Peter E. Vogel, Jr.
"Okay, boys. Time to head out."
"Hey. Hey, did you hear me? Slade?"
Slade's mother kicked the corner cushion of the old brown couch on which we three sat, enraptured by the glowing television screen on the opposite wall. I heard the sound of her voice, but not the words; the details were lost in a flurry of fevered plastic button clicking, and the cacophony of explosive sound effect emanating from the screen. My mind was firmly planted in the world of Contra, a world of giant firearms, endless alien enemies, and a two-dimensional jungle that conveniently always went right. It was like one of those movable walkways in airports, but with lost of plants. And aliens. And explosions.
Fat Tom, sitting odd man out at the far end of the couch, attempted to alert us to the unseen threat.
"Uh, guys?"
"Yeah!" said Slade, barely registering.
"Slade, pay attention to me!" she roared.
The anger beneath her Southern twang finally penetrated our collective video game consciousness. Slade hit Pause, and we all looked up. She stood scowling over us, wearing a blue party dress, sheer stockings, and enormous hoop earrings. Her blonde hair was up in a clip and her make-up wasnt finished, a work still in process. But I had to look back at the screen to avoid staring at her cleavage.
"Don't fuss around with me, Slade. You know were having people, your father told you yesterday. We need the basement, your father is coming home and hell be stocking the bar. Now if you want to talk to him about it, fine. Otherwise, you need to clear out right now."
"Where are we supposed to go?" Slade asked. "There's nothing to do around here except play games."
"Well then maybe you should go someplace else. Maybe you can go to Tom or Peters house for a change."
"Tom and Peter live like five miles away! And don't say ride bikes, they didnt bring their bikes. We came on the bus from school."
"School's over, Slade."
"Not for another two weeks, Mom."
"Whatever. You can walk there," she growled. "You're thirteen, you're old enough to walk a couple of miles. You three are down here all the time, youre probably breathing mold, you need fresh air and sunshine."
"There's mold because Dads beer fridge leaks water," grumbled Slade.
His mother's eyes narrowed for a moment, then she glanced at the rest of us and exhaled sharply.
"Come on, go. Out."
Slade and I took care to secure the game in a safe place, still in the Paused position and unplugged from the television so no one would need to turn it off. We ascended from the furnished basement, grabbed our school bags, and headed out the kitchen door, into the harsh summer sun.
Slade led the way down the sloping, narrow road that led gradually down the western side of Hexen Hill. Slade's family lived in an area that hadn't been fully developed yet, like most of our hometown. Big houses sat on thickly wooded lots, most of them perched on the slope of the hill. They overlooked the miles and miles of cornfields beyond, the township where Tom and I lived. Aside from the houses, there was nothing around except more woods, more driveways, and the occasional passing car.
"So do you want to walk to my house?" asked Fat Tom, trudging several feet behind us.
"Fuck no," said Slade. "I don't want to walk ten miles. Besides, what is there to do there? You dont have NES."
"Five miles," I said. I saw a long stick protruding onto the side of the road. I picked it up and began to whack at the weeds as we passed. "But it's all farms and cornfields over there, were going to get sunburned. And there's nothing to do at my house, either. Besides, that could take hours, what if my mom shows up to pick me up, and we aren't there? She's going to worry."
She always worries. About everything.
"My mom would offer her a drink and tell her to relax," said Slade. "All my parents do is drink. They'll be drinking all night, with all their friends. They yelled at my brother for drinking at the high school dance, but they're just the same. Its like they're in high school."
Slade followed my example, selecting a stick from a small pile of dry brush by the road. He walked a few paces ahead of me, and cut several wide swaths at the weeds. A dragonfly buzzed passed his ear, and he attempted to hit it, but missed.
"I wish we brought drinks," said Tom. "I'm thirsty. And I want a Slim Jim."
Slade stopped executing weeds, and looked back. "We could go to Sam's," he said. "They have drinks and Slim Jims. Ice cream would be good too, they have that in the back."
"I have five dollars," I said. "Tom?"
Fat Tom fished the Velcro wallet out of his shorts. "I have three bucks. But isn't Sam's like on the other side of the hill?"
Slade didn't reply, he merely waved and set off down the road.
"Still closer than our houses," I said, and followed Slade. Fat Tom rushed to catch up.
