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ASCENT

Beverley Cox

"The outline of the mountains is vague," he thought. "It is vague
because the mountains are distant, but more because the mist which
wraps itself around the crests is trying to conceal it from my view.
This is like my mind. Everything seems so blurred-like a dream.
Fear and regret are wound around my thoughts so that I can no long-
er do anything without their being a part of me."

He covered his face with his strong but trembling hands, not
with a violent, frantic gesture, but with a slow, despairing one; as if
there were no hope, no light in view.

Rumbling over the flat, level turnpike, the automobile with its
humming motor made him think.

"It is like my life. There is no change i~ the motor's monotone.
It is constant, with no rise in pitch. There is no hope in my life. It
frightens me to ride in this automobile, even though I am not driv-
ing. We could smash into that truck ahead of us. It would be only
what I deserve."

He lowered his head.

"Why couldn't it have been me?"

For three months John St. Clair had lain in a hospital bed in a
half-conscious state. The accident had occurred on March 17th, after
the St. Patrick's Day Dance. It was so hard to be sure, but now he
had a clearer vision of that night.

At 12:30 A.M. he and Barbara had left the party. Their friends
had followed. Six miles from her house, the car behind had swerved
recklessly to the side of his car, and the persuasive, daring voice of
his friend had yelled, "Wanta drag?"

"Naw, not tonight. I've got to get Barb home. She's late al-
ready."

The other voice had been persistent.
"Aw, come on, you'll get there faster this way."
Never before had he done this with anyone else in the car. He
had often said to himself, "If I get hurt, it'll be just me." That's how
it had always been until that night.

His foot had hit the accelerator fiercely. The roar of the mufflers
had pierced the still air. Side by side the two cars were speeding-
[fister, faster, 90/ 95,--, Approaching the hill, he could not see be-