*Disclaimer: I have no idea what Cristo de Cueva means, I did not read the post associated with this title. I just wanted to write something fictional, and this just made me think Lena from the sisterhood of the traveling pants, so that’s the general inspiration for this post, plus a glorified version of my summer, plus a beach trip I took this weekend. So it’s not very focused, but I think it paints a good picture..
I still have mud streaks on my calves from walking up here this morning alone, and I had been even wearing shoes that time. I try to nonchalantly scrape some of the dried mid off on a bush, but I just manage to catch my toes on a root and fall to the ground, landing heavily on my forearms.
“Oh! Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Let’s get going or we are going to miss it!”
I push myself up, pick up my sandals, and continue walking up the dusty path, brushing sand from my arms.
We continue up the path and I start to hurry, seeing the sun lowering in the sky.
“Just put your feet where I put mine.” I say, and start to climb.
Maybe climb is too harsh a word. The hill is slanted upwards of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be a hill. But people like us have been coming up here since the dawn of time. At first glance it looks like an insurmountable mass of mottled roots and dirt. But if you know the path, it suddenly unscrambles itself and you see a beautiful cliff side slanting up into the sky, and cutting the sun in half in a neat little line.
I step in the first little packed hold and the dirt is warm from a day in the sun. I pretend as if the warmth is reallf from the hundreds or thousands of people who have climbed this hill for the sole point and pleasure of watching the beuty of the sun setting into the ocean.
I am getting wrapped up in myself, I think. I have forgotten the terrifying mission that I have somehow gotten myself into, one that is just as old and clicheed as the walk up this hill. I turn around.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“Fine.. I’m just a little lost on how you got up there so fast!”
I seeter with my toes gripping a root, smooth from a million footsteps. I grin. “Hurry up silly!” I shout again, and start up the hill, slower this time.
I land on the last dirt step and haul myself over a little ridge. I keep my back to the horizon and look over the ridge at the poor boy I have convinced to follow me to my “secret” spot.
“No…” He grunts.
“Grab onto the root. Right there, above your head. It will hold, trust me! And step on that rock and pull yourself up and over.” I grab onto his arm and help him up. “Sorry,” I say.
He smiles. “No, it’s okay!” He takes my shoulders and turns me around. “Look at the view. Its worth it.”
The sun is so bright it almost seems like a dark spot in the sky.
I sit on the edge and look down between my feet. The surf churns and turns white when it hits the rocks.
It looks cold and seems a million miles away… Up here the breeze is nice and warm. The earth is warm, and the boy with me is warm. The sun finally hits the ocean and seems to fracture into a million pieces and the sky turns a brilliant shade of orange and purple. I take a deep breath and smell the ocean.
“In every girl’s life; there’s a boy she’ll never forget, and a summer where it all began.”
Title Borrowed From: El Bueno, El Feo, y El Malo