Free The Cubicle Next Door by Siri L. Mitchell Page B

farther down into his seat and lean forward to peer out the windshield. “Have you ever hiked the Incline?”
    The giant stair stepper? “No.” The Incline, a bald scar drawn straight up the side of Rocky Mountain, was due to an old railway that used to run a cable car up to its top for tourists. The severity of the incline ranged from about 40 to 70 percent. And from what I understood, the entire hike consisted of climbing railroad ties all the way to the top.
    “Want to?”
    “Let me think about that for a minute. No.” Marathon runners jogged up the Incline for training. Military members hiked it for training. I’d never trained for anything in my life. Didn’t intend to now.
    “What else are you going to do today?”
    “I could do nothing and have a better time.”
    “Come on. I bet the view is great from there.”
    “I’ll bet it is too.”
    “Are you afraid of a little hike?”
    “No. I hike all the time. Now and then. Sometimes.”
    “Where?”
    “Mueller Park. The Black Bear Trail. When I can.”
    “Then the Incline would be easy.”
    I snorted.
    “Really. It’s straight up. No figuring out which way to go. Just onward and upward with a view at the top.”
    “I’ve lived here most of my life. I see mountains every day.”
    “But have you ever seen the mountains from above?”
    “I’ve seen them from below.”
    “Totally different.”
    “And how would you know?”
    “Flying. During flight screening as a cadet.”
    I’d walked right into that one.
    “You’ve never flown over the mountains before? Ever?”
    “I’ve flown, but it was always east. Over the plains.”
    “Come on. Just one little hike.”
    “One big hike. No thanks.” I stopped at a light and looked over at him.
    He was looking at me with determination in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let it go.
    I said the only thing I could think of. “So where did you fly?”
    “Leadville. It’s where all the cadets go to solo. They give you a certificate for landing there. It’s the highest airport in the country, almost ten thousand feet.”
    “My grandparents met in Leadville.”
    “Was he a flier?”
    I shook my head. “Grandmother lived there. Her father was a molybdenum miner.”
    “I never say that word if I can help it.”
    I felt my mouth twitch. Bit the inside of my lip to keep it from turning into a smile. “Grandfather was with the Tenth Mountain Division during WWII.”
    “The skiing soldiers.”
    “He joined up because he was a mountain climber, but he fell in love with skiing. After the war he came back, married Grandmother, and they helped run a ski resort.”
    “So how come you guys are in Manitou and not up there in Vail or Aspen?”
    “After he died she got tired of the winters. Moved down. Met Betty and Thelma and Adele. They’re all soldiers’ widows too.”
    The light changed. I drove up the hill straight to Joe’s house.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to hike it?”
    “As sure as the last time you asked me.”
    He got out, started to shut the door, and then stopped. Bent over so he could see me. “Don’t you get tired of viewing the world from the same angle all the time?”
    “No. I never have.”

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG
    The view from here
    What’s wrong with the view from here?
    Why do people always think they need something new or something different?
    What if I’m happy just the way I am? What if I’m content?
    What if I like my life just the way it is?
    Posted on June 25, in The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink
    Comments
    Do you?
    Posted by: philosophie | June 25 at 12:04 PM
    Forget everyone else. Do what you want.
    Posted by: beetru2u | June 25 at 08:58 PM

Nine
     
    L et’s go to the ramp.” Joe’s voice came from a spot somewhere above my head.
    I looked up and saw him looking down at me over the top of the cubicle wall. “Would that be the Bring Me Men Ramp or the Core Values Ramp?” In a knee-jerk response to a sexual assault scandal, the Academy had removed the slogan