A Simple Hike
As I look up ahead, the trees split the sun’s rays perfectly, like something you would see in a postcard: something sent with love. Something to let you know you are on someone’s mind. The sticky, sweet summer air clings to the walls of my lungs. I try to adjust my ankle brace as I follow the trail, and I look toward my dad. His usual, hulking stature is shrunken by the distance, but I can still hear the way he drives his hiking stick into the trail.
He bellows down to me and my brother. “You kids are so slow! Hurry up!”
My breath hitches as the hiking stick’s pointed end slams firmly into the ground. My brother, Jason, shuffles his feet a little faster. As he comes up behind me, he kicks my bad ankle.
“You heard him. Hurry the fuck up.”
Jason jogs ahead to be closer to Dad, and I try to keep up with him. My legs disagree, however. My ankle sends a throbbing ache up my spine as a painful hiss escapes my lips. Realizing my mistake, I quickly try to swallow it back up. Even though I’m a fair distance behind, Jason still hears my small cry. He looks behind his shoulder; his brows are furrowed like an arrow pointing down to his disdain. He grumbles something to my dad, who continues to pace forward. Another hard thud from the hiking stick.
“You feeling tired, sweetie?”
“No,” I reply.
I pick up the pace as I run behind. My ponytail is slick against the sweat on my back and the camera around my neck bangs roughly against my chest. My body is screaming to stop, but I ignore the discomfort.
As I catch up to them, we reach the end of the trail and the sky opens up. Free from the cage of the trees, the sun beams down on my skin and bathes the edge of the precipice. It’s so quiet up here that you can only hear the cicadas and the way the heat rises from the stone below my feet. Not even the wind dares to whisper a breeze through the bramble of the pines, and I follow suit. Silently, I walk past my family and lower myself onto a nearby rock. I close my eyes and catch my breath, letting the ache and fatigue wash over me.
Jason takes off his hat, brushing his fingers through his hair while taking it all in; he inhales deeply like he’s never smelled fresh pine before.
“I’m on top of the world!” He screams. He continues to hoot and holler; his voice echoes through the cliffside. The cicadas pause for a moment.
“Jason.”
My brother quiets down at our father’s voice. Jason’s chapped lips quiver for the slightest moment before he responds. “Aw c’mon, Dad! It’s like what they do in the movies.”
Jason waits for a response. When he’s met with silence, my brother’s tongue stumbles. “You should try it. Letting off some steam feels kinda nice.”
“I prefer the quiet.”
Tremors break out in my body. Not wanting to be near them for whatever happens next, I get up and inch closer to the cliff, getting a better look of what lies before us. I can make out the vague struggle between my dad and my brother, but I’m too distracted by the view ahead of me. It does not look like the world I’m used to. I lick my cracking lips as I pull the lens off the camera. I try my best to steady myself as I hold the viewfinder up to my eye. I refocus the lens over and over and over again. I’m unsure if it’s my imagination or dehydration, but the scenery seems to warp right in front of me. Actually, no. Maybe not warp, but stretch. The mountain range almost spreads past the skyline, and I am brought back by the sound of my brother on the floor, coughing and gasping for air. I do not look behind me. My father plops down next to me.
“Don’t mind your brother,” he whispers as he gestures for me to sit beside him.
I sit and turn to face him, but my dad does not look at me. His face softens. He smiles out towards the edge of the cliff — a smile I do not recognize. If I was not the only person remotely close to him, I would not think he was speaking to me. This feels so different. I feel like I’m in his head, and there is not a single thought about me or Jason. His eyes are almost glazed over and filled with sun, and at this moment he is almost not like my dad. I wonder if he intends to blink.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
I cannot match the enthusiasm in his voice.
“I don’t know.”
The cicadas are the only ones to respond because my dad just keeps staring out to the horizon. Maybe he feels at home in the silence. There is no wind, but a chill runs down my spine. My palms sweat against the slick plastic of the camera as I bring it back towards my face.
There must be thousands of miles of cliffs that sprawl past my eye until they blend into the blinding skyline; it feels like they could go on forever, multiplying by the second until all this earth knows is stone. For a second I believe that feeling. Like if I turn away for just a second I might be swallowed up by the slate. After looking through my camera for a few minutes, I take it off my neck and hold it in my lap.
