The Mountain, Part 2
The dried out plants lash at my arms, but it smells like home -- sage, sand. The dense quiet is broken only by lizards skittering out of our way into the bushes and the sound of the wind. Suddenly, there's a burst of whooping and laughter. My companion looks off into the distance. "Kids," he says."No," I return, "Coyotes." We hear more peels of laughter. They come closer. "Really?" he asks. "Yeah," I reply, "They do that to cover the screams of whatever they're killing." "Sounds like my bosses," he says, then, "You scared?" The sound does make my blood run a little cold. But reason prevails. "Nah. I've never heard of them killing adults, even in packs. Sometimes families take them in. They might kill a little kid then." I rake my eyes across the hillsides for them, knowing I'll see nothing. "They wake you up at night sometimes," I say lamely. "Creepy," he mutters. "Like your bosses."
I don't tell the story he's heard a bunch of times before, how a coyote climbed a grapefruit tree that came up through our deck -- probably 9 or 10 feet up and almost ate our dog. My dad had been in the shower and had heard the dog scream. He came out naked and soaking, flailing around with a stick and scared it off. My dog, a small, white, West Highland terrier, was trembling uncontrollably. He knelt beside her and felt the wet place on her back where it had it's mouth on her. Her skin was unbroken.
The trail veers to the left and I know we're almost there. In a few minutes, I can see sky on the other side of the ridge. We pass through some purple, waste-high shrubs. Was it always so overgrown? I remember the top being bare, with an LA city marker. Just you and the whole city. Then, the groundcover breaks open -- I was right. Though I had forgotten a small pine tree rising above the scrub, providing enough shade to sit and rest in.
It's a place made sacred with its pristine views. In the distance is the blue band between the city and the horizon that marks the ocean. Just in front are the domes and occasional flares of Universal Studios, the shimmering threads of the 101 and the 170 as they glide through the valley, and the otherside opens up toward the San Gabriel Mountains. In the distance, you can even see the mountains beyond them. We were lucky today; some days it would all be brown. Off to the side, under an enormous radio tower, studded with satellite dishes, I can see the back of the edge of first letter of the Hollywood sign. And local signage says you can't see the Hollywood sign...
In my mind, my child self runs ahead, scrambling over rocks, pushing out to the very edges, only to run back to my mother. My brother and I pose for pictures and play hide and seek. We poke at large black beetles with a stick, peer into small holes after tarantulas. Now, I run my hand over a branch of sage, breathe in it's dusty smell on my skin. On this mountain, untouched by all that's happened, I am welcomed back to a place I haven't lived in a long time. On this shattered foundation, I will build my house and live my life in it.
posted by kuaptic. @ 6:43 PM
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