Whitney

The California sun had only made the odor of the homeless man in Kayvan’s Chevy Impala reek more. He opened the car door and assaulted his elderly passenger with the air freshener he’d bought in the gas station.

           “Hey, hey, hey!”

           Kayvan found the linen smell that filled the vehicle reminiscent of his parents’ living room. “Ah, that’s so much better,” he said, then slid into the driver’s seat.

           His passenger, Pace, brushed at his dirty, threadbare jacket in a vain attempt to get the aerosol particles off. The man’s grimy white beard shifted as he smiled. “Ya know, yah coulda just asked me tah take a shower at a truck stop or somethin’.” Over the past couple hours, Kayvan had found it gradually easier to understand Pace’s Texan accent.

           Kayvan put his iPhone in the cradle on his dashboard. “Not if you want to make it to Sequoia before the afternoon is over.”

           “Y’know, in general yah’ed be more courteous tah the customah,” Pace said as he put his seatbelt back on.

           “That’s what happens when you pay in advance,” Kayvan said. “As long as I get you to Sequoia, I think that’s the only thing that matters.”

           Pace only chuckled at that. He laughed off a lot, it seemed.

           As the Impala descended the on-ramp back to Interstate 5, Kayvan still marveled that he was doing this. He’d left the job center in San Francisco only a few hours ago when he’d been approached by a homeless man. The guy started pestering him to drive him to Sequoia National Park upstate, but Kayvan had tried his best to ignore him. Most homeless people that approached Kayvan would get the message if he didn’t pay them any attention.

           But most homeless people didn’t flash ten thousand dollars at you.

           That kind of money could float him until he could find a new place to work. It was a no-brainer. Maybe he could even stay in the tech sector instead of settling for something else.

           He’d be able to justify the past six months to his parents much easier if that happened.

           His aspirations were interrupted by the abrupt entry of outside air as Pace opened the window.

           “Come on,” Kayvan said. “I have the air conditioning on.”

           “Yah sprayed me and yah subject me tah artificial air,” Pace said. “The customah’s gotta get somethin’ their way.”

           Kayvan groaned a bit, but decided to pick his battles. As the car zoomed down the Interstate, he eventually realized the open window was dispersing a lot of Pace’s smell.

           He couldn’t help side-eye Pace. No homeless guy should have that much money on him. And despite some eccentricity, he seemed relatively normal. The money was good, but Kayvan knew he’d gotten himself involved with an oddball. Who was he?

           “So help me get this straight,” Kayvan said, once the silence and his own theories got too much for him to bear. “You’re going mountain climbing at Sequoia Park?”

           “Jus’ like I told ya,” Pace said. “Not just any mountain, though. I’mma be hikin’ up Mount Whitney.”

           “Is that a good one to hike, or something?” Kayvan asked.

           “Well, I guess ya could say that,” Pace replied. He reached into his jacket. “It’s the tallest mountain in the country. Well, besides one ‘a them in Alaska.” He pulled out a heavily used pocket notebook, ringed at the top. Some pages hung out lopsided, and the sides were completely frayed. He opened it, pulling the cover and several pages over the top. “Course, ‘Whitney’ is jus’ the name the White man called it. Y’know what the Native Americans called it?”

           “Why would I know that?”

           Pace chuckled. But instead of answering, he lifted up a couple more pages. “The Paiute Native Americans called it ‘Too-man-i-goo-yah’”

           “Come on. If you have to confirm it with your notes, then don’t assume I’d know it.”

           Another chuckle. “Fair enough. So I won’t ask ya my next question, and I’ll just tell ya. That Paiute word means ‘the very old man.’” He gave an overly goofy smile at Kayvan, as if begging him to laugh.

           “So you just want to go because it’s appropriately named for you?” Kayvan asked, not a hint of amusement in his words.

           “Well, I guess ya could say that,” he said, a bit more quiet than normal. “But the thing is...”

