said Mr. Kirkpatrick. "And maybe not." With that, he got up from the circle and poured a bucket of water on the flames. "Pleasant dreams," he said as the steamy smoke rose to meet the heavens.
The moon peeked its full, round face from behind the Divine Watch, casting a pitch-black shadow of the mountain across the forest.
There were more stars in the sky than Kevin had ever seen before. Enough to make the sky seem impossibly deep, and the universe impossibly large. Kevin had done a comprehensive ten-page report on the universe last year. There were supernovas and giant quasars out there at the far reaches of existence. There were billions of stars in each galaxy, and there were more galaxies than people on the face of the earth. Just thinking about it could make a person realize how small and insignificant his own problems were.
But not Kevin.
"Are you coming in, or what?" asked Josh. He had already satisfied his interest in the majesty of nature and was now in the small tent they shared, reading a comic book. The tent was gradually filling with mosquitoes and moths that flew in holding patterns around Josh's flashlight. Kevin, who stood just outside the tent, had left the zipper on the mosquito net open.
Kevin couldn't turn away from the mountain because he had the uncanny feeling that it was watching him. A soft wind rasped through the trees, and Kevin imagined if a mountain was a living thing—if it could breathe—this is what it would sound like.
"Put a leash on that imagination," his mother's voice said in his head, "before it drags you across the lawn."
Kevin broke his trance and stepped into the tent.
"Listen to this," said Josh, flipping a page in his comic book. "The Steroid Avenger gets sucked into a black hole, travels back forty years in time, and accidentally kills his father."
"Can't do it," said Kevin, "because then he'd never get born."
"That's the thing," said Josh. "Now the only way he can get born is if he becomes his own father."
"Gross!" said Kevin. "It means he has to marry his mother."
Josh shrugged. "That's what you get for messing with time and space."
Kevin zipped the mosquito netting closed. Considering the events of the day, Kevin idly wished he could be sucked into a black hole and end up in some other universe entirely. He slipped into his sleeping bag and stared up at the peak of the tent, wondering if the mountain could still see him through the thin blue vinyl.
As Kevin lay there, an idea began to boil in his mind, until he had to open his mouth and let it overflow.
"I'm gonna climb the mountain," said Kevin, not yet knowing how serious he really was.
"In your dreams," said Josh, returning to his comic book.
Kevin ought to have left it at that, but the thought nagged at him as much as the pain in his eye and mouth did. As much as the sounds in his head of kids laughing.
"I'm climbing it tonight," said Kevin, "and I don't care if I get in trouble. I'll be the one there at dawn—and I'll stand at the top, waving down to everyone. I'll even give Bertram the finger."
Josh turned his flashlight into Kevin's face, and Kevin squinted. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"You can come if you want," said Kevin.
Josh held the flashlight on Kevin's face a moment longer, and when Kevin didn't break out laughing, Josh turned off his light. The tent seemed much smaller in the dark, and their words seemed much more important.
"You think Mr. Kirkpatrick's story was real?" whispered Josh.
"I don't know. But there's only one way to find out; be there at dawn. In the balance of dark and day."
Josh took forever to think it through.
"Why do you want to do this?" he finally asked.
Kevin shrugged. "Because it's there," he said. But that wasn't it. "Because no one thinks we'd have the guts to do it," he added. But that was only part of it. The rest was something far bigger. It had to do with the way the mountain stared at him— the way it just wouldn't leave him alone. Its dark face had gravity
The moon peeked its full, round face from behind the Divine Watch, casting a pitch-black shadow of the mountain across the forest.
There were more stars in the sky than Kevin had ever seen before. Enough to make the sky seem impossibly deep, and the universe impossibly large. Kevin had done a comprehensive ten-page report on the universe last year. There were supernovas and giant quasars out there at the far reaches of existence. There were billions of stars in each galaxy, and there were more galaxies than people on the face of the earth. Just thinking about it could make a person realize how small and insignificant his own problems were.
But not Kevin.
"Are you coming in, or what?" asked Josh. He had already satisfied his interest in the majesty of nature and was now in the small tent they shared, reading a comic book. The tent was gradually filling with mosquitoes and moths that flew in holding patterns around Josh's flashlight. Kevin, who stood just outside the tent, had left the zipper on the mosquito net open.
Kevin couldn't turn away from the mountain because he had the uncanny feeling that it was watching him. A soft wind rasped through the trees, and Kevin imagined if a mountain was a living thing—if it could breathe—this is what it would sound like.
"Put a leash on that imagination," his mother's voice said in his head, "before it drags you across the lawn."
Kevin broke his trance and stepped into the tent.
"Listen to this," said Josh, flipping a page in his comic book. "The Steroid Avenger gets sucked into a black hole, travels back forty years in time, and accidentally kills his father."
"Can't do it," said Kevin, "because then he'd never get born."
"That's the thing," said Josh. "Now the only way he can get born is if he becomes his own father."
"Gross!" said Kevin. "It means he has to marry his mother."
Josh shrugged. "That's what you get for messing with time and space."
Kevin zipped the mosquito netting closed. Considering the events of the day, Kevin idly wished he could be sucked into a black hole and end up in some other universe entirely. He slipped into his sleeping bag and stared up at the peak of the tent, wondering if the mountain could still see him through the thin blue vinyl.
As Kevin lay there, an idea began to boil in his mind, until he had to open his mouth and let it overflow.
"I'm gonna climb the mountain," said Kevin, not yet knowing how serious he really was.
"In your dreams," said Josh, returning to his comic book.
Kevin ought to have left it at that, but the thought nagged at him as much as the pain in his eye and mouth did. As much as the sounds in his head of kids laughing.
"I'm climbing it tonight," said Kevin, "and I don't care if I get in trouble. I'll be the one there at dawn—and I'll stand at the top, waving down to everyone. I'll even give Bertram the finger."
Josh turned his flashlight into Kevin's face, and Kevin squinted. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"You can come if you want," said Kevin.
Josh held the flashlight on Kevin's face a moment longer, and when Kevin didn't break out laughing, Josh turned off his light. The tent seemed much smaller in the dark, and their words seemed much more important.
"You think Mr. Kirkpatrick's story was real?" whispered Josh.
"I don't know. But there's only one way to find out; be there at dawn. In the balance of dark and day."
Josh took forever to think it through.
"Why do you want to do this?" he finally asked.
Kevin shrugged. "Because it's there," he said. But that wasn't it. "Because no one thinks we'd have the guts to do it," he added. But that was only part of it. The rest was something far bigger. It had to do with the way the mountain stared at him— the way it just wouldn't leave him alone. Its dark face had gravity
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