I began to read the story of M Doreal’s account of his 1931 visit to Mt. Shasta. I cut and pasted the story into Microsoft Word, printed it out, and read the hard copy.
"I am going to give you an account of what happened to me in 1931. I am not going to ask you to believe it but it is not a fairy story. When I was lecturing in Los Angeles, in 1931, two of the inhabitants of Mt. Shasta came to Los Angeles and attended my lectures and they were there for a week before they let me know who they were and then, one Friday evening, they introduced themselves to me and they told me I could visit them at Mt. Shasta. I told them it was impossible for me to go there and get back in time for my lecture. They said, 'We have another way of going,' so we took a car out into the hills, just off Cahuenga Boulevard, - out through Hollywood and drove out toward Topanga Canyon. They gave me a little thin mask almost like cellophane. We did not have cellophane at that time, at least not much, and it had no chemicals and they told me to put that over my face and I did. Then they gave me a belt with two little pockets on the side and a row of buttons. I did not know what was going to happen, but I knew something was going to happen. Each one took me by the arm and told me to press certain buttons and I went up through the air like a rocket plane and we rose until the earth looked like it was almost fading out, breathed perfectly because something in that mask over my face condensed the breath and it seemed that around us there was a shell of some kind of force, because I could hear a humming noise all the time. When we came down it seemed like almost no time had passed; probably, fifteen or twenty minutes. We landed about two thirds up the side of Mt. Shasta-we landed in front of a small building" The space we came into was about two miles in height and about twenty miles long and fifteen miles wide and it was as light as a bright summer day, because suspended, almost in the center of that great cavern of space was a giant glowing mass of light"
So there you go. If a Doctor of Psychology believed in the Lemurians, than why shouldn’t I?
The phone rang. I heard Dierdra’s voice.
“Hi Julissa.”
“Hi Mom.”
“How’d detention go?”
“Where are you, Mom?”
“Coming into town. Going to stop by the grocery store. Wondering what you want for dinner.”
“Anything. Maybe some more salad and fruit.”
“Okay. I’ll grab something. You didn’t say. How was detention?”
“Okay. They had me scrub lockers.”
“Sounds interesting. See you in a bit.”
“Love you, Mom.”
Interesting? What’s so interesting about scrubbing lockers?
Except it was interesting. The thought of rifling through Aaron’s locker excited me. I hadn’t felt this energized in a very long time.
Coming into town?
That left me little time to do chores. I hurried through the dishes, rinsing them under the tap and piling them up on the strainer until it overflowed. Laundry came next. No catching up there, but I did dial the washer to the shortest cycle possible.
I grabbed the wood box and, for the first time, realized how cold it was in the cabin. Uncle Mickey liked living rugged—no central heat, just a wood fire place insert. It worked well...if one fed it wood.
I stepped outside. The sun hung low in the sky. I realized I had been on the computer for hours. I dug wood out from under the tarp, carried it in, and got a fire going. Since moving to California my fire starting skills had increased dramatically. While in Minnesota I had never actually started a fire. There wasn’t a need.
After checking on the laundry, I returned to the computer. This has got to stop, but the just-one-more-thing allowed me a reprieve. I typed in meaning of names and added Aaron.
I wasn’t at all surprised to find Aaron meant mountain of strength. This is the way I saw Aaron when he stood just below Crown Dome. He looked invincible. I was surprised though, as I searched further, that all the Delmon names were associated with mountains. Delmon, itself, meant of the mountain. Beaumont and Belmont both meant beautiful mountain. I even found Bernard’s name in the mix. The patron saint of mountain climbers, I read.
Coincidence? I didn’t think so.
I heard Mom’s car pull into the driveway. I turned off the computer and waded back into my chores with the thought of tomorrow and Cherrie’s and my visit to Mount Shasta.