The walk to Sam's Store took the three of us on a wide path around the wooded hill, over a few country bridges and cow traps, and finally to the Delaware River Road, otherwise known as Route 611. The two-land highway followed the western bank of the river, from the northern edge of the state all the way down to Philadelphia. Where the river passed our town, it cut a deep groove in the landscape, with Hexen Hill on the western bank, and an equally large hill on the Jersey side. The place between the two hills was called the Clinton Water Gap. To me it looked like a canyon, but Slade said you couldn't call something a canyon unless it was in the desert or the mountains. I disagreed, but didn't feel like arguing the point.
Sam's Store sat directly beneath the steepest part of the water gap, where part of the hill had been blasted away decades ago, to make room for the road. The little brown brick building served the smattering of homes that lined the riverbank, and travelers going to or from town via the river road. The owner, whose name was not Sam but Lou, was a grouchy but harmless old man who had worked there for decades. He loved to complain about how bad business had gotten since the new bridge went in, bypassing the road. He also liked to give small discounts to local kids, which allowed us to purchase three sodas, three double-scoop cones, and a varied assortment of Slim Jims, beef jerky, and other smoked meats of dubious nutritional value.
We sat on the steps in front of the store, eating ice cream and watching a man in a large canoe sailing past down the river.
'I wish we had a boat," said Slade. "We could sail down to Getter's Island. That would be cool."
A woman in short shorts and a spaghetti strap top pulled up in a battered Honda Accord, and ran in to the store. All three of us noticed her hips sway as she passed, and watched her shorts with great interest when she came out again. I found myself remembering Slade's mother, thinking about that inviting shadow peeking out through the blue party dress...
Hello, Peter. Would you help me with this zipper?
Why of course, Mrs. Turner.
Caroline, darlin'. Call me Caroline. You know you've become a handsome young man, Peter. Oops! Oh, I seem to have slipped out of my dress, oh dear...
I loved that southern accent.
Your cone's dripping.
What?
You cone is dripping, said Slade. On your pants.
I looked down in time to see two fat drops of melted diary hit my jeans, leaking from the bottom of the half-eaten ice cream cone. I wiped down the stain with a tiny square napkin and tossed the remainder aside.
"So um, my mom was supposed to pick me up at seven," said Tom. "So we should probably get going."
"Seven? I think that might be a problem."
I looked at the clock in front of Sam's. It said 6:09 PM. The storefront was already in shadow. Only the upper sides of the hills still caught the yellow-orange light of the setting sun.
"It's going to take us longer than that to walk back. They're gonna be pissed."
"No dude, this is easy," said Slade. "We can take a shortcut."
"Where?" I thought I knew the area pretty well, and I didn't know of any other road.
Slade ran down the steps and around the back of the building. We followed to find ourselves looking at a small dumping ground. The lot behind the store was scattered with stacked metal barrels, piles of broken wood and plaster, rusted pieces of old roadworking equipment, an overturned earthmover, and a very old looking delivery truck with no windows or tires. The junk got thicker the closer you got to the side of Hexen Hill, right where the hillside had been blasted into a cliff.
I spotted Slade picking his way through the yard, toward the bottom of the cliff. I waved to Fat Tom and followed after. We came around the side of the old truck to find him standing on top of a boulder, looking up at the rock face.
"There's a path at the top that leads right to the woods in back of my house," he said, pointing off to the left.
"How are we going to climb up?" I asked. "We need rope or something."
Slade looked at me as if I was insane, and shook his head.
"For this? Its easy. Haven't you ever seen rock climbing? People climb things way tougher than this, and they don't have any ropes. Besides, look, there's a kind of path you can take right here. You just climb up on to a boulder, then up that little dirt ditch thing, then theres another boulder, then another, all the way up. Its like giant steps."
"What do we do with our sodas?" I asked, lifting the plastic bag I carried.
"Put them in your backpacks. It's not like you have any books in there."
"If it rains, it we could slip," said Tom, squinting at the cliff.
"Look up, no clouds, its not going to rain," insisted Slade. "I've done it like five times, it is totally easy."
Tom and I stood in silence, staring at the cliff, while Slade watched us from on top of the boulder.
"If you want, I could go this way, and you guys could take the long way," Slade said, half-smiling. "Then I could let your moms know you were coming anyway."
I looked at the rock face. He was right about the boulders, they did almost seem like steps, and they led almost all the way to the top. Plus I didn't like the thought of him getting back an hour before us, and telling everyone we couldn't climb the gap.
