It was a beautiful day. Edward looked across the field and up at the mountain's steep incline. The top ridge was hidden by clouds. Even as far away as he was, he could feel the damp chill of those clouds. He knew that is he started climbing soon he could get to the top before the sun burned away the morning gray. He breathed in deep and the smell of the air brought back a dozen memories. He stared up at the grassy slopes and decided that today was the day.
He hopped the fence that marked the open space range and made his way across the plain before the flatiron, his shoes getting damp from the grass. The open space was meant to be protected land, not to be walked on by human feet, but he hoped the early hour would keep him undisturbed by any authority. He has wanted to hike to the top of that ridge since he had seen it from the hospital window.
The room had been small, with little to distract from the muted, constant background noise of the machinery. It did have a western facing window that Edward spent many hours staring out of while he had waited for her to wake. Looking through it from the right side of the bed, the window had framed the mountain that Edward now began to climb. His favorite days had been ones just like this, with the mountain pines dotting the ridge hidden in the fog. Now, as then, it provided his with a great feeling of peace.
Coming onto a particularly steep part of the ascent, Edward bent forward slightly, using his hands in the climb. He thought that in its own way, this was better. He was on the mountain, not looking at it, and it was completely silent. There were no doctors or nurses with questions, no machines to click and whir. There had been one machine, one to regulate the I.V., that had clicked then made a dull sound evey six heartbeats as it pushed the liquid through the tube and into her arm. One quiet mornings like this one, when she slept and the nurses hadn't been in for awhile, it seemed as if that machine were his only companion in the world.
Of course, it was worse, though. Before the hospital, before the doctors, she would have been with him on a day like this. She would have filled the morning with words while he panted from too many cigarettes. As it was, he only has his labored breathing for company.
He paused a moment to catch his breath, looking to up survey the rest of the climb. The tall grass was giving away to rocks and gravel, the grade increasing. He shifted the weight of his pack. Putting the past out of his mind, he prepared to climb in earnest.
The remaining walk took him to the nearly vertical face of the flatiron. He looked up, then laid hands on the mountain and began to climb. There were easier ways to get up the mountain, certainly, but none that afforded him the privacy of this path. He did not want to be found.
The ascent didn't bother him much; it was always easier than coming down. A few minutes into it he began to wish he had brought gloves and wondered why he bothered bringing his wallet. He bled onto the rocks from a dozen small cuts.
Edward pulled himself up to the ridge. Standing, he looked west across the range. The sun had broke through the morning weather and felt good on his back. The top of the ridge was narrow, a small flat strip. Facing east you could look down to see the entire town in the valley. Turn around and you could see the Rocky Mountains beginning to spread out to the west. Three hundred and sixty degrees of panoramic view without so much a step forward or backward. He could smell pine needles and cooking fires.
Taking a step forward put him on the western precipice of the ridge. The descent was steeper than the one he had just climbed. He blinked his eyes then closed them, feeling the wind. It blew gently from east to west. Perfect.
Shedding his pack, he turned to set it down in the red brown gravel of the ridge. It felt like gravity had been dialed down when he took it off.
Inside the pack, wrapped carefully in old newspapers was the short, gray cylinder. It bore no decoration or ornamentation and looked almost industrial. He had picked it out. She never would have approved.
He unwrapped it carefully and stood, cautiously holding it in both hands. He turned as that, walking it to the western ridge.
Setting it on the ground again, he waited for the wind to calm and then opened it. He looked at the gray ash, which promised him nothing.
The lack of ceremony seemed wrong to him. There should be more people; family, a priest, someone to say something. He thought to speak himself, but the words choked in his throat and tears burned his eyes.
The wind picked up and he turned the urn over. The dust caught in the wind, moving in unpredictable patterns and swirls. He followed the cloud as it blew out and down into the valley until nothing but his memory of her remained.
He looked down the cliff and the feet of rocky ledge that separated him from it. It was still early in the morning. He wouldn't be found for hours, if not days.
"No," he said aloud to the valley, the mountains and the air. "She would never forgive me."
Edward turned and prepared to climb back down the mountain.
