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  “I understand this: Roberto, a mountain is not your future!” His father held up the papers on the table. “This is!”

  Robert jumped up. “Papa, is that what you want me to do? I should sign those now because you want me to do it?”

  “No, because it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s the right thing to do!”

  “Was opening a music shop the right thing to do, Papa? Was it?”

  “It put bread on this table, didn’t it?”

  “Then why did Mama have to work too?”

  Alfredo Sanchez looked at his wife for support, but she just shook her head and smiled at her husband. “Oh my God, he’s right, Alfredo. Remember how your whole family was against you opening up that shop?”

  Robert’s father paused for a second. “But that was different. I did not have these kinds of choices!”

  “No, Alfredo, you did not have these kinds of choices, but you still chose to do what you wanted to do, right? We have never stopped any of our children from doing what they chose and we will not start now.”

  She then turned to Robert. “Roberto, your father and I, we are so proud of you. You are the first in this family to ever get the chance to go to university. And to have three schools that want to give you money...well, nothing could make a parent prouder. But son, what will also make us proud is that you do what you love to do. So that we can tell everyone that our son ‘loves what he does.’ But do understand, your father is right; the mountains can wait. And maybe it’s true—so the schools can wait. But saying you love what you do, well, that should never wait.”

  Robert sat down and leaned his head on his mother’s shoulder.

  “But, ‘Berto, you must be responsible for all your choices, every single one that is yours to make. Live with the responsibility of that choice. And one thing your father tells me over and over, and I bet he hasn’t ever said it to you—is that when we speak about what you want to do with your life, music like your father or social work like me—the thing he tells me over and over is this: ‘It will not matter, because Roberto will be successful in anything he does.’”

  Robert looked at his father. His father smiled as he put a hand over his son’s. “And you will, my boy. You will be a great success! I’m sorry, Roberto. I got upset. It’s just...well, you know...I’m a father! I have to get...well, you know—upset...Okay, okay. Look, your mama is right. So you decide, do what you love, son...Just...just be careful, okay?”

  With the support of his parents, Robert didn’t sign those papers that day. And that summer he worked, sometimes around the clock, at three different jobs. He was successful in raising enough money to fulfill his climbing dream. But only four weeks before the team was to leave for Everest, the leader of his team fell ill and the expedition was cancelled, leaving mountain climber, Laurie Skreslet, to become the first Canadian to reach the top of the world, many years before Roberto Sanchez would ever lay eyes upon it.

  Three years later, Robert did stand on the top of something—a stage—where he was handed his diplomas in Social Science and Music.

  ...So many paths to take. I’m not sure if I chose it or if it was chosen for me. But it did lead me to Troy. Oh, we’re landing in a couple of minutes...The three of them are waking, I better go...It’s pretty exciting and I can’t wait! The journey begins. I’ll call when we get to the hotel...Till then...I love you with open arms of smiled joy!

  April 22nd, 2012, Kathmandu

  I wish someday you could come here with me. Maybe Jen, too. This city feels as if it is always in this constant motion, yet you also feel like time is standing still here, even when you are right in the middle of all that crazy hustle and bustle.

  There are all these signs of modern technology, yet you are always surrounded by the majestic presence of the past. The city is like...like a deep, tremendously deep, raging river...If you look at it, the water on the top has this constant uncontrollable force to it: always moving, yet underneath that water it is so still, so unmovable. Like time and memories...time moves so fast, yet some memories just stay, seated in you forever.

  After supper we got into talking about the past: families, high school, first jobs. Maybe it was seeing the Pashupatinath Temple. Someone was telling the kids it was built to be the symbol of enlightenment. And that got us talking about some ‘moments of enlightenment’ that we have felt in our lives. I told them one of my most enlightened moments was when I was in university and I was volunteering with those students. Remember when I was working in those schools, the music therapy stuff I did, and how intense that whole experience was? I always felt like I was meant to be there. It was astonishingly...life changing, not just for me but for so many of those kids too! It still sits so clearly inside me—especially that moment when I told you that working with those students was the reason I existed in this world—it was to do this!!! Remember?

