m left feeling torn in two.  My opinion of the mountain is not as conflicted. I’ve never harbored any hatred toward it. I miss it like crazy when I’m in the city, which prompts me to constantly think about when I can go back to it.  And when I’m finally able to go there again, something inside me changes. A damn breaks, and I can feel happiness flood every corner of my body.

 

Sometimes I think about planting roots in the small town that resides at the mountain’s base, a place so quite that if you keen your ear you can hear the mountain’s river flow from a mile away. This fantasy of mine will never come to fruition. I was born and bred in the city, and have lived there all of my life. And though there are times where I am desperate to escape it, I know that I cannot eschew the commitment that I’ve made to stay. Still, it’s good to know that if I want to run away to another place for a while I will be welcomed there.  

 

 Eight days before it was time for Dorothy to leave her adopted home state of Colorado for the greener pastures of Virginia, I decided that she and I should take a trip to the mountain. Dorothy was not the first woman that I’d brought with me to the mountain, but I deemed this particular mountain outing with a woman as infinitely more significant that the others. With the other women, the mountain provided the backdrop for vigorous romantic activity underneath the stars. This trip with Dorothy would take place during the day, with the probability of a romantic tryst being next to nothing.

  

Since there would be no chance for romance between Dorothy and me, and since we were making our ascension up the mountain during the day as opposed to night, there would be more opportunities for observance. We drove up the winding road that snaked up alongside the mountain’s edge. I peeked out through the passenger door window and past the metal protective railing, taking in the view of the mountain’s structure and surroundings. I made sure to drive atop the mountain’s asphalt road at a snail’s pace because I’m instinctively wary the road’s tight turns and intimidating steepness. As much as I try to damp them down, the climb up the winding asphalt sparks up these irrational fears. 

My heart is hammering inside my chest during the entire ascent. I’m afraid that I’ll somehow drive through the protective metal railing, careen of the edge, and then tumble down the mountain’s rocky face.  The climb feels so steep at times that I begin to wonder if the tiny car that I’m driving will suddenly start to roll backwards.

 

We pulled of onto a rest site on what was a warm August evening, and then we walked over to the protective barrier that is situated along the cliff’s edge.  The sun was still high and bright, its rays were heating the skin on our faces and setting fire to my emotions. I found it hard to concentrate on anything else except for Dorothy for a time. I knew that she had always been beautiful, but now that she was leaving I was beginning to notice the more minute components of her whole beauty.  She was wearing a white blouse with a spray painted picture of Paris on the front, the blouse leaving her right shoulder exposed. She wore blue form fitting jeans, hoop earrings, and white tennis shoes.  Her eye shadow was a light blue, her lipstick was red.  Her hair was frizzy and sparkled when touched by the sun, and her skin had been made a lacquered brown.  

We took a few moments to gape and admire the view from where stood.  I marveled at the careful juxtaposition of nature and civilization, for they had successfully been brought together to co-exist, and now one augmented the appeal of the other. Nature does not seem so foreign and dangerous to the city dwellers like me, and civilization’s encroachment into nature has not yet overwhelmed the mountain’s inherent being. On the mountain, you’re still as likely to catch a fox scurrying into its den as you are to see a mountain biker pedaling his bicycle up a hill.  

I’d known Dorothy for only 10 months or so, but she had become an integral presence in my life.  Falling for Dorothy had kind of been a momentous thing for me. The events of the preceding years had taught me to be wary of my emotions because I was prone to lose control of them, making me a danger to myself and others. I had spent so much of my time figuring out ways to minimize their propensity to destroy until finally choosing to lock them in a special box, forever kept away from sight.  The only time that I would allow these emotions to reveal themselves was when I was at the mountain. That was until Dorothy’s arrival into my life.

 

How special was Dorothy?  Apart from the occasional trek up the mountain no one person or thing could release me from my baseline. I maintained a calm that could be described as preternatural, as it was my overarching goal was to avoid the pitfalls that I’d stepped into so many times in the past. The danger and instability that had characterized my life in the years previous made me crave the stability that I was endeavoring to cultivate in the present; and drastic changes that threatened that stability were treated as an anathema. In the years that followed my last episodic incident I followed an assiduous routine that lent itself to the maintenance of that stability. Momentum toward the realization of the regular life that I desired occurred at a snail’s pace, but progress was being made.  And I had been able to make progress without having to lean on anyone. I’d preferred my own company, and eschewed the company of friends and companions because I was wary of the variability of people. 

