Men Versus Mountains

Dear Jesse,

I’m writing you a letter, because when you have something to say that sounds insane, it seems a little less insane when it’s written. Writing my words gives them an air of authority and thoughtfulness that they wouldn’t have if I just blurted all this out in a fit of tears and hyperventilation.

Jesse. I have two things to say to you.

I am in love with you.

A mountain is going to try to kill you.

I’m gonna give you a minute to absorb what I just said, and, hopefully, to consider that I might not be insane. I’m going to lay out the case before you, and let you make your own determinations. But — just so I say this for the record — I’m not crazy, and the phenomenon I’m about to detail is very, very real.

My first love was named Kyle. He was not a particularly nice guy, but he was good-looking, smart in a greedy, rat-like way, and skilled in all the manly arts, like machine repair and woodworking. He was competent. I like competence.

Do you remember me saying that my first car got totaled? And that it was a freak accident that happened on an icy road? I didn’t tell you the whole story.

Kyle and I were driving over a mountain pass. Neither of us was experienced with snow-driving, but I let him drive my car, because he seemed confident in his abilities, and I was not confident in mine. He was my first boyfriend. I was a teenager. I was eager to please, and I wanted him to feel that I trusted him.

He was driving much too fast for the conditions. I pointed this out, and my criticism was not well received.

It was dark, and there were no street lights, of course. There was that eerie silence that happens when the world is coated in snow, a dampening of sound that reminds me of drowning in a vat of vanilla frosting. Creamy, beautiful, sweet, but deadly all the same.

I worried we would hit a deer, or something. I told him to slow down.

As you might have guessed, he did not slow down. But you would be wrong to assume that that was the cause of the accident. The cause of the accident was much crazier.

We rounded a corner, and the tires skidded a bit. My palms were sweating, and I dug my fingers into my thighs, trying to get a hold of something, anything to make me feel grounded and calm.

Kyle straightened the car, and we kept going. Nausea overtook me, and my face flushed hot and cold, preparing for vomit. Winding mountain roads are good for no one, but especially not for those prone to motion sickness.

We moved forward, snow dotting the windshield and melting away. I could almost feel the snowflakes on my tongue, and I imagined filling my mouth with frozen water, clinging to the cooling image to keep my stomach calm.

In front of us, a huge stone spike shot up from the road. There was no avoiding it. It was not there, and then it was, and Kyle plowed into it, going much, much too fast.

He was thrown through the windshield, as he was not wearing his seatbelt. I, however, was restrained, and managed to avoid his fate.

Kyle died that night, Jesse. He died because a random spike of stone shot up in the middle of the road, and he drove into it. When the ambulance and police came, there was no sign of the stone spike. I tried to explain about the stone, but they said I was hysterical, that there was obviously no stone in the middle of the road.

“Then what did we hit?” I screeched, sounding, in fact, super hysterical, even to my own ears.

“It was probably a bear,” said the helpful ambulance driver. “Sometimes you get bears out here. Probably looked like a big rock, in the dark, going fast.”

And you know what, Jesse? For a long time, I believed that. I made myself believe that we hit a bear. Because the magic stone explanation was impossible. Right?

Except it wasn’t.

###

You’re sleeping now, Jesse. You’re a a beautiful sleeper, have I ever told you that? You’re like a marble statue glowing in soft moonlight somewhere in a piazza in Florence. I wish I could wake you and tell you this, bask in the night-heat of you. But I have to get this out before morning.

My next love was Kendrick. He was all black-eyed, brooding intensity, with splashes of dry, dark humor. I loved him, though he never loved me back.

He was a snowboarder, and you already know where this is going. He took me with him one day. I had a bad feeling about the trip, right from the beginning, but I shoved that feeling down into my toes, stomping and pinching it, keeping it from my throat, where it wanted to burble out a stream of warnings.

I should have let it out.