  I was so sure after I graduated from university, I would become a music teacher in a high school! Anyway, they asked me what happened with that enlightenment. Must have been a great question because I had no idea what to say and couldn’t tell them where that enlightenment even went! I said I thought maybe reality got in the way because when I graduated, I didn’t have the money to go to teachers’ college right away so I got a job and then got married and then...had a family. And then it struck me again—that question—is that why I climb? Am I trying to find or re-discover that enlightenment again, through climbing? Is that why I kept going, year after year, making my goals and climbs more difficult with each mountain? And then Nancy asked, so simply, “Do you find enlightenment up there?”

  I told her I wasn’t sure. Then she asked me why I kept going back? Did I think I might find it on the next one?

  At the age of thirty-eight, Robert had been happily married for thirteen years. He had a wonderful, talented twelve-year-old daughter and had successfully climbed three of the famed seven summits: Mont Blanc, Mount McKinley, and Elbrus. But after several restless years of working in a variety of positions in the offices of social services, he still hadn’t found his calling. That something that would give him a sense of great purpose. So again, he tried something new and this time became a probation officer.

  Robert was sitting in his office, a closet-sized room with no windows. His supervisor, Virginia Farrell, was standing on the other side of the desk.

  “This morning, you will be seeing three young men. Here are their files.”

  She dropped three red-coloured files in front of Robert. “Try to read about these young men—well, as much as you can. Just go through the questions on the sheet I gave you this morning, okay?”

  Robert tugged at the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t used to wearing ties and today it seemed to feel as if it was tightening as the morning wore on.

  “Okay, Miss Farrell. I’m sorry, but I must admit, I feel kind of nervous.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. Look, if you have any problems, Robert, or you feel uncomfortable for any reason, you call me, got it? And don’t worry, Luke is right outside, all right?”

  Virginia Farrell stopped at the door. “And keep this open if you want.” She then disappeared.

  Robert loosened his tie. He opened the file and read, ‘Tyrell Williams, age: 21, 9-month probation for possession of drugs and threatening someone with a dangerous weapon. Police arrived at the scene after they had received a call that a group of men were fighting. One man had stabbed another young man, but the victim was nowhere to be found. The only person at the scene was Tyrell, who was found in possession of a large hunting knife. Although there was no victim found in the surrounding vicinity, the knife was stained with blood and three large pools of blood were discovered along the sidewalk.’

  “When’s this over?” was the first thing Tyrell said as he walked into Robert’s office.

  “What...What’s over?” Robert awkwardly stammered.

  “Our little dates.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,”
/>   Tyrell stood around six feet tall. Long, lanky arms with hands that looked too big for his body. His hair was cropped so short, it looked shaved. His dark skin made his eyes look almost abnormally white. He wore a red T-shirt with a small insignia of a hawk on it. And he spoke with an aggressive arrogance, the way someone speaks when they don’t like to be interrupted.

  Tyrell moved toward Robert, leaned over his desk and scooped up a pencil and then snatched the file from Robert’s desk. He slapped it down hard and startled Robert. “This, you idiot! How long I gotta come here and do this?”

  “Probation you mean?” Robert tried to sound calm.

  Tyrell placed the pencil directly in the middle of Robert’s forehead, and spoke with a snarled chuckle. “You got anything workin’ in there?”

  Robert slowly leaned back in his chair, leaving a small gap between his head and the pencil. He was unsure if he should just take the pencil from Tyrell’s hand, or call for help.

  With his other hand, Tyrell opened the file on Robert’s desk.

  “What did it say in here?” Tyrell held the file in front of Robert. “Anything ‘bout my knife? Hey, they didn’t happen to give it to you, did they? ‘Cause I’d really, really like to have my little gut checker back. So, do you have it?”

