The sun dropped lazily behind me and I watched my shadow grow longer, slowly inching down the rocky path. The song Me and My Shadow drifted around in my head sung by some ghostly crooner. Every so often a small gust of wind would cool the sun on my neck and gently nudge me forward and every time the wind pushed, my fingers tightened on the handle grips a little more. The mountain was waiting, waiting for me to plunge forward along its ragged jaw so that it could swallow me up.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky; it was cloudless and blue, very blue. I could remember kindergarten and Mrs. Whiticker holding up tattered flash cards each with a single circle of color in the center. She would look right at me and ask in her condescending voice, “What color is this Stephen?” I would stare at the card with its frayed edges and yellowing paper trying to remember. I was always intent on getting it right. I didn’t know then that I was color blind, I just though I was stupid. “Pink!” I would say, confident in my answer, the class would laugh and Mrs. Whiticker would smirk. “No Stephen, its BLUE. The color is BLUE. BLUE like the sky. The sky isn’t PINK Stephen.” Then, she would have me stand in front of the class as she asked them her favorite question, “Class, who do we not want to be like?” My name would chime through the halls of Bellhill Elementary. For a long time whenever I looked at the sky I could hear her, “The sky isn’t PINK Stephen.” and always I reminded myself that it was blue. Today, it was very blue.

I rolled forward slightly; the pebbles crackling under my tires as I moved seemed loader than usual. The sound almost seemed to be coming from inside my head. As I reached the edge, I locked my feet into position and with a final nudge from the wind I started down the trail. My speed increased rapidly, but I made no effort to brake. This wasn’t my first trip down the broken face of one these immovable monoliths. The bike was an extension of my body and the movements were second nature. My eyes were fixed on the path watching for obstacles as the bike bucked violently under me. My hands were clamps locking me to the controls as I avoided death with every minute twitch of the handlebars. The landscape blurred past me as I twisted my way down the mountain. Then, directly in front of me, a crevasse appeared. I pulled back on the handlebars to keep the front tire level with the ground and to control the landing but I was going to fast.

I shot off the edge of the crevasse flying well over the five-foot gap and bringing my rear wheel down hard on the serrated edge of a protruding rock. The bike shuddered as the aluminum rim slammed against the edge of the rock and mixed in with the sounds of grinding metal and chattering teeth was the high pitched squeal of air escaping the tire. Ahead the trail turned sharply along the edge of the canyon. I made the tight turn and regained control as the path sloped upward, but I still didn’t want to risk using the brakes so close to the edge. I was going to fast, if I used the brakes now the bike could whip out from under me in the loose gravel. I should have risked it, after rounding a long turn the trail dropped sharply and a quick glimpse of what was ahead sent cold fear through my body. The rest of my life was loose slate gravel and the large jagged unyielding boulders.

For an instant I found the situation funny, the mountain seemed to be the perfect representation of my life. Always traveling uncontrollably downward, through uneven terrain and violent twists and turns. Now I was coming to the end and had no control over it. I wasn’t strong enough to stop it. Then I heard them, all of them, all talking at the same time. Every teacher, every relative, and every stepfather telling me that I was worthless, that I was never going to amount to anything, and telling me I was weak. Years of hate surged through me breaking the grip of fear. The mountain had become my life and it was time to take control.

I squeezed the brake lever and rear wheel locked but the tire kept spinning, there wasn’t enough air pressure to keep it against the rim. Then the tire lifted off the rim and the inner tube whipped out tangling itself in the spokes instantly locking the rear wheel. The bike began to swing out away from me and my feet left the pedals. Then I saw it. The stepfather of all boulders stretched across my path and all I could do was close my eyes and hope he didn’t hit me. The front wheel folded on contact with the rock and I was airborne. I floated there in limbo waiting for the end for what seemed like seven and half years then the ground reached up, ripped me from sky, and dragged me to a halt across its jagged surface. There was a lot of pain, but I was alive. My body was on fire and I could feel the warm blood starting to flow from the lacerations on my back, but I felt healed. I got up slowly and looked back up along the trail and saw nothing but desert. As I limped away I looked up at the sky. It was cloudless and pink, very pink.