"No, if you did it before, we can do it," I said.
Fat Tom took a few minutes more convincing, but finally he agreed, on the condition that we wouldn't rush him.
Slade went first, jumping from boulder to boulder until he came to the cliff face itself. He grabbed hold of a low ledge and pulled himself up easily. I followed close behind, surprised at how easy it was to jump over the rocks. I put both hands on the rough ledge, and found extra purchase on the rock with one sneaker. One heft and I was up on one knee at the edge. Fat Tom had some trouble to start, but swung a leg over and rolled his body over the lip.
As soon as Tom was up on his feet, Slade started climbing again. He worked his way up a small notch running diagonally up the rock face, a mix of rock and dirt worn by rain into a slanted earthen chute. It actually seemed pretty easy, and once I got going behind Slade, I found that it was almost like climbing steep stairs; just watch where you put your foot, and hold on to the railing. Except in this case, the steps and railings were protruding rocks and roots from the few hearty trees sticking out of the cliff side.
The next ledge was just as easy, and before long we all agreed that rock climbing was easy, something one could pick up in an afternoon. As we picked our way over the big granite boulders, Slade commented that it was actually fun, and I began to think of other cliffs in the area that we might climb.
"There's the one by the crayon factory," I offered. "That would be tougher, but there is a little ledge that runs the whole way up."
"That's like 300 feet tall," said Tom. "I like this one. Its smaller, and if you fell you would only fall a little way."
"This is like 200 feet," claimed Slade. "But yeah, we should buy ropes and uh, hooks or something. Then we can do that other one."
Slade grabbed a large root and used it like a rope, pulling himself up through another dirt and rock chute. I paused for a moment on top of a large ledge to drink some of my soda, and looked down at our progress. We had made it almost halfway up already, and just broken a sweat. I saw the gray, flat roof of Sam's Store far below, and noticed how dirty it looked. Sam must be storing garbage up there or something. I watched the cars pass by on the Delaware River Road, saw the river that looked pretty pathetic from up here. I wished the cliffs went straight up the river bank, so that we could jump like cliff divers, but I knew the water probably wasnt deep enough for that. I looked up at the orange light reflecting off the tree-covered hillside on the far shore, and wondered if someone was over there staring back. Hello New Jerseyan. How are things in your strange land?
Fat Tom passed me, and headed up where Slade had gone.
"Come on, its getting dark," he said.
I agreed, and as much as I liked the climb, I didnt like the idea of doing it in the dark. I returned the soda to my backpack and followed behind Tom. His foot slipped for a moment, and I tensed at the thought that he might pick this time to slide backwards, sending us both down the trench.
The rocks got smaller after the halfway point, and the easy staircase gave way to something more like real climbing. The red-orange sky slowly gave way to purple, and fearing the darkness, we picked up the pace.
Up ahead, Slade said, "Stop, hold on."
"What?" I couldn't see past Toms prodigious ass.
"I uh, I think I went the wrong way, so it's like pretty tough." Slade grunted and moved to the side, holding onto a root, and pointed up. "See the pointy rock? I don't think we can get around it without like, hanging off the edge."
I looked up. A large dark shadow could be seen about twenty feet above us, a massive granite tooth protruding from the cliff. I had seen it before, from the ground and on the way, up, but it looked much bigger here. The runoff ditch that we followed split directly beneath it, and became two tiny vertical notches on either side of the boulder. I couldnt see it clearly in the dying light, but it seemed like there was nothing there to grab.
"No way I'm doing that," said Tom.
"I'm coming back down," said Slade, and he slide downward, kicking up dust and pebbles as he went. Fat Tom coughed and rolled his bulk to the side, then I caught some, and coughed too.
"Sorry," said Slade. "I think this rock over to the left will be easier. If we go up the side there, we can just grab tree roots the whole way up."
The boulder he indicated was also sticking out of the cliff, but it was rounder and rougher, with lots of handholds to use. A small scrubby bush had fastened itself to the top of the rock, and a number of its larger siblings stuck out of the slope above. It wasnt straight up, but after the rock it seemed to be mostly dirt, all the way to the top. I didn't like that too much. Still, the big toothy rock was clearly impossible, and I wasn't going back down now.
"Okay, lets go. But can we break it up a little? I dont want to get hit in the face with dirt again."