           The conversation was interrupted by the chime of Kayvan’s iPhone. The screen lit up with the picture of an Iranian woman with curly hair, the word “Mom” in the top-center of the screen. Kayvan quickly tapped the “hang-up” button on his steering wheel.

           “If you wanna pull over, I can step out for a sec,” Pace offered.

           “It’s fine,” Kayvan said.

           The following silence was very loud.

           “I get it,” Pace said. “I’ve pissed off a good number of my brood, too.” He went back to staring at the passing scenery.

           “It’s not like that,” Kayvan said, too quickly.

           “Well, everyone’s got their problems,” Pace said, clearly not convinced.

           “It’s really not like that.”

           Pace put his hands up in surrender and settled back into his seat.

           Kayvan was glad to be done with that. For about a mile, at least. But with each additional mile marker that passed, he knew Pace was just filling in the blanks with his own assumptions. It was only natural. The same way Kayvan had been wondering about Pace.

           “Look,” Kayvan said suddenly.

           Pace jumped a bit.

           “Look,” he continued, “let’s just say we’ve got something in common.”

           The look on Pace’s face made Kayvan realize the bum hadn’t been ruminating on the matter at all.

           “Ah, now that I think abou’ it, I did meet ya outside a job centah, didn’ I?” Pace was stroking his putrid beard.

           Kayvan fixed his eyes on the road and willed the topic to die.

           “So how long ya been between employments?” Pace asked.

           Of course he wouldn’t. Kayvan sighed. “About six months.”

           “Things been tense with your folks?” Pace pressed. “That why you ain’t keen to talk to your ma?”

           Kayvan let the silence answer for him.

           “Pleasin’ your parents can be a rough bidness. My old man weren’t never satisfied with what I did.”

           “I’m sure he’d be proud of you now,” Kayvan said.

           “Sarcasm truly is the greatest flaw in your generation,” Pace said, not angrily. “But nah, I learned a long time ago my fathah’s problems were all him. Don’t mean I didn’ try for too long ta please him, though.”

           “Sorry about that,” Kayvan said, almost reflexively.

           “Tha’s life,” Pace said, with the least enthusiasm Kayvan had heard yet. “My pa lived longer than anyone wanted. He was spittin’ venom at me even when I was the only one visitin’ him at the doctah’s.”

           This was why Kayvan hated talking about this stuff. What was he supposed to say to something heavy like that? He sped up and passed a slow-moving Ford pickup.

           “Tweren’t all bad,” Pace continued. “Once I met mah filly and we had our own little ones, I realized what I’d been missin’.”

           “Maybe you should have used that ten thousand on a therapist,” Kayvan accidentally blurted out.

           But Pace just laughed. “Ye’r a rude cuss, ain’t ya? Would ya believe this is me after the ther’py?”

           “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

           “S’fine. Other people might find ya insufferable, but I always liked straight shooters.”

           People didn’t find him insufferable. Did they?

           By this point, Kayvan couldn’t detect any of Pace’s smell. It seemed it was all being funneled out the window. The heat also didn’t seem to be as oppressive as it was when Kayvan had stopped at the gas station.

           It would probably be unfair if Pace was the only person to share. “My parents aren’t the problem,” he said. Kayvan almost hoped his passenger couldn’t hear him.

           No luck.

           “Oh? That mean yer a little hellraiser, or somethin’?” Pace chuckled.

           “No, no, no. I’ve always been pretty straightlaced.”

           “Oh my pa’ed have loved you,” Pace said. “Well, maybe not…”

           “…Oh. Then yeah. Sorry, but your dad was an asshole.”

           Pace laughed very loudly at that. “You ain’t wrong!”

           “But, no,” Kayvan continued. “I just haven’t called my parents because it isn’t worth it.”

           “They wouldn’ like you not havin’ a job?”

           “I mean, no. But they wouldn’t be lecturing me or anything.”

           “They soun’ pretty reasonable, then,” Pace said.

