It started like any other day.
The Sun rocketed toward Lambda Herculis at 45,000 miles per hour. The earth continued to rocket around the sun at 67,000 miles per hour. Any given point on the earth spun around in a circle at 1,000 miles per hour.
It gave the appearance that the sun rose. The sun does not rise.
Rather, we do.
Sabrina Adams rose from her bed at 5:53 A.M. She had only hit the snooze button once. For some reason it only let her snooze for eight minutes at a time. She had never gone into her iPhone settings to adjust the snooze length. It was not something she had ever considered doing, or even thought was possible.
Outside her window, she was slowly rising to meet the sun.
Toilet Urine Water Soap Foam Teeth Brush Foam Water Deodorant Clothes Shoes Beans Water Mug Keys and she walked out the door and down the part of the hallway’s carpet that is a slightly lighter shade of putrid grey than the rest. It’s the part in the middle, where she always walks.
It wasn’t until she was halfway down Ventura Boulevard that she woke up. The road was clear, and she had somehow kept the Mazda’s wheels in between the narrow, white lines. She set the radio to a station that was playing something, and outside her window…
Outside her window she met the sun over the San Gabriel.
Rays shot past the peaks and made the orb look like the imperial flag of Japan. The pollution in the air glowed orange and pink. It had rained quite a bit recently, and she could see a peak that had some snow on it.
And she wondered.
She wondered what it felt like
And then she was at Van Nuys, driving past her turn, heading East. Her ear lobes tingled. She hummed along to something nameless and elusive.
Fifteen minutes later she was in Burbank, and the passenger seat started to glow. She looked at her phone. It said ‘work.’ She pulled over, stared at the buzzing metal, and then, after one second more, silenced the call.
The next time her phone rang, it was accompanied with the slamming of a door and the sound of no-slip shoes padding out of a parking lot and up a hill.
She’d never touched it before. Not really. She’d touched ice cream. She’d touched freezer burn. One time, when she was very young, she’d even gone to the park and ice skated on a frozen pool. They had to stop skating every fifteen minutes to refreeze the ice. No one there was any good at ice skating. It made clearing the ice problematic.
She sat on the wall next to a teenager who was tall enough to scrape the ice as they waited to skate again. She smoked a cigarette someone else must have bought for her and made a pile of shavings, and then slid it against the wall. Sabrina had touched that, later, when the teenager wasn’t looking. It felt like what she imagined snow would feel like.
She had to be sure, though.
She just had to be sure.
It was one of those mountains where you find out that you and your tinder date aren’t as athletic as you both pretended to be and, hopefully, that neither of you care. The specific geographic coordinate she currently struggled across hadn’t even traveled two hundred miles closer to the sun when she had started to sweat, and there was still most of the mountain to go.
She tried to see the snow, to get inspiration, but when you’re dealing with a mountain, you can only see the top when it’s really far away. Once you start climbing it, you can’t see the summit until you’re almost there.
So she walked, and she breathed in the fresh air, and felt the sunlight pelting her face. She heard a bird chirp from somewhere not too far away, and she was relieved to know that not all of them had left for the winter.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t paid attention to birds in a long time. She’d been working so much, rising to meet the sun and not going home until she had left the sun behind, she hand’t really noticed birds but now, now they sang, and she listened. Their song was nameless and elusive. Sabrina liked it. It made her nose itch. It’s normally a bad feeling but out here…
Out here it made her feel like she could climb a mountain.
Her phone rang a thousand feet below her. It said work
Thirty minutes later, she started to shiver. She hadn’t brought a sweater, so she just kept going .
She ran out of mountain an hour after that.
And at the top, there was snow.
She knelt in it. It was cold on her ankles. Her ankles didn’t count as touching it, she decided. Touching it only counter with her finger tips or, maybe, with her face.
She did both, just be sure. It melted and ran through her fingers. It liquefied and ran down her cheeks. It was just water, but oh, what water. It was hard, and it was cold, and it was solid, and it was wet, and it was white, and it was colorless and she finally just dropped down and rolled in it, covering her black jeans and shirt in white powder, and she hummed a song both nameless and elusive and a few thousand feet below her a phone rang in the passenger seat of a Mazda travelling approximately 1,000 miles in a circle that was spinning through a vacuum at 64,000 miles per hour caught in the orbit of a burning ball of gas that hurtled through the galaxy at 45,000 miles per hour and it started like any other day.
It had just started like any other day, when Sabrina Adams rose at 5:53 A.M. because her snooze only lasted for eight minutes and she met the sun.
And this is me avoiding working on my screenplay.
My mountain is now climbed.
Perhaps I’ll make that turn onto Van Nuys tomorrow, after I’ve slept through rising to meet the sun.