4 CLOSE CALL
I rousted Cherrie out of bed early Sunday morning, if you want to call 8:30am early. As usual I practically had to dress her. I found searching for a pair of jeans and suitable shoes for trail hiking in the mess of her room a challenge, but with Aaron within striking distance, I felt charged. That, plus I downed a cup of instant coffee. Yuck. But it did the trick. I placed a beanie hat on Cherrie’s head and ushered her out the door.
As we walked out front to the driveway, Cherrie threw me the car keys.
“What?” I said, knowing full well her intent.
“You drive,” she said.
“Cherrie, I’m not licensed.”
“So?” She looked up and down the street. “You see anybody who cares?”
True. Shasta City at 8am on a Sunday morning isn’t a haven of activity. I could hear truckers on I-5 making their way north and south, but no traffic on the city streets.
“What about Garl?”
Cherrie shrugged. “You want to drive or not?”
“Sure. Why not? I’ve already been corrupted. Served detention in my first week of school. Why not go for bust.”
Guilt hung heavy as I thought about Mom. She wasn’t happy I’d spent the best part of Saturday on the computer when I had chores to do. She brought up the house-without-a-father thing again. In response, I closed the door, climbed into bed, and pretended to fall asleep.
“That a girl.” Cherrie climbed into the passenger seat. She pushed the back of the seat down and closed her eyes. “You’ve driven before, right?”
“Course,” I said. “Last year. My boyfriend—and I use that term loosely—taught me to drive his Cherokee Jeep.”
“Then have at it.”
I didn’t know one Lincoln Continental from another, especially those older than me. What I did know was this model looked, with its slab sides and squared off fenders, like a tank. The only thing missing was the gun barrel.
Cherrie was comfortable in the driver’s seat. I wasn’t.
I turned the ignition and felt the power of the huge engine. As I backed out of the driveway, I couldn’t help but notice a puddle of oil on the concrete driveway.
“Is that normal?”
“What?” Cherrie said without opening her eyes.
“The oil leak.”
“Grandpa said its power steering fluid. Not to worry.”
Not to worry. Okay.
“Run by Starbucks.” Cherrie winced as she readjusted her position in her seat. “Got to get my Mojo going.”
Only a half mile lay between us and Starbucks, but a crooked half mile. By the time I pulled the Lincoln Continental up to the take out window at Starbucks, sweat rolled off my forehead. I pulled free from my coat and beanie. I suppose, with my hair all in disarray, I wasn’t much to look at, but at this time of the morning, who’s looking?
“What do you want?” I asked Cherrie.
“Black as it comes.”
I recognized the boy in the window. He was in my Spanish class, which seemed odd since he was, by appearance, of Spanish descent and, in stereotypical fashion, I just expected him to know the language. I learned later his mother was Caucasian, his father Hispanic. He sat one row over and two back in class. I had, on a number of occasions, caught him staring at me. For the first two days I assumed it was out of curiosity for the new girl in school. By day three and beyond I was pretty sure he had other things in mind.
“Hi Julissa,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said. “Afraid I don’t know your name.”
“I’m in your Spanish class.”
“That I know.”
He extended h
is hand through the window. “I’m Jason. Jason Chavez.”
Cherrie’s Jason?
I looked over to see if Cherrie was awake. She was. She eyed Jason with undue interest.
I stuck my hand out and shook his hand. “I’m Julissa Grant.” And then got down to business. “She,” I pointed Cherrie’s way, “wants it black. I’ll take a small mocha. Extra hot. Lots of whip cream, please.”
Jason nodded and disappeared into the booth.
“So,” I said. “That your Jason?”
“He’s a stud, don’t you think?”
I had to admit. Jason had his Hispanic father’s dark eyes and hair. His skin looked richly tanned, not by the sun but by DNA. He was built stout, not all that tall, but, from what I saw, aptly proportioned in all the right places.
“Boy would I like to take him home.”
“He doesn’t seem to be all that interested in you, Cherrie.”
“He would,” Cherrie said angling to get a better look at Jason’s behind, “once we were in bed.”
“Cradle robber,” I accused her.
Jason delivered the drinks.
I paid.