           “That’s the problem,” Kayvan said. “They’d just tell me everything is going to be all right and not to worry.”

           “Wha, you want ‘em to lick you over it?”

           “I guess, kind of. I already know they’re disappointed in me. They’d just be hiding it by being nice. At least if they ridiculed me they’d be honest.”

           Pace, who could find the humor in anything apparently, chuckled. “Yer an interesting one, Kay.”

           “It’s just temporary,” Kayvan continued. “I’ll call them as soon as I’m able to get back on my feet.”

           “If I can be honest fer a bit, it sounds like yer pride is keepin’ ya from callin’ more’n anything.”

           “Maybe you’re right,” Kayvan said. He accelerated the car, slightly over the speed limit.

           “We’re more alike’n you think, it seems,” Pace said.

*         *         *

           Kayvan smacked another mosquito. It must have been the hundredth in the last hour. He kept one hand affixed to the handhold that had been installed, a chain suspended between several metal rods. He almost carelessly took his hand from it, thinking two hands would help keep the bugs at bay. Not that he could actually see any in the cloak of night.

           “You good, Kay?” Pace looked back, spritzing some bug spray around himself.

           He refused to share it. Kayvan was sure Pace was getting back at him for the air freshener thing. Apparently, it was the one thing he’d bought before hiring Kayvan. Something about knowing mountains always had tons of bugs.

           On top of that, Kayvan had been forced to carry Pace’s grody sleeping bag up, strapped to his back. It was the one possession Pace had had to put in Kayvan’s trunk.

           “Ya coulda stayed back, gone home,” Pace said as he continued climbing.

           “You’ll need someone to take you back,” Kayvan said. He pulled himself up by the chain. It was annoying to be outpaced by an old homeless guy.

           “Thought yer job was only ta get me heyah.”

           “Come on, I’m not heartless.”

           Pace chuckled. “Fate gave me a kind hand wit’ you, Kay.”

           “Bite me.” He slapped another mosquito. “Not you!”

           “Yup, the bugs’ll get ya.”

           They’d arrived at Sequoia National Park around five that afternoon. Most of the subsequent time had been spent climbing Mount Whitney, expressly against the advice of the park rangers. Kayvan had never been the most athletic person, so hiking up this peak was like some sort of divine punishment. He’d already passed three “points of no return” where he was sure he’d collapse.

           Still, after over five hours, they reached the peak of Mount Whitney a little after eleven.

           “I’m gonna die,” Kayvan said between breaths.

           Pace chuckled. “Y’know, when you think about it, with Whitney’s prior name bein’ ‘the old man,’ you could look at it bein’ a place o’ death. So maybe it’s a good place fer ya ta kick the bucket.”

           “Oh shut up.”

           The night was so bright and clear that they hadn’t needed any lights on the way up. Despite all the physical hardship, Kayvan had to acknowledge the night sky was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. He’d lived in San Francisco so long he’d forgotten how much the stars were blotted out by light pollution. As he looked over Whitney’s edge, he could see a surprising amount of Sequoia National Park below, too. Everything was draped in a beautiful filter of blue-black night. It was like looking into a completely different world.

           If he’d stayed in his dinky apartment back in the city, he’d just be watching Hulu again. It almost made the trip itself worth it, like he didn’t need the ten thousand dollars.

           There was no way in hell he would ever give that back, though.

           Pace walked around the summit, his eyes skyward. The lack of dumb jokes and laughter probably meant that he found the whole thing as poignant as Kayvan did.

           In his hand he had a medium-sized, sturdy stick that he’d picked up a couple hours ago. It was too short to be a walking stick, so Kayvan just assumed it was something to keep his hands busy. He was probably right, since it looked like Pace was using it to doodle something in the ground.

           “Hey, Kay.”

           Kayvan plopped down on a big, flat rock. “Yeah?”

           “Y’know, they say blood’s the strongest ties yah’ll ever have, and it’s true.” He looked to the young man, and for once looked serious. “And they are. Certainly, they’re the mos’ important, for bettah or worse. But just ‘cause they’re the strongest don’t mean those ties can’t be torn.”

