Ruth Writes

Climbing a mountain had not been at the top of her to do list for today but here she is, standing at the top of one, wheezing and heavily sweating. She lets her wobbly legs collapse underneath her and less than gracefully lands in a heap on the damp grass. It’s a Thursday morning and the clientele for slowly dying at the top of a mountain is limited to herself and an older couple enjoying a picnic. Any kind of physical exercise would not usually be on her agenda for her day off but today, she woke with a spurt of energy fuelled by the realisation that she has nobody that needs to be informed of her actions anymore and she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants at the drop of a hat. So now she is here.

She lies back, throwing an arm over her eyes to shield them from the burning sun. She can feel her skin sizzling under the heat. She forgot to wear suncream. She bolts upright and scoots herself back until she lands in a puddle of shadow that turns her sweat cold. She brings her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around them and lets her eyes wander to the couple.

They sit on matching fold out chairs shoved as close together as possible, one hand holding a bottle of beer and the other holding each other. Despite being very happy with her life that she spends the majority of with herself, her heart constricts in her chest. They have a plate of assorted half-eaten cheeses that she smells before she sees. The strong, mouldy scent wrinkles her nose, and she plays it off by scratching it with her knuckle. She can hear them chatting away and the mundaneness of their conversation pokes holes in her happy-with-me life.

‘I don’t think I have any shampoo left.’

‘I bought it this morning.’

‘I definitely don’t have enough to wash my hair tonight.’

‘I bought it for you this morning.’

‘Could we stop by the shop on the way home and buy some?’

‘My darling, I bought it for you in the shopping this morning.’

They both chuckle and clink their bottles together, celebrating their shampoo success. Mortified, she realises her face is wet not only with sweat but now also with a couple of tears. She wipes her face with her sleeve briskly and stands up, readying herself for the journey back down the mountain. She has gotten so used to her own company that hearing and seeing two people enjoy each other’s company so simply has jarred her. She hasn’t felt lonely in a long time but now, she’s not looking forward to getting back home to be greeted by her empty house. She tightens her ponytail and touches her roots that are wet with sweat and slick with grease. She can’t remember if she has enough of her shampoo left. She’ll just pick some up on her way home.