  Robert was scared and tried to remember what his mother told him. “Just remember, if someone was coming to physically hurt you, they would do it right away. It is usually the helpless bullies that like to taunt you. Yet, Robert thought, Tyrell was found with a knife dripping with blood, so maybe he wasn’t just someone that taunted.

  Robert had been with his mother many times in the homes of mothers and children that feared their own fathers or husbands. “Never confront violent, aggressive behaviour with the same behaviour,” she had told him. “Always answer any mean or violent questions with a question. Always ask the aggressors questions that make them feel like you recognize that they are the ones in charge. This usually empowers them, but it can also calm them down as well, because then they see you are interested in knowing something about them.”

  So with the pencil still pointed at his forehead, Robert asked Tyrell, “Can you help me, please?”

  Tyrell’s head cocked sideways as if he didn’t understand the question. Robert continued speaking. “I’m sure it must be a pain in the ass to have to come here and report to me. I mean, look at me...some new guy who is just learning the ropes! Man, I know I wouldn’t want to do it. So...can you help me find a way to make this as easy for you as possible?”

  Tyrell smiled slyly. “Oh, so you want me to help you?” Tyrell felt giddy; he couldn’t believe his luck in getting a rookie as his probation officer.

  Robert nodded. Tyrell, still holding the pencil like a weapon, looked behind him and hooked his leg on a chair, then pulled it towards him and sat down.

  “You can help me by finding my knife first, ok?”

  “I’m sorry, I have no idea where it is,” Robert said.

  “How the fuck you gonna help me then?” Tyrell suddenly threw the pencil like a spear against Robert’s chest. Robert flinched and made a comical attempt of trying to catch the pencil before it hit the floor. This was his very first case and already he had been assaulted by a thrown object. Although it didn’t hurt him, he was instructed to call in his supervisor immediately if at any time he was approached with any type of aggressive behaviour. Robert picked up the phone.

  “So? So how am I gonna help you then?” Tyrell snarled again.

  Robert looked at the receiver in his hand and asked himself the same question. How was he going to help me? Surely calling his supervisor was not going to help the situation. So he slowly put down the phone as he spoke.

  “Well, what do you need me to do for you?” Robert then added, “And it can’t be about your knife ‘cause...”

  Tyrell wasn’t used to hearing these types of questions. No one had ever asked Tyrell what he needed them to do for him unless Tyrell had a sharp metal weapon firmly wedged against their body. Tyrell’s face seemed to soften when Robert spoke, but as a kid that had been in trouble with the law since he was ten, Tyrell was not one to easily trust anyone. Especially not a rookie who was new at his job. So he tested Robert again.

  He held up the file and shook it in Robert’s face. “Look at this, this! Just tell me, how long I gotta do this?”

  “Oh, okay. Well, it says right there at the bottom,” Robert answered.

  Tyrell looked at the file for a moment and then quickly laid it down on the desk in front of Robert and asked, “Yeah...yeah, well, what does it say then?”

  “Right there!” Robert leaned over and pointed at a line in the file. “It says how long your probation is right there.”

  Tyrell looked down at the file and scanned where Robert’s finger was. He looked hard, squinting his eyes and bobbing his head up and down. He suddenly pushed the file back at Robert. “I ain’t doing your job for you! Just answer my question.”

  Robert gently turned the file around and looked at it. “Let’s see...Yeah, here it is, right under ‘duration of probation.’” He put the file down and again pointed to the exact line.

  Tyrell looked at it and said, “Okay, so how long is that?”

  A young voice came from the doorway. “You want me to read it, Ty?”

  Robert turned around to see a young boy maybe about ten years old, leaning behind the door and peeking into the office. Robert was taken aback when he saw the boy’s huge round eyes, which were fixed with such an intense fearful look, like he had just seen a ghost and was scared to blink.

  “He can’t read, mister,” the little boy said very matter-of-factly.

