Peter, still lying in bed, picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Eli, hey. Uh, I can't go with you to the thing tomorrow. I'm..." Peter threw the phone down on the bed and ran to the bathroom.
"Peter? Why can't you go? Hello?"
The phone was silent for a minute before Peter picked it back up. "Sorry. Eli, I'm home sick. I've been throwin' up for the past few hours. The doctor guy told my mom not to let me leave the house for at least three days."
"Oh. I'm sorry you feel bad. Hope you get better."
"Thanks."
"Well," he paused, "bye."
"Bye." Peter threw the phone down and ran to the bathroom again.
Elijah hung up the phone. He grabbed his coat.
"Ma, I'm goin' out!"
She replied from the kitchen where she was cooking, "Be back before lunch!"
"Okay!"
He walked outside. The changing leaves began to fall from the trees as a slight breeze blew through them. He put his hands in his coat pockets and started down his driveway. Before he turned onto the sidewalk, he looked over at Peter's house. He couldn't imagine Peter sick. Out of everyone, Peter was probably the healthiest person he knew.
He turned and began walking. A car passed by him and hit a puddle causing water to splash over him. He looked down at his drenched body.
"Ugh," Elijah sighed as he looked up at the sky as if to say; Why me?
Even though he was soaked to the bone, Elijah continued walking. He walked into the town's graveyard. He crouched beside an unkept grave beside the fence that separated the dense forest and the cemetery. The head stone read:
'Jonathan Telford
1972-2004
Father and Husband
Will be Missed'
Elijah sat on his knees, silently, in front of the grave and just stared at the inscription. Rain began to drizzle which proved the weather man's predictions, from earlier in the week, wrong. He scooted over to where he was partially covered by the small tree which was, so conveniently, growing beside the grave.
He sat there as the rain came down harder and harder. The wind picked up a bit causing Elijah to shiver a bit. His wet clothes were sticking to his body in an awkward fashion. Though extremely uncomfortable, he continued to sit there. Memories filled his head.
A young boy is sitting on a bench inside of a funeral home. His knees are pulled up on the bench with him with his head resting on them. Many adults are crowded around talking. Some are crying.
Someone taps the boy's shoulder. "Hi there!" the kid in front of him said cheerfully.
"Hi," he looked up at the little blond boy in front of him.
"My name's Peter! What's yours? How old are you?"
Emotionless, he replied, "Elijah. I'm nine."
"Cool! You're only one year older than me! That's awesome! So, why are you here? Well, I mean, I guess you're here because someone died, but" Peter paused to inhale deeply, "what I'm trying to say is, who died?" He cocked his head to the side slightly.
"My dad."
"Oh. I'm sorry! You must be really sad! How'd he die?" Peter hopped up and sat on the bench beside Elijah.
"Car crash. He was in the doctor's building for a week, and I asked God to help him, but he still died. I don't think I like God anymore. He killed my dad."
"Oh. Well, I'm sure God didn't mean to! You should still like him! I mean, he still loves you! I'm sure of it!"
"I don't know," Elijah paused, "Why are you here anyway?"
"Oh! My great uncle Harold died last Monday. I think he had a strike or something. I'm at his funeral across the hall over there." Peter pointed. "I never even met him, so I'm okay, but you, you must be broken to bits on the inside! I mean, if my dad died, I would be crushed! He's like my bestest friend, 'cause, you know, I don't have many friends."
"Sorry 'bout your uncle. Let's not talk about death anymore, okay?"
"Okay!" He leaned back on the bench. "So, what grade are you in?"
"Fourth."
"I'm in third. You're only one grade ahead of me too! Cool! What else do you want to talk about?"
Elijah shrugged.
"You know, you don't say much do you, Elijah? Oh! I'm going to call you Eli. Is that okay with you? It's easier and quicker to say."
"Sure."
"Okay! So, Eli," he grinned, "what do you want to talk about?"
A woman's voice shouted across the hall, "Peter, it's time to go!"
"Okay mom!" Peter yelled back. He turned to Elijah, "Well, I guess I'll see you around! It was nice meeting you! Bye!" Peter got up and ran towards the door where his parents were waiting for him.
Water dripped from the leaves in the tree onto Elijah's face. He brought his hand up to wipe the droplets from his eyes, but it didn't matter since his hands were wet too. He stood up and walked out of the cemetery.
Elijah and his family had been living in Virginia until his father passed away. Since his father wanted to be buried in his home town, Elijah and his mother moved down to Georgia where they could be near him in his final resting place.
The rain began to lighten as he walked up his driveway. He pushed open the door and walked in. His mother walked out from the kitchen and saw how wet Elijah was. She quickly helped him remove his coat.
"Elijah, go change into some dry clothes! Why on Earth did you let yourself get so wet? You should've come back inside once it began to rain!"
As she continued in her rant, Elijah walked down the hallway to his bedroom and slammed the door. He pulled his shirt off and threw it at the bed. He walked over to his dresser and pulled a plain, white t-shirt from the drawer and put it on. He pulled a pair of pajama pants from another drawer and changed into them.
His cell phone, which was sitting on the small table beside his bed, beeped loudly, and he walked over and picked it up. It was a text message from Peter.
"Ugh. What do you want now Peter?" he said to himself as he opened up the message.
It read:
Hi!
i'm bored. hows ur day goin so far?~Petre~
A slight grin went across Elijah's face as he replied:
I went to see my dad. That's it. Your name is spelled wrong in your signature.
The phone beeped again.
oh! do i feel stupid or what? ill fix it. hey. ill text u back l8r. byez!
~Petre~
Elijah threw his phone down on the bed next to his wet shirt. He grabbed the book, Robinson Crusoe, from his desk and sat on the edge of his unmade bed and began to read it.
The oscillating fan sitting in the corner of his room blew a pile of papers from his desk onto the floor. He set the book down carefully as not to lose his place and crouched down to gather the papers. A colorful flyer caught his eye.
He recognized it as the one he had received at school about the expedition. The mountain's name stood out the most to him. Never had he heard of such a place as Nanga Parbat.
Immediately, Elijah sat down at the computer. His fingers moved swiftly as he googled the mountain.
He read aloud, to himself, the caption under the mountain's name on the web page. "The killer mountain?"
