Connections

He looked over the mountain. It dropped sharply. He could see over it. It was a cliche of crashing waves. To his eyes, though, this cliche was magnificent.


There were many connections to be made. The connection to nature. The connection to himself. Finally, he had escaped the rigors of his life. There were no more spreadsheets to manage. No orders to process. There was just himself and nature.


His cell phone rang.


He thought it odd that he should get service this far out. A call from home. A place far away.


“Yes,” he answered, like a stranger to his own sister.


His brother had died. He’d snorted too much cocaine and now there would be no one to complain about and berate on Christmas holidays. He hung up the phone much more quickly than he should have. Certainly, much more quickly than was polite.


He looked over the side of the mountain and held out his cellphone by his index finger and thumb.

Connections. So easy to make and lose them. All he had to do was wait until his fingers were too slippery to hold on.