Slade ginned and nodded. He started first, and Fat Tom went after him. I wiped the dust out of my eyes and came last, waiting for a fewmoments to give Tom more space. I climbed the corner where the round boulder met the earth of the hillside, finding good purchase for my feet, and well-placed roots to hold. Not bad, more like a ladder than stairs, but still. We figured out the good route, and now we're almost there.
I poked my head over the top of the round boulder, and grabbed the trunk of the tough little bush. The hard bark felt sharp against my hands, but I held it tighter, and pulled myself up. My hand came away raw and stinging. I knew there were splinters, but couldn't see them in the fading light.
"I'm up!" yelled Slade from the top. "Need help? I could find a vine maybe, or..."
"It's okay, I'm almost up," said Tom from above me. "Pete?"
"I'm coming," I replied.
The rest of the way up was all earth and roots, another steep groove created by runoff from countless rainstorms. In the darkening blue of twilight, I could just make out the places where Slade and Tom had placed their feet, leaving sneaker prints and scattering little chunks of dirt. A thick root snaked down the center, and seemed to go almost all the way to the top. It looked like Slade and Tom had already used it for a handhold. I grabbed ahold and began to climb up, planting my feet firmly where the others had before me. The root felt dry and stiff and dirty beneath my fingers, and I could still feel the splinters from the bush. I dug in with my fingernails and kept moving. The deep groove surrounded me on three sides, and as I approached the top it seemed to be getting even darker. Rock climbing by touch alone, theres a challenge. Rock climbing dirt climbing. We need to find a better place -
The root snapped, and I fell backwards head first.
I saw the purple evening sky flash by my eyes then the branches of the bush below me. I frantically spread out my feet and arms to slow myself, felt loose earth and pebbles tumbled past and up my pants legs. I grasped for another root but found nothing. The big boulder rushed up to meet my skull.
I threw my hands behind my head. Rock scraped against the flesh of my fingers and bounded off the rock, but the backpack took the impact off my back. Both legs dangled off the side of the rock, hanging in mid-air. I grabbed the branches of the bush above my head and yanked my legs up until they found purchase. A cloud of dust rose up in my wake. I heard stones falling past, sprinkling the rocks far below. Debris struck the metal drums at the base of the cliff, sending an echo across the water gap.
"Whoa. That was funny!"
"Fuck... You."
I pulled myself into a sitting position, looked at the scrapes on my arms and hands.
"I almost fell off. I almost cracked my brains open."
"Aw, c'mon," yelled Slade from atop the cliff. "You didn't even hit that hard. You just slid down a little way."
I felt my face flush, growled, and looked up. There wasn't any other way, but I wasn't going to rely on any other roots to support me, either. I started climbing again, slowly, my belly flat against the dirt. I found a sharp, wide piece of flat stone, and used it to dig into the clay as I made my way back up. Halfway there, Slade and Fat Tom lowered a thick branch, and helped me up the rest of the way.
I crawled over the top of the cliff and stood. Tom patted me on the shoulder. Slade giggled.
"Dude, you're all dirt," he said, grinning.
"Did you hear me say 'fuck you' before? Double it."
"Come on man, the path is this way." Slade motioned into the dark woods. "My house is right down the other side."
"Great," I said, wiping chunks of clay off my shirt. "Let's go then."
Slade giggled again. "Oh, can I have my soda? It's in your pack."
Frowning, I turned and let him unzip the backpack. He rooted around for a few seconds, then zipped it back up. I didn't bother looking back, and started down the trail.
A second later, a great gurgling hiss erupted from somewhere behind me.
"Gah - fuck!" cried Slade. "You fucked up my soda!"
"Must have happened when it smacked the rock," I said over my shoulder. "Weird, I didn't hit that hard."
Picking our way through the darkened trees, I grinned the rest of the way to Slade's house.
We got to the house ten minutes before my mother arrived to pick me up. Just enough time to clean up the scrapes on my hands and brush some more of the dirt off my shirt and jeans. I hoped my Mom wouldn't notice, but I was wrong.
"Good Lord," she said as I got into the car, "What happened to you?"
Mom, I climbed a two hundred foot tall cliff with Tom and Slade and almost fell off. Yes, it was dumb. Yes, I should be more careful. Yes, it was incredibly dangerous and stupid, I know.
"We were playing baseball. I slid into second," I said, and closed the door. I waved to Tom and Slade, and we drove away.