Arthur Beaugeard '23
Sometimes I see the mountain out the window. When I’m sitting in class. On the bus. In a long line. I’ll be thinking of nothing at all when it hits me. I’ll just look out, and it’s there.
It’s enormous. When it’s far away I see the peak, but it’s usually so close and so huge that I only see a rocky side, smattered with jungle, snow, caves, pools…
I’ve stopped what I was doing to step out and look at before, but then it’s gone. All I see instead are offices, cubicles, roads… whatever.
So I stay inside and look out the window. The fantastic things I see. Writhing, vibrating… it has a life of its own.
Once I left the office and found myself at the foot of the mountain. Soaring high into the atmosphere, unimaginably large, its crown resting among the clouds. What a change was this.
The little geckos and snakes crawled beneath my feet, still fixed to the pavement in shock, the roses flowered, the springs burst forth with vitality, and the black rocks glistened in the sun. I began my climb on all fours, delighted. Excitement. Fresh air. And then—
As soon as I began I fell down again. And the mountain disappeared, replaced by a strip mall and some used cars.
Walked home. Glaringly hot. Stiflingly so.
I still see the mountain sometimes. I failed. I want to climb it. Maybe one day I will, but it never appears outside anymore, so all I can do is stare at it and turn it over in my mind again and again and again.
Feels like I’ve been waiting for a million years. Feels like the whole world’s slipped by. If I could just get a stab at it… if I could just run up the side and be lost forever in its darkness…
Died of old age staring out window.