Narrators Lie

I'm not a liar - most of the time. I read maps - except in new places. I care about my role as a narrator. I admit to embellishing truth. It's not true dishonesty.

No matter. The opening of my story begins in a cheap warehouse, as forgotten as yesterday's news. Comes with murder stains and odd noises in the night. Can't miss the open design. The exterior includes rewarding opportunities for paving, landscaping, and paving.

The winning feature is the view through the kitchen window of Sirens' Summit, atop Mount Perry. It stirs rulebreakers. Smooth rock teases climbers. It's an ego boost for those that take on its jagged edges and crumbling sides.

There are rumors, though of hauntings by the spirits of seven crag rats that perished in a treacherous storm, or was it an avalanche?

Regardless, sunshine beams over the horizon from the east. Heat makes Chantelle's garage band t-shirt to cling to her. In a slumbering fog, she peels the fabric from her sun-kissed flesh, muttering, "Disgusting."

Perhaps, a shower will restore her glorious beauty and pristine complexion. A return to her long silk tresses, secured in a band of hand-sewn roses.

Chantelle stretches her eyes open. "Great. Eyes dry and gritty as the sand I'd love to dig my toes in."

She's limp, like the rag dolls she creates for children with cancer. She shuffles her personal belongings in a wrinkled cereal box. Sighing, she fingers a small bottle. She squeezes a drop of its nourishing solution in each eye.

She mutters, "I will conquer today. No more broken promises. No more what - ifs."

Turning her head she hollers, "Gary! You up?"

She sits up, her sleeping bag shifting beneath her with a weird crunch. She reaches underneath and moans, "Another beer bottle?"

Gary licks his chapped lips. He clears grime from his mouth with a finger. "Me? Up? Does anyone need to be awake at this hour?" Eyes still closed, he tucks a hand under his chin.

She says, "We need to finish this challenge. Today is the final day. Fans sent thousands of letters with threats against us if we don't finish."

He mumbles and rolls his body to an upright position, shoulders still slumping, head drooping. A gentle whirring runs circles above him, its blades chipped.

Chantelle mumbles, "Breakfast time."

He retorts, "Your voice would be a jackhammer to my skull if you were cheery. You're not."

"Yay me, not showing an excess of joy."

"Climbing to the top? I don't know. Maybe the other four climbs are enough? He rubs his throat. "Got any liquid?"

Chantelle side eyes him and huffs. "Did you hear me say threats against us? Getting drunk is not what we need to do, and no. Not after your last binge."

He scoffs. "It's a hella way to celebrate, right?"

"Yeah, a jolly good time. Next time let's invite the cops in for a drink instead of arguing with them in the parking lot."

"Don't blame me. I don't know who called them." His voice is weak and whiny. He shrugs and heads off to find a bush outside.

She ignores his loud, raucous off-key warbling and manages to stand up. Her yawn could scare the dead, though with it's high pitch wail, I guess.

Gary ambles to the crude little kitchen - of sorts. A stained paint bucket hangs from a cracked faucet. A hot plate sparks in an outlet. A pair of milk crates serves as a cabinet. A child's discarded shoebox is the drawer.

Before this one, I assisted numerous other characters up this mountain, likely over a hundred. Not by carrying backpacks of tools, lanterns and first aid. Oh, no, never.

Chantelle stares at the mountain, losing herself in the mystique, and without complaint. She reminds herself, "Today is my day. I will climb you. I will persevere. Victory is not an option."

She snaps out of her daydreaming as Gary returns. She's careful to turn the faucet no more than half way. A stiff spray in the face for it all the way is a startling lesson.

Not one for following the rules, I pop in. I ask her, No coffee today?

She answers me with the bird. Guess she's not in the mood for a joke. Well, excuse moi! Moving my narrator self back to the side.

Gary shuffles behind her, scratching his side and coughing up gross stuff. He spits out a glob in the bucket. "I'm not cleaning that out."

What can you expect?