Jason leaned out with his hand closed. “Open your hand.”
I was a bit hesitant, but his voice sounded sincere. He brandished his sun-shiny smile at us. Who could resist? I opened my hand. He filled it with coffee beans, not the kind you grind up, but the chocolate covered high-caffeinated candy. I handed them off to Cherrie, said “thanks”, put the LC in gear and drove off.
“He likes you,” Cherrie said, between mouthfuls of licking and eating the buzz beans.
“No kidding. I saw him staring at me in class.”
“He’s not all that bad, you know.”
“Never said he wasn’t. He’s good looking. Stud. But I’ve other things to think about right now.”
“What? Like Aaron Delmon?”
“For starters.” I cranked the steering wheel to the right to enter Everett Memorial Highway. “What do you know about the Lemurians?”
“Did you say Leprechauns?”
“You heard what I said.”
“And you heard what I said. Leprechauns.”
“So you don’t believe Lemurians exist.”
“Sure I do. The same way I know Leprechauns exist. In some folk’s imaginations. Nothing wrong with a bit of fairy-telling, long as you can separate fact from fiction.”
I sipped my coffee. I had asked for it extra hot. I downed the rest in a gulp and tossed the cup over into the back seat with the rest of the trash that had history dating back to the car’s purchase date.
“Okay,” I said. “But don’t you believe there’s something mystical about the mountain?”
I looked ahead and spotted Mount Shasta through a gap in the conifer forest. Snow capped its peak. The rest lay exposed with rock.
“Suppose anyone with an open-mind would. A hunk of rock known to spew lava now and again can’t be dismissed as not being a living breathing thing.”
“Wow. So you believe.”
“Not in a city called Telos beneath the mountain, I don’t. Do you?”
“No.”
I said that fast. But it was true. Everything I read the day before, now in daylight and with clarity of mind—given the mocha surge and coffee buzz beans—made the Lemurian theory seem otherworldly, a story for Hollywood and nothing more.
“Pull in here,” Cherrie said.
I cranked the wheel hard and pulled into Bunny Flat. “This is it?”
“If you want to climb, this is where it starts.”
I looked around. One other vehicle sat in the parking lot. “Where is everybody?”
“Where do you think? This is Sunday morning. Most people are still in bed or at church or watching football. Not out here hiking.”
“No climbers?”
Cherrie took my head in her hands. She turned it toward Shasta. “Look at the mountain. You see snow?”
“Just on top.”
“Yep. No one climbs the mountain this time of year.” She turned and looked at the Dodge Ram pick-up truck with its blue weathered paint job parked in the lot. “Except the Delmons. They climb all the time. Practically live on the mountain.”
“You mean they’re here?” I had a hard time containing the excitement in my voice.
“Yes, puppy-love. Your beau is here.” She pointed up to the summit. “Probably up there looking down on you right now thinking, oh I hope she climbs to the top so I can eyeball her again.”
“Don’t tease or I might.”
Cherrie tossed me a pair of hiking boots. “Don’t know I’ll live long enough to see you climb anything. Put those on and we’ll see if the flatlander can at least make it to Helen Lake.”
“Where’s that?”
Cherrie pointed to a plateau halfway up the mountain. “See there.”
“Yep.”
“That’s Helen Lake.”
It took us two hours to hike up to Helen Lake. Cherrie, for all her loafing and sucking on unlit cigarettes, outpaced me and lay basking in the few sun rays not obscured by the clouds when I arrived. I fell, exhausted, down next to her. My breaths came hard.
“Didn’t think I’d make that last hill.”
“That’s why they call it stand-still-hill.”
“How high are we?”
“High enough.”
“No. Really. What’s the elevation?”
“I think we’re at ten-thousand.”
“Ten-thousand feet!”
“Yep, or thereabouts.”
“Now I know why I am out of breath.”
Cherrie got up. “Time to go.”
“We just got here.”
“You just got here. See those clouds?” Cherrie nudged her head to the sky. “You don’t want to be on the mountain when they get here.”