           “Is this about the thing with my parents?”

           Pace chuckled, but he didn’t look any less serious. “I suppose yah could say that.”

           “I am…very exhausted. Do you mind if I be a bit direct?”

           He smiled this time. “Didn’ know ya could be any otha’ way.”

           “Ha ha.” Kayvan took a swig of water from the Dasani bottle he had. “What I was gonna say is, if fixing your family BS is as simple as talking to them, why don’t you do it?”

           If he’d known him for longer than a day, Kayvan would think the look Pace gave him was one of pride.

           “Ain’t nevah said it was easy. Hardest thing in the world, honestly. But even if it’s hard, it needs tah be done.”

           “So why are you wasting your breath on me?”

           “Well, my kids ain’t listenin’ tah me right now, so I guess I just want to impart some wisdom on somebodah, I guess.”

           With that, he took out the top-ringed notebook he’d brought out in the car earlier and turned to a page. Then, with his other hand, he resumed doodling with the stick.

           “So what now?” Kayvan asked. “How long are you going to be up here on your little late-life crisis?”

           “Well, I figahed I’d spend the next, oh…hour here. Seriously, Kay, yah can head back down.”

           “I already told you I’m not leaving an old man in the wilderness. I don’t need bad karma when I’m already having so much trouble finding a job.”

           “Then take a nap down the way a bit. There’s a good place fer it a couple feet back down the trail.”

           The idea of getting forty winks on the side of a mountain in a homeless man’s sleeping bag was disgusting. But he was so tired that he didn’t raise the myriad objections he had as he rose from the rock. “Fine. Wake me up when you’re ready to go back down.”

           As he left the summit, Kayvan barely heard Pace say “Thanks, Kayvan.”

*         *         *

           Kayvan didn’t dream. The hike had sapped all his mental energy. Ironically it was the most peaceful night of sleep he could remember. The only blemish was some loud sound that had woken him up briefly. But he’d conked back out soon enough.

           As he woke and stretched, he bemoaned the stink of Pace’s sleeping bag. He’d been too tired last night to let that stand in the way of getting some rest. But no shower, no toothbrush, and being exposed to the elements all night made for the most uncomfortable morning of his life. His leg was still cramped as he made his way back up to the summit.

           “Pace! You done yet?” he yelled.

           But the summit was barren. Pace wasn’t there.

           Had that S.O.B. gone back down without him?

           It was then that Kayvan noticed all the drawings in the dirt.

           There were countless patterns of swirls, right angles, and zigzag patterns in the dirt, all across the top of Mount Whitney. Kayvan had no idea what to make of them, but it all seemed to be some sort of organized chaos.

           In the middle of all the symbols was Pace’s stick, a folded piece of paper underneath it.

           “Pace?” Kayvan yelled again. Though he somehow knew it was pointless.

           As he investigated, Kayvan realized it was a folded photo under the stick. He pulled it apart, and saw a picture of a large group of people, centered around a clean-shaven man with graying hair. He had an arm around a squat woman who was probably his wife. And they must have had a dozen people around them: some kids, some younger adults, some people the same age as the central couple.

           It took two solid minutes for Kayvan to realize the man in the middle was Pace. He was completely different from the unkempt man he’d met yesterday.

           When he flipped the photo over, he saw written on it “Strong, not invincible.” The Sharpie ink was fresh.

           He looked around the area of the summit for another hour. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish.

           Eventually he took a good look over Sequoia National Park, bathed in the morning sunlight. As opposed to the opaque splendor of the night, the sun illuminated the nooks and crannies of the land and the trees, providing beauty in its detail.

           It made him think of the pitiful view from his window every morning from his apartment.

           “What am I doing?” he muttered.

           He pulled out his phone and gave one last look at Pace’s picture before he dialed.

           “Hey Mom.”