Chantelle rolls her eyes and dumps a flavor packet in a water bottle. Shaking it, she tells him, "We're leaving in one hour."

A yawn strangles any reply. He surrenders his effort for words after an unexpected coughing fit. He grabs his heaving chest. Digging through a personal bag, he finds his inhaler. Relief comes a minute later.

So, one hour? These two don't have enough gumption to work a twenty-five cent gumball machine. Climbing a mountain? I'll lay my money on it not happening.

Gary shrugs. Of course. Watch him stroll up to a green yard sale pool lounger on its last legs. He flops down. This is what he does best. As an expert on defining characters, he is a perfect fit for the role of a anti-trophy.

Contrasting, my girl Chantelle yanks backpacks off the floor, her hands stuffing supplies in the open spaces. Her scowl speaks for her.

When it's comfortable for him, a solid twenty minutes later, Gary bags lanterns and checks signaling devices. He doubles supplies in a first aid kit. He secures emergency oxygen.

"You done surfing the web?" Chantelle avoids looking at him.

"Yeah. Markers are in place, emergency scouts verified our route. Made contact with the team to verify the best time to start the climb. Might hit a couple of rough patches. Bits of snow high up, peeking from under rocks."

Chantelle glances up. "Oh." She lets her answer hang and then weekly adds, "Okay. Good to know."

They fall into a silence. Chantelle fiddles with the map, retracing the route with her trembling fingers.

Glad my girl's in good health at least. One crag rat for the top, and one tag along.

Right, Chantelle? Hello? Nothing for your narrator? Guess I'm just a side car. A passenger, not a driver.

An easy ten minutes later, Gary pulls into the parking lot. He bounces his fingers on the steering wheel. Grinning, he watches her apply lip balm.

Once outside, she draws in a deep breath. "Sun's high," Chantelle says, reaching for the jeep's rear handle.

"Nice shades. Those new?" Gary grins and tugs on a pair of his own.

"You know me. Never have enough shades, Mr. Beach Cop. Very retro."

His grin deepens. "When in Miami, right?"

Throwing her head back, she lets a laugh roll from her belly. "Far from it now, aren't we?"

"Unfortunately."

"A few hours ahead of us, maybe five? Then we collect the prize money. The contract ends, and Miami begins, right?" Chantelle says scanning the base.

Gary nods and says, "About six to ten hours of climbing ahead of us before I can dig my toes in hot sand and my mouth in an all-you-can-eat shrimp and lobster bar."

"And your tongue down some girl's throat, if her bikini fits in your pocket."

He scans the supply tags, and pauses mid-grab. "Jealous?"

She scoffs, "In your dreams. The girl, and me being jealous." Grinning, she looks away.

He pretends to scan the sky. An awkward pause passes between them before he whispers, "Is that narrator coming along?"

She shrugs. "Where else would he be?"

Gary grins. "First time for everyone, even him."

Is that a grimace on Gary's face? Pausing, I shrink into myself. My confidence dips at his low blow. Sniffling, I could walk out. How dare he reveal the truth about me?

I suck in a breath, a low whistle of defeat. I snap back. I lick my wounds and plot a fiery return. Mr. Addict wants to be the all-knowing hero of the day? Wait until he tries to survive my revenge.

At the base camp, Chantelle asks, "Need me to secure the ropes and carabiners?"

"Yeah, that's cool. You want to belay once we hit the middle?"

"Haven't did it for a year before taking on this reality show challenge. Think I'm ready?" Chantelle eyes him, her head cocked to the side.

Gary shrugs. "I'll help you. Always, for you, right?"

She releases a slow sigh and says, "Good answer. Definitely a confidence boost. You're infinitely better than me, though." Then she smiles. "Its time to make my words be more than talk."

Gary lets a laugh rip from his chest. "Don't get down now. You're the ox, always pushing higher. One million dollars. That's waiting for us at the top. Producers said so."

She flashes him a grin. "You calling me a big ass, and a smelly farm animal?"

