Your grandfather promised me the moon when he proposed, but he could only afford Everest. I loved him so much we could have honeymooned at the bottom of a well, but he insisted that our first time would be the most memorable on top of the world. The depth of our love for each other demanded that we wait, even for that first kiss. You kids are so impatient — though admittedly, it was rare to wait even in our time. But you asked about the Everest…
We glided to the top of the highest mountain in the world on buttery-soft leather seats in one of those Alti-Trams, as smoothly as if we were sledding down it. I squeezed Zander’s hand, eying the Southwest Face passing by in rock, ice, and snow. Zander laced his fingers through mine.
As the abstract concrete structure with the long glass windowpanes loomed larger, jutting off the peak, the gentleman across the tram whispered to his partner, “The real top of the world is up there.”
She followed his pointer to the roof of the hotel and rolled her eyes.
The Everest was a world-class hotel in those days, not all run-down like it is now. The windows gleamed, squeegeed every day by intrepid Sherpas descending on ropes from the roof. The rooms were pumped with scented oxygen — the lobby, where Zander confirmed our booking — was infused with the warm fragrance of cinnamon, cloves, and cedar.
The window drew us as soon as we entered the newlywed suite. Despite the plentiful oxygen tinged with the faint aroma of red roses, the view stole my breath away. The top of the world. An entire mountain range lay at our feet in so many tones of sapphire, and the sky was brilliantly, naively blue. There were no curtains, but the smiling Sherpa lady at the front desk had assured us that window cleaning was only performed from 2-3 PM. It was near 4; so, after a last glance out the window, we had eyes only for each other.
By the time the orange bath of the sunset tinted our skin golden, we hadn’t gotten far. My husband’s touch made me twitch and giggle. This alien performance was fitter for the moon. Zander thumbed away my self-disappointed tears and rubbed my back — the only caress my body would accept — until I fell asleep in total darkness.
He shook me awake when the sky was barely gray. “It’s time for the summit bid, Zo.”
My breath caught. “Another try?”
“No, not that.” He chuckled and took my hand.
The scramble for the roof of the Everest robbed the oxygen from our lungs. We rested in the middle of the metal-runged journey, holding on for dear life, laughing until it felt impossible to ever catch our breath again.
Settled in at the middle of the flat roof, we ate Nepali orange chocolates on the top of the world as the sky grew pink and golden. Our laughter has rung out over the mountains for over sixty years now. Don’t tell Zander I told you, but I hold that memory sweeter than any moment of intimacy that followed. You know what? He’d probably tell you the same thing. Life isn’t like the movies, sweetheart — sometimes, it’s better.
Lynn M. Rice enjoys processing life with the help of her Creator through the gift of creative writing. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Every Day Fiction, Flash Fiction Magazine, and 101 Words.
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