Kendrick tried to do a trick, showing off. He was all floating happiness on the pure white snow, grinning as he slid down the mountain. He flipped upside down, doing a handstand, which wouldn’t have been a problem, were it not for the rock that shot up into his face.

The cause of death was listed as a head injury. According to the report, he was going fast, and he fell, and hit his head on a boulder. The paramedics didn’t see the rock emerge from the snow, all at once, like the world’s most terrible whack-a-mole. No one saw it but me.

And I DID see it, Jesse. I did.

###

My next love was named Calvin. He was a short, agreeable, tech-y guy with glasses and a big heart. Honestly, he was wonderful. But at the time, I was immature. After the intensity of my love for Kendrick, and his death, I was shut down emotionally, and incapable of appreciating Calvin for the perfect person he was.

I dumped him, Jesse.

After I dumped him, I realized what a terrible mistake I’d made. I called, needing to apologize, but he left town after our breakup. His roommate told me he’d needed to go somewhere, clear his head.

You know where he went, don’t you? Of course you do. He went on a mountain climb, organized through a mountaineering club he read about online.

You’ll be happy to know that Calvin didn’t die on his mountain climb. Instead, he got a severe case of frostbite and lost his toes on his left foot. All in all, I’d say he got off easy.

I don’t know how to explain why he didn’t die, but the others did. I think it’s because I didn’t love him as much. I think the curse is activated by my love, by the depth and strength of it. I think that maybe by dumping Calvin, I saved him.

But he still lost his toes.

I hope one day he forgives me, for everything.

###

My next love was named Quentin. By this time, I was convinced that I was cursed, and that mountains were the Devil, which is why I moved to Florida. I met Quentin there, at a dingy party in a dingy house. He took me onto the roof and we talked all night, watching the sunrise as he puffed his constant cigarettes, and read me poetry. It was a hot summer night, and the air was still and warm and jasmine scented. It was a perfect night to fall in love. I could have fallen in love with anyone then.

I did everything in my power to keep Quentin away from mountains. I claimed a phobia. Any time a mountain-related activity was suggested, I found a way out of it. Fortunately, living in Florida, mountain-related activities were scarce, and I rarely had to resort to theatrics and lies.

But. A curse is a curse, and the mountains found him.

He was invited to go on a hike with some of his college buddies. The plan was to spend a long weekend camping and hiking in Utah.

I threw a temper tantrum. I faked a special event that was taking place during that weekend, claiming I’d told him about it ages ago, and how could he have forgotten? I cried. I begged. I threatened.

But Quentin wasn’t stupid. He knew gaslighting when he heard it, and he accused me, (correctly) of being manipulative. So I told him. I told him about Kyle and Kendrick and Calvin. I explained about the mountains, and how dangerous they were, to any man I loved.

He told me I was crazy, and he left.

I never saw him again. Neither did anyone else. His body was never recovered. He is presumed dead.

###

And so, Jesse. It’s four in the morning now, and you’ll be getting up soon, heading out to do research on the lava rocks of Mount Jasper. But you won’t actually be heading out.

You will notice that your legs are bound with chains to the bedpost. I’m sorry about that. I had to add a sedative to your drink last night to get them on without waking you. I’m sorry about that, too. My friend Jennifer is coming later tonight with the keys to unlock you. By then, everything should be handled. Until then, there is a bottle of water and a sandwich on the table to your left.

Jesse, I have to end the curse. I have to stop the mountain from killing you. Because I lived each of those men. I really did. But that love is nothing, NOTHING compared to what I feel for you. You’re the greatest one of them all, and the world will suffer immeasurably if you are taken from it. I can’t let that happen.

I’m leaving this little black book next to your pillow, where you’ll see it first thing, when you wake up. If you turn to the back of this book, you’ll find a check for $20,000. It’s the balance of my savings account. It’s everything I have in the world, and I leave it all to you.

I love you, Jesse. I love you so much.

I’m going to the mountain.

Please don’t come looking for me.

Love,

Edie