I hung my head in remembrance. Suddenly I felt cold, chilled to the bone.
Cherrie wrapped an arm around me. “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot your dad died in a whiteout.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We should go.” I took a step forward and then stopped.
Above us, in the direction of the cloud approach, high in the spires overlooking Helen Lake, I saw movement. Four figures picked their way through the jagged rock.
“The Delmons?”
“Yeah. They’re leaving and so should we.”
I followed Cherrie down the well-trod path. It was, of course, much easier going downhill, but I still found myself stopping to catch my breath. When I did, I looked to the ridge above us and to the four mountaineers. As before, I could see Aaron Delmon bringing up the rear. Bernard, with his gimpy walk, was easy to spot in the lead. Beaumont and Belmont filled out the middle. No way to tell which was which.
After dropping down into the trees and passing Horse Camp, I lost sight of the Delmons. It wasn’t until we were back at the car, had removed our boots, and were driving away I spotted the foursome in the rear view mirror, walking out of the woods. They stepped onto the asphalt of the parking lot. Aaron stood in front of the group, in the middle of the parking lot watching us—watching me!—drive away. Even from this distance, I felt my heart flutter under his gaze.
A scream from Cherrie broke my focus on Aaron.
Looking forward, I saw the road curving right. We were leaning left. I cranked the wheel hard.
Cherrie grabbed for the wheel and pulled.
The Lincoln Continental didn’t respond. It couldn’t. The left front tire dug into the shoulder of the road. The gravel and loose dirt pulled us in a straight line over the embankment. For a split second or two, sky filled our horizon. The car lurched forward and down.
Before us lay a steep embankment and a drop-off, which ended thousands of feet below. I expected the worst. We would both be killed. I don’t know why, but in the back of my mind-flippant as it might seem-I kept thinking; this is going to be one hell of a short ride back home.
The LC, no matter how hard I pressed the brake pedal, picked
up speed. I could hear the snapping of twigs and branches and the scraping of the undercarriage as we bounced over the uneven ground and rocks. Sky and clouds filled our vision. I heard Cherrie screaming. Junk, from the back seat, shot forward through the divide in our seats. The steering wheel wrenched from my hands. As if riding a roller-coaster, all I could do is hang on.
Suddenly, the car came to rest twenty or so feet off the road.
I felt far from being safe, especially when I didn’t know what had stopped our descent. The LC balanced on a cliff.
Cherrie yelled at me. “Throw it in reverse”.
I obeyed her order. The car didn’t budge. We could hear the wheels spinning. Smoke, steam, and exhaust rose up from behind, blocking our view to the road.
And then it happened.
The wheels caught traction. The Lincoln Continental, this tank of a car, backed up the steep embankment. I stepped on the gas, lightly. This was something I had learned in my short driving course with my boyfriend back in Minnesota. Applying too much gas on a slick surface, he told me, wouldn’t help. Traction wasn’t gained by spinning the tires, yet if I didn’t give the LC sufficient gas I didn’t think we’d make the road. But we did, and we did without my gunning the engine.
That I know.
I looked in the rear view mirror as the LC toppled back over the embankment. Aaron stood in the middle of the parking lot where I had last seen him, his arms raised. As the Lincoln settled on the road, I saw Aaron drop to the pavement on his knees. Bernard and the two cousins surrounded him, blocking him from view.
Cherrie performed the act of wiping sweat from her brow. “Damn girl. Saw my life flash before me and it didn’t have Jason in it.”
“You okay?” I stammered.
“Am I supposed to be? You scared the shit out of me!”
“I know. I’m sorry. Do you want to drive?”
“Damn right I do.”
As Cherrie and I walked around the back of the vehicle to switch positions, I looked to the Delmons. Bernard stood in front of Aaron, leaning over him, waving a finger in his face. His animated actions spoke volumes. Bernard was not happy. The cousins did not want any part of the scolding. They stood off to the side with their heads hanging down.
Solstice - Of The Heart Page 4