Mt. Nash

It was in the fall of 1984, and I was off at college for the first time. The particular events of day are fuzzy, but I remember a few relevant details. First, I wasn’t in my room. I was on a couch a couple floors up and fell off of it. Second, and this is relevant, I heard women talking. It was only a fragment, but it was about me and it opened my eyes. Well, one eye. The other was caked shut and would be useful for hours. This was early in the evening.

The ear heard, “I haven't fucked Keith in awhile, so you…”

The brain said, “That’s Kay, and she’s headed to your room. Get up there!”

The body said, “Right. How about we just lay here on the floor because we’re drunk.”

I often wonder what that night could have been, but a couple years later, I found out what actually happened. It was delightful. My roommate, who became my fraternity brother, who eventually became my brother-in-law, was driving. We were headed to our girls hometown, on a windy mountainous road, and I spotted a familiar landmark.

“Mount Nash,” I mumbled.

He heard me and replied, “I tried, but I didn’t get there.”

“What?”

I finally heard the story of what happened that evening. My roomie got to second base. It was amusing, but we both agreed the small mountain we passed was symmetrically perfect, as were her breasts, and worthy of the name. It was our little joke. In fact, his fiancé was so jealous, he swore me to never tell what the name meant.

“Bro, if she ever finds out, she’ll kill me.”

“You didn’t even know her then!”

It was no use, and I swore secrecy. We travelled that highway many times, and even called out Mount Nash a time or two, but never with a snicker if the ladies were aboard. We kept quite close for awhile, and even later we talked often. Then, in an instant, my best friend, best man, was gone in a gas explosion.

It’s been almost three decades, but I remember the news. What I didn’t expect was to be where I am today. Working for a small Oregon city and driving in the Cascades, you see many peaks and features. There was one that kept catching my eye on the way home, but I could never place why it drew my attention.

“Bro, you know what that is…”

There was no one in the car but me. When I slowly turned my head, it was my best friend in the passenger seat. What do you do at that moment? Staring is a bad idea, apparently.

“Watch the road!” He screamed.

I swerved back into my lane. This could not be happening. People don't come back and haunt the living. I’d been told that all my life. But the voice was so right, and it sure looked like him. Maybe I had swung into the other lane and wrecked!

“You got to quit.”

“Quit what?” I replied loudly. Keeping my hands steady on the wheel was a challenge.

“Feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

It took me a moment, but I realized how much worse I could have it. Did I have better times? Yes. Did I have worse times? Yes. All of this blew through my head at warp speed, and I forgot my passenger for a moment.

“Yeah, Bro. It’s Mount Nash all over again, see?”

I looked ahead, and it was almost a replica of what we had seen before. I saw it all the entire time. I tried to ask all the right things, but in true fashion, he wouldn’t tell me.

“I’m not here to answer your dumbass questions. You'll figure that out on your own. Just stop regrettin’”

Driving home is a much more pleasant trip now, and I’m working on the whole regret thing.

(WC:648)