"Hah! Nope. Just reminding you we're a team."

Chantelle takes the lead. Each foot hold and reach raises her higher. A smile plays on her face as a gleam shines in her eyes. She easily dodges sprays of sliding pebbles, her face down to allow her helmet to catch the dust instead.

Gary protectively follows her, his golden topaz eyes never straying. He's aware of her trembles even though she never explains them.

Chantelle calls out, "Mountain goats. Tricky bastards, knocking more pebbles down my way. I see a few standing on rocky edges."

"Kind of looking like they want to challenge us." Gary calls back, chuckling.

"I don't like the ravens circling."

"I see 'em. I'll signal the radio team."

She reaches for a new grab spot. Her breath stops. Lungs tighten. That sound. Gasping, chest heaving, she panics.

"You good there, Chantelle?"

No air. Her words cluster, in a mess. Girl, c'mon. Breathe. Don't fail me now.

"Chantelle. Chantelle."

She hears the clicking of the radio button. A screech. Everything echoes. A breeze blows without relief. Cold sweat oozes. It's out of place.

"Talk to me, Chantelle. Don't make me light a rescue flare." His voice is more steady than his nerves.

Her fingers shake, unrelated to her recent diagnosis. "I'm here."

Gary holds his chest. It heaves. He wants to vomit, but not here. That would be unfair to the goats watching them from below.

"What is it?" As his words sound in her ears, the undeniable shake begins. He forces calm into his nerves. "Rattlesnake. Easy, Chantelle."

"Gary! I'm slipping." The tightness in her voice could not show fear with more clarity.

In a flash of bold steps and sheer panic, he responds. Belay rope. Carabiners. Belay device. Locking it tight. Swearing punctuates each action.

"Coming! Hold on! He hollers up to her.

Chantelle shuts her eyes. She cries out, feeling the razor sharp fangs dig into her hand, leaving her with intense pain. She goes limp.

"Chantelle, I'm here. I got you!" Gary holds her close. "Breathe, slow and easy."

"I imagined the snake attacking me." Chantelle's ashy face and slurry speech create a tightening in Gary's legs. They go slack.

She turns her head and whispers, "Hey, I need you."

He locks his jaw and closes his eyes. "Happens every time I experience an excess of emotion. I tense up, and go numb. I jump for joy, I go numb. My legs, sometimes my hands."

"I'm sorry. I Don't know what to say. Your speed is a gift - if that helps."

"You mean how quickly I react?"

"Yeah, so don't be an ass to yourself. "

He grins. "Now who's giving encouragement?"

Gary asks, "You ready to get to the top?"

"We need food and water. My bottles empty."

"Refill coming up."

"Since you're serving, I'll take a protein buffet, please."

He leans forward, presses his lips to hers, and whispers, "I couldn't resist."

She lets her eyes settle on his face. She says, "For the first time, I see your freckles. Your left eye has more amber than you're right. I think you broke your nose at some point."

"Your lips form a heart. There's a shine in your eyes."

"Thankfully, the scattering of cumulus clouds give us shade or our sunglasses would block this beautiful moment." She swipes at her eyes.

"There's plenty of time for romance. Right now, we need to reach the top."

She nods, "I'll stick close to you."

He says, "Wonder if hanging off the side of a mountain makes the food taste better than having two feet on the ground."

Gary radios their restart. Their contact Mac calls back, "We see ya. Looking good. Got a few odd edges coming up. Watch where you land. Those size fourteen boots of yours Gary need space for you to stand to eat your next snack."

Chantelle calls to Mac. "Nothing like a gap between rocks for dinner."

"No reservations needed." Mac laughs at his joke. He calls back, "Radio your positions. Makes tracking easier than us leaning over to catch you in the binoculars."

"Copy that! Will keep in mind." Gary's voice, comes through clear and steady.

They pause for water breaks and food, careful to find a safe spot each time. Gary's consistent communication allows Mac to anticipate the final part of the plan.

