I do not own Outsiders.
I do not own a mountain.
The Hasil and the Mountain
Every day of his life he missed her.
The mountain.
He had chosen to leave her, to come down below, and devote himself to Sally Ann.
He had chosen.
For the sake of their unborn child.
For the sake of his honor.
He had come down off the mountain.
Left everything he had ever known.
And every day he had missed it.
The green forests, wrapping you up, hiding you away whenever you needed it to.
The blue sky, so near you could almost touch the clouds.
The thousands and thousands and millions of stars at night when the vast expanse could swallow you up forever.
He had missed the feel of the uneven ground, always crackling with leaves and twigs.
He had missed wildlife, so free, so powerful up away from all things tame.
He had looked into the anxious, seeking, dark eyes of his woman, touched her soft midnight skin.
And devoted himself to her.
And to the children that she found the strength to bring into the world.
He provided for them. As best he could. Gave them what they thought they needed. Sometimes, when he could, what they wanted.
He tried to remember to find new wonders.
He did not always understand them, his family, frequently felt an alienation, a separateness.
Because they were not of the mountain.
And were, henceforth, a quandary and a mystery to him.
But he loved them.
He lived his life below, bit by bit, slowly giving up the mountain parts of himself.
Dreaming at night of the greenry, of the life, of the mountain.
And living during the day, as best he could, down below.
Until he troubled to look into reflective glass, not recognizing the face that looked back.
And every day, he missed her.
He missed the quiet hush of the early, misty mornings.
The settlings of the dusky, cooling evenings.
He missed the excitement of the hunt and stillness of the deep winter.
He missed so many things he could not even begin to express them all.
He had told her the truth before.
He did miss his family. He missed Everyone and No one.
And now since the Great Upheaval, it would all have been different anyhow.
Nigh, unrecognizable.
But nevertheless, he missed it anyway.
He had made the choice, him alone, to come down off the mountain and give himself away.
He had known and understood what it was and how much exactly he had been giving up.
And yet, had not known nor understood at all.
But because he had devoted himself to her, to them, because he loved them, he looked into their eyes.
And never spoke to them of it at all.
He kept the yearning in his heart secret, kept it safe.
Until one day, when he was old and used up by the life below.
And Sally Ann was in the ground from an aging malady, he stepped out of his house.
Hasil Farrell, of the clan Farrell.
He walked slowly, totteringly, to the end of the street.
Down another.
And another.
On and one, like a tugline pulling him home.
He stopped to rest several times, damning the decrepit state of his physical condition.
And finally, finally, made it to the foothills of the mountain.
She still stood, despite all that had been done to her in the name of progress.
He trembled, wanting to ask permission to lose himself in her green heaven.
Afraid to ask for fear of rejection.
He had left her, abandoned her, for tame life below.
She might not want him back.
Then he heard it.
Saw it.
A mountain bluebird.
Perched on a branch.
Still and bright and alert.
Staring right at him.
It held his gaze for a moment long enough to stop his heart beating.
Then it chirped once. And flew off into the deep green foliage.
And Hasil Farrell knew he'd been welcomed home.
He stepped forward then and followed in the direction the bird had flown.
He touched every tree. Savored every fresh scent, his nostrils filling with waftings of his youthful dreams.
He drank in the forest colors, feeling all his senses regain their equilibrium after so long ajangle.
The sounds of the forest, its chitterings and chatterings soothed his soul like a song cooed to a fussy babe.
He could almost taste the life of the world he had missed on the tip of his tongue.
It was all gone now.
The frustration. The confusion. The unhappiness. The yearning.
The questioning. The doubts.
Everything drained away.
And now there was only him.
Him and the mountain.
And so he wandered, he walked. Sometimes he sat and waited and watched.
And eventually, because he was, in fact, a very old man, Hasil Farrell went full circle.
And became one again with his first love.
The mountain.
This is my husband's show. It's not bad.
But when Hasil paused and looked back, I just knew.
And this entire chapter is all just gut reaction and instinct.
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