A Dying Wish

             John stepped out of the boat, allowing his legs to sink into the river about a foot or so. He gripped the thick rope tied to the nose of his rowboat, slung it over his shoulder and pulled it ashore the last ten feet or so. When he made it to land, he found a substantial rock boulder he could fasten the rope to, anchoring the craft to the shore.  Once everything was secure, he found a log nearby that was high enough off the ground where he wouldn’t have to struggle too greatly to get back up. He slowly lowered himself onto the fallen tree and let out a deep sigh.

             Dammit, Bob. I’m too old for this. John looked down the Columbia River and the miles of water he had just traversed. Seventy-three is too old for these kind of adventures. 

            It felt like a lifetime for John as he sat on the log, dreading to get back up. His left elbow was throbbing from all of the rowing he had done, and his knee had been in poor shape for half a decade now. On top of that, his heart would not stop racing. He was glaring at his pack, the head of which was peaking out over the nose of the boat, a good twenty feet or so from him. He needed to make his way over to it and repair himself, but he couldn’t find the will. Just then, a cool light breeze pushed at his back , urging him forward. He took that as a sign, wiped his sweaty brow and lifted himself from the log by his palms.

            When he reached his khaki colored knapsack, he pulled open the cinched top and blindly reached inside, feeling around  until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a half used tube of  Biofreeze, all worn from months of use. He unscrewed the cap and squeezed out this pasty translucent liquid onto his first two fingers of his right hand. As he rubbed the menthol ointment onto his left elbow, he almost moaned from the instant relief. Once it was thoroughly covered, he did the same to his bum knee. He returned the ointment to the sack and withdrew his water bottle. He took a deep drink before tossing it in the bag and pulling it closed. He slung his luggage over his shoulder before finally being able to face his task.

             He turned his head upwards, away from the river banks, to two twin mesa rock formations towering over him. The two sisters. He used his hand to block the sun as he studied them in detail, planning his approach. There’s a trail that wraps around back and up the west formation at a manageable incline, or a much rockier and steeper pathway entering straight up the front of the east formation.

            John pushed away the cuff of his sleeve to glance at his watch. Shit. Quarter to four. Rowing out here took almost twice as long as it used to. I forgot to factor in these rusty bones. Guess I better take this thing straight on. I  don’t want to spend the night out here. With that last thought, he took the path to the right, and headed toward the east sister.

            The first fifteen minutes went by quickly. The terrain was still relatively flat, and the weather was beautiful. John almost didn’t mind being out there. That quickly changed in the next fifteen minutes, however. He had reached the base of the rock formation, but bbefore he started his ascension, he found an old weathered stick, just straight enough to lean on and rough to the touch. I’m going to need this. I can’t just walk up the side of a mountain any more. 

            It didn’t take long for the pain to return to his knee. It started as a dull stiffness, but quickly escalated to sharp electroshocks every time his right foot made contact with the ground. At four-thirty, he was halfway up, but needed to take a rest. His breathing was rapidfire and he had been audibly groaning from the pain in his knee. He was completely covered in sweat, beads streaming down his forehead faster than he could wipe them away, obstructing his vision.

            Come on old man, you’re almost there. Just thirty minutes more, and you’ve done your job. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved a silver flask. He removed the cap and took a hearty swig, whisky dripping down his chin as he pulled away. That should steady my heartbeat a bit.

Those last thirty minutes were hell to John. He was relying on his walking stick completely at this point; looking for a sturdy spot to wedge it before every step he took. As he made his way around a particularly large boulder, however, the end was finally in sight. He could see where the path leveled off to a flat plateau. He attempted to quicken his pace, thinking about how maybe Paula’s stew would still be hot by the time he got home, but he was already going as fast as he could. John was looking too far off in the distance when he tripped on a tree root jutting up from the ground, and he fell hard. He yelled out in incredible pain and grasped his right knee; his pant legged turned a wet dark brown as it quickly absorbed the blood.

Fuck. Nice going, old man. He steadied himself up on his walking stick and hopped the last ten feet to the plateau on his left foot. 

John was in rough shape. He couldn’t breathe and his already dead knee was now sported a bloody gash. Hope it’s worth it, Bob. Let’s get it over with.

John dropped his knapsack to the dirt and opened it. In the center, surrounding his first aid kit, water bottle, and other essentials was a silver, bullet shaped canteen that he raised from the bag carefully with two hands. He walked towards the half of the plateau that was still being graced with the sun’s rays as he very meticulously spun the lid of the canteen until it had fallen loose.  He struggled with each step, deliberately using both of his legs in order to keep the container steady, despite the intense pain that this caused him. He also noticed, in the quiet of the environment, that he was now wheezing. Those two miles were probably too much for them He stepped to the edge and with slow precision, emptied the contents of the canteen. A grey cloud formed in front of him and slowly drifted off towards the sun.

Once he was certain the container was empty, he dropped it in front of him and fell backwards, his ass hitting the rocky surface with a thud. He propped himself on the palms of his hands, and watched the grey cloud drift further and further away. He smiled for a second, but it quickly turned into a pained expression. His chest felt as if it were clenching; as if the cavity was retracting as his lungs attempted to expand. He was no longer just panting any more, his breathing had become erratic. There was no pattern any more, as he would start and stop. This turned into fits of coughing, and then gasping, his face turning white

 He never took his eyes off that setting sun, though, even when he took that final breath, his face calm with a sense of accomplishment.