The sun dips low. With the summit's enticing peak in sight, Gary pushes the button and calls to Chantelle. "Darling, you need a rest?"

She doesn't immediately reply.

Gary leans back and scans the rise for her banana jacket and pumpkin hat. His chest tightens. Breathing is an abrupt challenge.

"Chantelle!" He waits, his chest heaving.

Mac calls on the radio. "We okay down there?"

Gary shouts in the speaker, "Chantelle. Not responding."

Within minutes, a helicopter appears. Its blades fly with strength and urgency. It maneuvers close by.

Mac stands on the edge of the open doorway. He throws his arm out, and points above Gary's head.

He scrambles with urgency, a dizzying blur blocks his mind. He shakes his head to clear it. Step by step, he guides his boots to each new foot hold.

"Chantelle! Chantelle!" Gary spots her around a curve.

She turns her head and waves. Then she points down, in front of her chest, on a rock.

Gary catches up, his breathing ragged. "What? Why? Oh, crap!"

She smiles. Not confidently. It's more of a question than a statement when she speaks. "The bird. It's injured. We can help it."

Gary leans against a rock. His feet rest in the pocket of grass trapped under it.

"Golden Eagle. Distinct brown plumage, golden nape feathers, broad wings. Looks like a baby. Could be injured from trying to learn to fly."

"Can Mac help? Is there a team member?"

Gary calls on the radio, "Got a wildlife tech?"

Mac says, "She's on her way to you."

Within the hour, Gary hears, "Hi! Nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Brandi. My friends call me Buzz. I like climbing too. It relieves my mind. Reduces my stress. Boy, I sure could go for a big bowl of hot soup. Chicken Noodle. Creamy Tomato. Beef Stew. Minestrone. Miso. What about you two?

"Injured bird." Gary points down.

Chantelle nods, not sure how to react. "Please. The Ravens circle even now. They're too patient, for death."

Buzz's cheesy grin takes up most of her face, especially with her thick hat covering dense layers of bangs. Only her short nose and full almond shaped eyes remain in sight.

She happily places the bird in a cushioned carrier and calls out, "Best wishes! Hope your wedding isn't on the side of a mountain. By the way, your narrator is terrible with keeping secrets."

Gary closes his eyes. He can't look at Chantelle. He smile is bitter and tight. He slumps his shoulders.

Chantelle sighs. "A proposal at the top? That your plan?"

Looking down he says, "I was going to tell you that you're my world."

"Kind of cheesy." She grins, her eyes tearing up.

"Yeah, I was working on it during our climb."

"I like cheesy." She reaches for his hands.

He grows quiet. "Why do your fingers tremble?"

"What?"

"They're doing it now."

She pulls her hands back. Plays with her jacket zipper. Shifts with unease. "It's a shaking disease. I'll get worse. Then I'll lose myself. I struggle with doctors. I have notes and research. I just avoid the truth. Call it denial."

Gary absorbs her words. He asks, "Can I help you? Maybe go with you to visits?"

She whispers, "Okay, cool."

"I got a secret."

She turns her head and waits. Silence. She asks, "You telling me? Waiting for a miracle?"

He shakes his head. "I'm an alcoholic."

She sighs, long and deep. Her mind tries to think of a solid reply. "I know. I can help."

"How?"

Shrugging, she says, "I don't know. Call a therapist. Drive you to meetings. Be there. Listen."

"Deal."

Chantelle presses her lips to his. She whispers, "Yes."

He scrunches his brows. "What?"

"You're my world. Yes, I will buy a dress, and a veil. Flowers. Candles."

He bursts out laughing. "Buzz is not invited."

"Good! Now let's finish this climb, then we'll trade vows."

Five hours later, Mac grabs Chantelle's hand. Gary slides around her. They pose for a picture at the top of the world - holding their million dollar check.

I'm crying. Tears fall. I love these two. I wonder where they'll go from here. Maybe Miami.