  “Shut it down!” Tyrell snapped at the young boy.

  “He can’t read, mister,” were the only words I ever heard Troy speak. Even when I would go to say hello, Ty would give his younger brother this angry stare, and Troy would immediately shut right up. That little guy couldn’t have been more than ten. Mostly I recall how he would always be scribbling away in that dirty yellow notebook (you know the one). When Troy was busy in that book, his eyes had such a different look. They didn’t look scared. It was like his eyes smiled as he wrote, as if another universe existed in that book, one that was alive and hopeful. But it only was alive in that book, because the moment he looked away from it, those fearful frightened eyes came right back. The first day I saw Troy...that kid...he, well, he just rooted himself in me. And those eyes...I could see them in my sleep at night.

  The next time I heard Troy speak was probably about four months later in the back of a police cruiser. I helped Tyrell get this job at one of those photocopy places. Troy was leaning against the window, writing in that notebook of his. I said “hi” but all I got was those ominous eyes sneaking a look at me. Just as quickly, they were back in that book again.

  As I opened the door, Tyrell was stepping outside to have a smoke. Then it happened! It was piercing, like lightning crashing out of a calm, clear blue sky...happened just as I was speaking to Tyrell’s boss. I remember it like it was yesterday.

  “Hey, Mr. Braiden. How’s Tyrell doing,” Robert asked Tyrell’s boss.

  “Not bad, just wish he wouldn’t have to do that every twenty minutes.” Mr. Braiden then pointed at Tyrell smoking outside the front door. “I don’t mind the smokin’. I smoke myself. It’s just he keeps buttin’ out on the window sill and it’s getting...”

  CRASH!

  Broken glass exploded everywhere. Tyrell’s huge lanky body slammed against the steel window frame. His arms moved as if he were trying to claw his way back into the store. Mr. Braiden grabbed Robert and pushed him to the floor.

  The windows came crashing down. The sound of gunfire drowned out the noise of breaking glass and filled the air with torrential waves at a ricocheting, ear-splitting volume.

  “Get down! Get down!”

  Screaming. Employees and customers scrambled everywhere.

  One last shot. Tyrell’s arms were no longer moving; they were
gradually sliding along the metal windows structure until he disappeared from sight. It had started and ended in about four seconds—complete devastation in just four seconds!

  Robert lifted his head. Other than the broken glass, everything else looked the same. It was extraordinary how quiet it was.

  “Is everyone okay?” Mr. Braiden called out.

  People started to rise from their hideouts, crying and moving cautiously.

  Suddenly Robert remembered: Little Troy was sitting outside in front of the store! He quickly tore outside the door.

  “Troy! Tyrell!” he screamed as he pushed open the store’s front door. Some loose glass fell at his feet. Immediately, he froze.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” he whispered, the sound of complete disbelief evident in his voice.

  Troy sat silently on the sidewalk, clutching his notebook to his chest. Beside him was his brother’s mangled body, drenched with blood. The cigarette was still burning inches from his opened mouth and bloodstained teeth. Troy did not look at his brother. His eyes just stared straight ahead, as if he was waiting for something to come forward. Robert fell to his knees and put his arms around Troy.

  Robert opened his mouth...but no words would come.

  The police arrived within minutes and Robert found himself in the back of a police cruiser beside Troy.

  “Do you know the deceased?”

  “Are you related?”

  “Why were you here today?”

  Troy just sat silently, never once acknowledging the presence of the investigating police officer. Troy was in another universe, one far away from his pain. The only movement he made was when he pressed his face against the car’s window and watched as his brother’s body was covered with what looked like a blue tarp, the kind one would use under a tent to keep it from getting wet.

  Robert felt anxious and short of breath as he watched the paramedics lift Tyrell onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance. His body convulsed and he covered his mouth. He was completely overwhelmed. He’d never seen a dead body before. He answered the police officer’s questions as best he could.