Where the Staircase Ends(55)

I ran up the stairs faster than I had ever run in my life, and all I could feel were the steps against my bare feet and the wind in my hair. My lungs didn’t burn, my legs didn’t ache. Even the cut on my knee didn’t bother me. I felt like I had wings, soaring over the steps with so much speed that my feet barely made contact with the worn stone surface. I was in a constant freefall, only I was traveling up into the sky.

The stairs became more and more worn as I climbed. I didn’t need to look down to know that the hollowed-out sections of each step had become more pronounced; I could feel them against my feet. This is what gave me hope. If I was right and the stairs were worn down from other people walking on them, then it meant I had hit the part of the stairs that everyone eventually walks. It meant I had reached the end.

I imagined I was heading toward a golden wall, or pearly gates gleaming with heavenly light. I pictured a row of angels, their downy wings billowing behind them like fluffy white curtains as they strummed harps and opened their white-robed arms to me in welcome. Or maybe angels were a little more with it nowadays, and they would be strumming electric guitars and pounding on drums while someone belted out the lyrics to “Stairway to Heaven.” I didn’t really give a rat’s ass what they were doing, as long as there was something good waiting for me at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t have climbed all this way for nothing.

My ponytail started to whip around me, slapping the sides of my cheeks. At first I thought it was because of my speed, but then a gust of wind nearly knocked me over, and I realized it had nothing to do with me at all. The air was suddenly cooler against my cheeks, and my hair swirled and tangled as another gust of wind pushed me sideways. I stumbled, fighting to keep my balance. It was like someone shoved me from side to side, knocking me around the steps so I had to stop moving.

What the hell?

I searched the sky like I expected to find the source of the wind. It pissed me off because I was making such good time. I was sure that if I could just keep climbing I’d get to the top. I needed to get to the top. I had to believe there was something waiting for me up there.

I caught sight of something off in the distance—a gray speck? A bird? Another ghost? No, it was a cloud. It looked like a small fleck against the cerulean sky, but then it began to grow in size and shape, swirling into a large gray mass until suddenly the once-blue sky was a sea of swelling, angry storm clouds. I watched as the gray masses turned an even deeper shade of green-gray, darkening so quickly it was like someone had drawn a curtain across the world. Then all at once everything was black and bright at the same time, reminding me of summertime storms that warned of tornadoes.

The clouds rolled and tumbled lower and lower until it seemed they might swallow me up. They were circling so close to my head it felt like I could reach right up and grab a handful of the angry sky. And that’s exactly how it looked—angry. I was running right into the scowling mouth of hell.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the now-black sky followed immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the stairs. There was no time to sing one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand to see how far away I was from the storm; it sat right over the top of me. The scent of ozone filled the air, and I wondered if I was a fuse the angry sky was trying to light.

The rain came shortly after. Large, fat drops fell like fists from the ferocious sky, soaking me straight through to my swimsuit. Earlier, when it snowed, the air never felt cold. But the rain and wind were so cold that my teeth started chattering. I had to stop moving so I could wrap my arms around myself and keep my balance against the wind, which seemed hell-bent on knocking me to the ground.

Thunder boomed and the sky lit up again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being scolded, that there was something I was supposed to do that I hadn’t done and the storm was my punishment. Or maybe this was what I had been climbing into all along? Maybe this was all there ever was.

I closed my eyes and crouched into a ball, rocking back and forth against the pummeling rain because I couldn’t stand any more. The drops came at me from all sides and stung as they hit my body, like fire ants crawling up and down my arms. It hurt so much that I hugged myself tighter.

“Is this what you want, God? Is this how it’s all supposed to end?” I yelled into the folds of my arms, but my voice got carried away by another forceful blast of wind that knocked me sideways onto one of the steps. It seemed pointless to say anything at all.

Somewhere far below me, my parents were probably telling themselves I’d gone on to a better place. Isn’t that what people always say to comfort themselves after someone dies? They probably thought I was with Mamaw and Gramps, or playing Yahtzee with Marilyn Monroe and Elvis on a fluffy white cloud somewhere in heaven. What would they think if they knew the truth? How would they feel if they knew their teenage daughter was getting pummeled by a freak rainstorm in the middle of bumblebutt nowhere? Maybe they’d think it served me right. We hadn’t exactly been on the best terms the last few years. All I wanted was for them to leave me alone, which was ironic because in that moment I would’ve given anything to be back home with them.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly images were hitting me fast and strong like the wind and the rain against my back. A series of pictures flashed against the backs of my eyelids, blinking off and on again and again as though someone was flipping a switch inside my brain. I couldn’t blink the pictures away. They stared me down with such clarity that it was like I was there—I was watching pieces of my life flash before my own eyes.