Mountains
By: Jamie Venezia
Mountains are beautiful. I grew up in west Texas, living in the foothills of the mountains in El Paso. Each morning I was greeted by a fluorescent light that, not unlike a blanket, covered the town in hope. It rose over the mountains, making the mountains look like they were ablaze. They were red clay mountains. People use rocks as examples of inanimate objects, but these beauties were alive. That is why I could never stand the grey, rocky mountains; they always looked so dead in comparison. They said hello, and told us they would keep us safe. They provided an umbrella of bliss for everyone. It was if they were protecting us.
No one could see past the mountains, and no one wanted to; they were taking care of it all.
Now, I’m sixteen, turning seventeen, and while I no longer live in west Texas, the protection of my small town follows. I still feel the mountains watching over me, unable to leave my side. They look after me and make sure that I am not hurt. If ever I had a bad day, they were the first ones I thought of. My only constant. As I grew, though, I came to an unsettling realization:
I don’t need the mountains anymore.
You do not keep the training wheels on a bike, so why keep the mountains for a fully functioning person? I can ride my own two legs, so why were they still here? There is so much to see beyond the mountains; the cities, the oceans, to deserts wide and far. My mountains turn from my blanket to my cage, as they are too tall to see past. I am blind to everything on the other side of the mountains. I cannot see anything past their infamous peaks. My mountains are now blocking my view; prolonging my thirst for something new. They blind me as much as they used to protect me. I look at my mountains like a burden; like my burden my mountains are holding me down.
Why won’t they let me fly? It is insulting almost; do they not trust me? I have spent so many years in their shadow, that light is foreign. I need something new, I need a place away from my mountains. I need someplace where I can see what I want to see and try what I want to try. I become angry with the mountains, because I feel like they have clipped my wings so I can never fly to their height. They do not want me to see because then I would know all that they know, and that is scary for them. They are scared I will fly away and never return.
Then I become sad for my mountains; they are rooted. I am free. If I were allowed to fly I could not carry them with me. I would fly away, and my mountains would remain rooted for all eternity. They would stay sewn to the ground, while I am able to soar further than ever seen. It hurts my heart.
Then they tell me, just because they will remain does not mean I should not fly. They want me to. They have not clipped my wings, they have protected them until the time is right. Now, I have to tell them it is time. I have to tell them I am ready. They won’t know until I do. I am ready; let me go! Let me into the world. Let me go. They do. I am gone. I take my wings and I fly; over and past my mountains, over and past the oceans, over and past the world as a whole. I see every sight, I hear every sound, I smell every smell. I hug everyone that can be hugged, I pick every flower that can be picked, I dance every dance that can be danced. Then, after I have indulged in the sweets of the world, I go back, and my mountains greet me with open arms; still rooted, still grounded, still waiting for me. They accept my heart and ask where I have been, and I tell them every prospect in exquisite detail. Then, I embark again for more adventures that lie over the horizons, knowing that my mountains will always be there for me. I can fly free now that I know my mountains are not my cage nor my savior, but my home, ready for me to come back so they can offer me shelter, but not keep me locked inside. My mountains are my home, and I am thankful to have them when I need them.
