Mr. Beast #2

Driving up a mountain, on a narrow road, wind pushes inside the car and lifts my hair! Is it ok? The feeling is good. Mr. Beast has his window down, but its only a little, I don't know why. The view looking out from the mountain to our right is beautiful. But it’s too big. It’s almost saddening how little I can put in my eyes at a time, seeing everything and only see a little of it. Like being spoken to but only recognizing a few words. Anyway, I feel calm. And wonderful, like a germ in a watercolor painting. The trees are changing color this season, and so we came to watch it. ‘Now is the best time to be here,’ one of the photographers said. Mr. Beast stops the car on the side road near a sign. I can’t read the sign but Mr. Beast does it for me, out loud. I nod and pretend to understand. We walk up a gravel path overlooking the crevice where two mountains meet. The shape of the land, all the lines and dimples and dots, it’s naked bodies. I think of my own. At the top of the dirt path is a little park! Mr. Beast has run ahead. Of course, he had found another bathroom. Mr. Beast had used every bathroom that we’d passed on our way up here, each time upon his return saying, ‘They’ve got very clean bathrooms.’ We take picture of each other near the yellow trees, trees with leaves aflame in red too. So beautiful. Unreal. We say stuff like that. Meanwhile, my eyes are sore. My pupils get closer and closer to collapsing. ‘It’s bright!’ I say to Mr. Beast. Mr. Beast was quiet. After that, I said nothing, and everywhere was silent. We got back into the car, shut the doors and continued climbing up the narrow road toward where we saw hang gliders taking off from higher up.