The Climb

  The man coughed as the water tried to strangle him. He rolled to his stomach and expelled the liquid that had seeped into his lungs. He felt a dull throb in his temple as he raised himself. The sun blinded his eyes and increased the discomfort. He looked to his right then to his left. On either side was a coastline stretching as far as the eye could see. He turned around and saw the vast expanse of the lake and felt the waves lap against his feet. Finally, he looked forward. He saw sand. Sand that stretched up to the heavens. He followed the wall with his eyes and saw the slope continue infinitely in both directions.

He raised his hand and rubbed his head. Once the throbbing faded his mind began to race with questions.

Where am I?

What am I doing here?

Then a question came to him that made him panic. Who am I?

He cradled both sides of his head in an attempt to soothe his mind back to reality and to remembrance. He checked his jeans pockets, then his jacket, and found nothing. Nothing but a flask. For an unknown reason, he felt his heart relax when his eyes caught sight of it. He uncapped the silver top and took a swig. The familiar taste of whiskey slid down his throat and the throbbing completely ceased. He took it away, capped the flask, and looked up the slope. He saw something dark and rectangular twenty feet up the incline. He put the flask in his pocket and began to climb.

The sand gave way with every step, but he kept pumping his legs until he could reach the object. He saw it was a chestnut brown leather wallet. He opened it and saw the I.D. next to his reflection from the plastic covering. It was his wallet. His name was Clint Robertson; He was 28 years old, had blue eyes, weighed 180 pounds, and was 5'11. He found his credit cards, a few ten-dollar bills, and a picture of him with a beautiful blonde-haired woman.

He turned the picture over and saw a note written on the other side.

Love you, Rachel

His memories began to return to him of their first date and eventually their wedding day. But something else happened he couldn’t remember….

He glanced up the slope and wondered if his wallet was there. Maybe his phone or car keys were also up the slope. The longer he looked, the slope seemed to elongate further away from him. He put his head down and, with his hands and knees, continued to climb.

Thirty minutes passed and his arms and legs ached from the child-like movement he hadn't practiced in many years. He stopped and looked up. It appeared he had gone no more than forty feet. His shadow now cast a lighter angle. He felt the flask in his pocket and he imagined the taste. The cool liquid flowing down his gullet. The light buzz. He stopped and stood up while he uncapped the liquor and drank.

His body slipped forward and he fell onto the slope. The sand under him gave way and he slid down. In one hand he held up the flask to keep it from spilling, the other reached into the mound for anything to grab. By the time he stopped moving, he saw he was now only 20 feet from the shore.

He swore and beat the dune. In his rage, he took another drink and slipped to the bottom. He capped the flask and then looked back at the sun. He held up his hand horizontally, then stacked his other hand on top of it until the water and the sun were connected by his hands.

Two hours of daylight left.

He scanned the horizon for boats or people and saw nothing. He turned back to the slope, looked up, then patted his wallet where the picture of Rachel lay and began again.

About an hour into his climb, he began to thirst. He had surpassed the spot where he slid from before, but the taste and the craving for the flask brought the dull throbbing back. For some reason, he acquainted the flask with his slide and continued to press on.

As his hands pulled himself up, the sand brought another article to him, a plant ticket. It read…

Skyway Airlines

 Clint Robertson

Seat: A3

Grand Rapids, MI to Waco, Texas

Departure: 10:15 pm

Arrival: 2:00 am

His mind tried to piece together his clues. His name was Clint. He had a wife named Rachel and a ticket to Texas. Was it for work? Was it for vacation? He looked up the slope and saw he was a little more than halfway there. He imagined sitting next to his wife on the plane. He furrowed his eyebrows and continued to climb.

He finally saw the trees at the top of the dune. He even saw the back of a sign put up by the conservationists at the top. Maybe another twenty feet? He stopped and looked back and saw the sun setting beyond the water. A golden hugh covered the lake. He exhaled and took out the flask. He uncapped it and put it to his lips. His feet began to slip backward. His heart raced as he fell onto the slope. In his panic, he released the flask. It tumbled down the dune, splashing brown substance on the sound. Miraculously, he only slid down five feet and came to a stop. He looked down and saw the glint of the flask in the light. For a moment he felt the urge to go back down for the flask. He braced himself and crawled upward.

The sun had nearly set by the time he rolled himself onto the flat ground. He lay down on the grass and stared at the remaining light cast into the sky as the stars appeared. After he caught his breath, he rose to his feet and looked around. The sign said,

“Williams Dune Elev. 2300 ft.

Exercise extreme caution.

Rescue fee is $1,000

Casualties 57

Beware of Eroding cliffs”

He saw keys and a phone by a missing semicircle of grass. He thought to himself, I must have come here, stood on the edge, and the cliff gave way and I hit my head in the fall. He walked over to his phone. His thoughts went to Rachel. He anticipated to see messages from his love, concerned for his well-being. He tapped the screen and the light illuminated his face. He opened his messages and saw a text from Rachel, his friend group, and even his family members.

Rachel’s message read:

                "Clint, you've gone to rehab before and it didn't work. If you leave to go again, I'm done."

                Clint’s heart dropped. He opened the other messages.

Clint’s friends’ chat”

                “Screw you Clint! You think your too good for us, get the…."

He scrolled to the last message from his family’s chat

                “Clint, you are an embarrassment to our family name!”

  His vision blurred as tears welled up from his heart. But the worst part was, it was all true. He couldn’t deny it. All the memories came back. The empty promises. The Stealing. The interventions. Him researching and finding a rehab in Waco. The fight with Rachel, his friends, and his family.

         He dropped his hands from his face and looked over the slope. The moon illuminated the water and the dune in a soft glow. He saw the glimmer of the flask halfway down the slope. It called to him, like a lighthouse to a drunken sailor, promising a forbidden harbor. His right foot lifted into space.

        His phone buzzed in his hand.

        He stopped.

        He looked down and saw a message icon from an "unknown" number. He opened the message and read it. It contained only one word. His eyes welled again with more tears. Not with tears of despair but of joy. Not with tears of sorrow, but of hope. He turned around, scooped up his keys, and drove to the airport.