She has carelessly parked her car, not parallel, but at a slight angle at the side of the highway. She is parked on an incline, where whatever is on the other side, after the peak, is invisible to her; an unknown picture that will only reveal itself once she reaches the crest and starts her descent. It could be a thing of beauty, like when your vehicle is winding through the mountains, going up a steep hill, the car’s hood higher than your line of sight and then, suddenly, your body reaches the crest, and spectacular beauty is laid out before you: crisp silvery snow-capped mountains, a rolling river winding at their feet with shivering birch leaves on trunks of clean, white bark at the river’s edge.

She wants to see beyond the crest, to see the beauty and leave the bleak behind. Her left thumb lays hooked on the bottom of the steering wheel, her right palm facing upward beside her thigh on the car seat, her fingers curved slightly to hold the pills. No need to pierce the skin, just an easy swallow, and then the world will go quiet. Whatever is inside her mind will clear out and she will exist in a universe with a clear, midnight sky, a clarity so intense there will be a million bright stars glistening in the ebony backdrop. With the murky clouds gone, the sky will open, beckon, and pull her in. She lifts her palm to her mouth, and swallows.

Her chin lowers into her neck and her spine curves, she relaxes back into the cushioned seats, her body falling through a thousand beautiful memories, each crisper and more hued than the last. A kaleidoscope of color, brilliant and sparkling in all directions, wraps itself around her, warm and inviting. She glances inside.

There she is as a small child, curled up in a ball on the family sofa, her head laying on her mother’s lap, her mother’s hand cupped softly over her small head. her mother’s belly jiggles, sending vibrations up through her cheek and she nods her head a little to burrow in further.

Her nostrils fill with the scent of slightly burnt toast, slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwiches, baking cookies, a baking meatloaf she and her brothers love so much. The aftershave of her grandfather, Old Spice, fills the air around her. Her shallow breath feels deep, satisfied, cleansed.

She is with her brothers at the lake. Her toes shock as she steps into the ice-cold water; she winces and focuses on heat bearing down from the bright sunshine as it darts off her shoulders and glimmers on the lake’s surface. Her toes pull back and then tentatively reach out again to touch the shivering lake water, laughter echoing around her as a group of friends glide toward her in their raft. The corners of her mouth are too relaxed, but she sees it form a smile as she floats.

There is her first pet, a small kitten she named Lulu, and her arm stretches up with extended fingertips to grasp at it and pull it toward her, to bring it back to life.

She falls away from her memories, her eyes rolling, an arm stretching upward to hang on. It rests at the top of the steering wheel, where it stays until she is found.

– Georgie Popovitch

Author’s Note:  “Over the Crest” was inspired by the contrast between the beauty of living in our world with the loss so many of us have witnessed due to struggles with the opioid epidemic, mental illness, and a society under rapidly escalating pressures.