There was stability, but there wasn’t much color. When my life had become a picture that was comprised of grays and dark blues, I thought that I was content. Then Dorothy splashed my life’s tableau with all sorts of color, making what had been a boring picture so much more interesting for a time.  Dorothy could be red, blue, pink, orange, and green. She could be one of these colors at a time, or she could be all of them at once.   Because of her I was not afraid to unlock the chest in which was stored my most colorful emotions. The emotions exploded out of the chest after it had been opened. She may not have known it, but Dorothy had become the integral component for a full-fledged re-awakening.

 

The rest stop had afforded us a panoramic of the mountain’s immediate surroundings and the beyond. Dorothy and I were able to see out toward the horizon. It was as if we could see the end of all things.  The rest of the wide world had been curtailed by the horizon, but it did not take away any of the magnificence of this view of the surrounding world. Cartographers have been able to create intricate maps of nature’s most miraculous offerings, which diminishes their aspects. Human beings who’ve able to “conquer” a mountain may think of themselves as being on par with nature.  Human beings are miracles of creation and accomplishment.   But when you’re able see what’s been mapped out by those cartographers in person, you begin to realize how insignificant you are in the grandest scheme of things.  Nature is replete with an impossible to count number of miracles.

Dorothy had visited the mountain many times; it had become a special place for her to visit as well.  And since she was certain of her eventual departure from the state of Colorado she was eager to visit the mountain one last time. There was always something new to discover at the mountain for her, always a new reason to visit this incredible place.  I took note of the colors when staring off into the expanse.

Nature’s creator works from such extensive palette. Today, I was most enthralled by the colors green and blue. Green leaves were exploding from the tops of wooden trees. The whole face of the mountain was covered with these trees, each tree adding to the mountain’s redoubt and awe.  I could see more green in one visit here than in all my years of living in the city. And then there was blue. The sky was clear cobalt on that day.  Dorothy’s eyes were just as blue.  And when those blue eyes caught the light of the sun the blue in her eyes sparkled and shined, thus becoming another one of the mountain’s miracles on that day. But that aside, I was hoping to create a new memory on this day.  I wanted this to be the visit that would convince Dorothy to change her mind about leaving me. I just had to do it in a way that made it not just about me.

“Look at what you’ll be leaving”, I said, smiling. “Do you really want to leave all of this?”

“I know. I’m so sad to be leaving”, she said, sighing. “But I should be happy to be going home though, right?” She leaned forward, her lower body pressed against the protective barrier. “I do love it here.”  

  

This is what I was hoping for; visible and audible hints of doubt, inhalation of breaths that were infused with reminiscence and indecision. I had wanted this visit to give nourishment to the doubts that she had been grappling with since she’d confirmed her decision to leave. When she told me she was going back to the place of her birth, it was a gut punch. It hurt so much that I had to spend the next few days hunched over. When I was finally able to walk upright I decided that I would try to be with her in as many was as possible.  We’d spent that whole of this particular day together, with the mountain being our last stop. The day was passing by to quickly for me. I wished that I had the power to restart the day.

Dorothy caught sight of an engraving on the protective rail. It was a picture of a heart, and within its confines there were engraved words. What she saw was clearly of great interest to her. The engraving was somewhat faint.  She squinted down at it, while she traced the lining of the work, and then she silently read the words. 

“Look Eze,” she said, suddenly excited. “Look at what it says!”

When I did read the engraving my heart sank. The engraving was drawn out as a heart, and within its contours there was a message that read “I love Virginia”. This was a huge development for her, a sign if you will. Dorothy, a relatively new convert to Christianity, took this as a signal from heaven. God was in support of her move to Virginia.  For me, a missile had been shot through the fragile construct that had been my dreams. God had gotten to her before I could make my pitch, the selfish jerk that he/she was. He’s loved and adored by billions of people, churches and wars are commissioned in your name, and he still couldn’t find it in his heart to let me have this one woman. 

There was no way that I was going to compete against the word of God. It’s a dangerous thing, denigrating the belief of someone, especially when that someone is in the midst of a momentous life change. So what could I do but to begrudgingly support her decision now? And with this trip, I had done exactly the opposite of what I’d hoped to do. She was definitely going to be leaving for me forever. It just wasn’t meant to be.