“Is something wrong, sweetie?”
I look down at my camera. “I’m not sure. I just didn’t want to take the picture.”
My dad’s eyes squint into a smile, and my blood runs cold. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s just too much.” I feel dumb as the words fall out of my mouth. It’s just a picture; I just need to take it.
My dad coos, “Oh, honey. We came all this way, and you’re not even gonna snap a memory of it?”
My eyes — the ones that were once locked on the camera in my lap — catch a glimpse of my father’s hands. The knuckles are red and bruised. I feel my ankle ache and how my dry tongue sticks to the roof of my cottonmouth. The cicadas ring in my ear, trying to drown out my brother’s sobs. The noises crescendo in my brain until a whimper slips out of my mouth.
“Please. Don’t make me take it”
The sun leaves my father’s eyes, returning to the dad I’ve always known. Suddenly, stone hands dig nails into mine, forcing the camera into my palms. Before I can protest, he grips my face like gravel and gives it a quick, strong slap. He presses the viewfinder into my eye, making me cry.
“You fucking kids can’t even appreciate the time I spend with you,” he continues, ignoring my protests as he hits me again. “Can’t even fucking have a nice hike with you pieces of shit!”
“See?” The voice in my ear trembles. “Now. Just press the shutter button.”
The camera faintly clicks a few times; I can’t breathe. Finally, he lets me go and I crumble. My chest feels like it’s about to burst as I wipe the tears from my eyes.
My dad decides to leave me and Jason alone for a bit. I sit on the dusty trail for what feels like hours. Before I’ve fully calmed down, I hear Jason get up from the floor and shuffle toward me.
He calls out to me. “Come on. Get up.”
I don’t listen, so he grabs my arm and pulls me up on my feet.
“Look at me,” he says. The blood from his nose has crusted over and he’s covered in dirt. His eyes are puffy, yet angry.
“You have no reason to be fucking crying right now,” he grips into my arm. “Dad hits you a little bit because you wanna be a little bitch and not take a fucking picture?! Give me the camera.”
My brother grabs the camera from me, but I hang on to the necklace part of it.
“Jason, leave me alone!”
“No! Fuck you! You don’t even get the worst of it, so just fucking give it to me!”
We grapple over the camera for a little, but Jason is too strong. Finally, I let go; the camera slips from both of our grasps, shooting past the edge, and plummeting to the bottom of the cliff.
I am too shaken to be mad about the camera.
“Fuck,” my brother mutters to himself as he looks over the cliff. He turns to see if Dad is looking, but it’s too late. Jason is shadowed by his hulking mass.
I can only see my dad’s back, but I still feel the chill from earlier. His shoulders are hunched and rough as they hover over his own child; as the sun begins to set, it beats down on us. My gaze darts to Jason, and I watch as my brother’s eyes read the man in front of him. In an attempt to seem confident, my brother laughs a little, but the crack in his voice betrays him.
“Dad, c-can you believe her?” He says, pointing at me. “Stupid bitch just let go of her camera. She should really be more careful.”
The unforgiving shrill of the cicadas makes my head spin as their whines bounce around. I can feel their whines vibrate in me, as if one will come crawling out of my throat. Maybe that’s the reason why my voice won’t come out. My dad’s hand comes down and grips my brother’s shoulder.
“Yeah, she really should.”
My stomach knots itself up as my father puts his hand on my shoulder too.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to drop it.”
Now, I’m painfully aware of how close we are to the edge of the cliff. My dad stares straight at the horizon, and he has that softness in his face again. He brings my brother and me closer to him, one in each arm.
I grip my father’s sleeve, “Dad. Dad, please, stop. You’re starting to scare me.”
My father smiles at what I say, and my heart becomes stone. I look over at the trailing mountains ahead of them, trying to etch in all the details into my memory: clingy summer air, trees that are forever green, and the inflamed clouds. I try not to blink until I am done taking it all in, but the sunset rays perfectly shine in my eyes. Just for a second — not too long — I rub them. For a second, we just look like a normal family, like one you would see on a postcard.
“But at least your sister is sorry about it.”
When I open my eyes, the arm that held my brother is empty as my dad stares down the edge. There is no echo. I’m not sure if my screams are my own or the hissing of the cicadas in the trees. My dad does nothing but smiles down toward the bottom of the cliff.
