JUNE 10, 2015
Finally. Time to meet with Shagull again. Within minutes of arriving at the Ballard Locks, Brock spotted Shagull leaning back against the railing. The doctor peered into the locks at the boats lined up for their turn as he stuffed what looked like three or four walnuts into his mouth. When he spied Brock he waved and chewed faster, and tossed the rest of his meal to the pigeons in front of him looking for a snack.
“Lovely day,” Shagull said when Brock reached him, then guided them to a dark-green bench.
Brock gazed at the sunlight dancing on the leaves of the maples and drew in the faint scent of Puget Sound carried by a light wind. What the doctor said was true, but he hadn’t noticed any of it till now. “Hard to see the beauty these days.”
“Ah, yes.” The doctor leaned his walking stick up against the bench. “I can’t imagine.”
“You mean you can imagine.”
“No.” The doctor leaned in. “I can’t for a moment conjure up the pain you must be going through. I have great empathy for you.”
Brock leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “Karissa is gone from my life. Tyson is barely there. Morgan isn’t a Christian. Please tell me there’s hope for me dreaming again. I have to get back there.”
The doctor answered by launching into a monologue.
“In its own way, the story of every man and every woman is a quest. A journey not unlike Bilbo’s in The Hobbit, or Dorothy’s in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, or the Pevensie children in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Bilbo went with the dwarfs. Dorothy went down the yellow-brick road. Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter stepped through the wardrobe and into Narnia. Alice went down the rabbit hole. Neo chose the red pill. You are on your own quest.”
Brock leaned back and sighed. He wasn’t up for a lecture about quests and destiny. He needed to know how to dream again.
“There’s a point to this, right?”
“Most people refuse to face the truth. They choose to stay where they think they’re safe.” Shagull sat back against the bench. “You’ve made choices, Brock.”
“And look where it’s brought me.”
“Where is that?”
“You know exactly where. Tell me how to dream again so I can get back to the time before I, or he, made the decisions I influenced him to make. I have to turn this thing around.”
“What if you never dream again?”
“I can’t continue to live like this.”
“Why not? You’re the one who set this life in motion.” The doctor folded his hands and tilted his head.
“Which is why I need to be the one to change its trajectory.”
“I’d like to give you something.” The doctor used one hand to open his coat, the other to pull out a long brown envelope. He set the envelope on his lap.
“What’s in the envelope?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute.” The doctor tapped his lips. “Do you think God speaks? Talks to us?”
“Sometimes I think yes, sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Neither am I.” The doctor chuckled. “But I’m starting to lose my balance on the fence and believe I’m falling.”
“Which side are you coming down on?”
“That he does speak. If we’re willing to slow down enough to listen. And if we’re willing to act on what he says.”
“You care to tell me what he said to you?”
“I think you might need to do something that was set in motion years ago. I think it’s time.” The doctor lifted the envelope. “It might seem a little odd, but I think God told me to make a suggestion.”
“What?”
“It’s just an impression, mind you, that it should be now. Might have been him telling me, might have been a stray idea that bubbled up from my subconscious without bidding.”
“What should be now?”
Shagull handed Brock the envelope. “Open it.”
Brock tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper with a picture of a mountain on it. Below the photo it read, Despite its intermediate difficulty, Mount Pilchuck sees a slew of visitors in any given year as hikers flock to the trail for its grand panoramic views and historic restored fire lookout. Easily one of the most rewarding hikes in the area, its relatively short 2.7 mile, 2,300-foot ascent gifts you 360-degree views of Mount Baker, Mount Rainier, and the Olympics from its shelter lookout, which sits nestled on a summit that tops out around 5,300 feet. The journey is made possible by a high-elevation trailhead, which sets you off on your travels around 3,000 feet, cutting what would otherwise be an arduous ten-mile round-trip in half.
“You want me to hike up there.”
“Yes.”
“And do what?”
“Northeast of the fire lookout—fifty or so feet—is a box hidden, covered by a rock two shades darker than any of the rocks near it. I want you to find it.”
“Did you leave it there?”
“No, a friend of mine did.”
“But you want me to open it.”
“Yes. Trust me, my friend will be fine with that.”
“Who is your friend?”
The doctor’s eyes brightened, and his countenance betrayed a deeper knowledge of what Mt. Pilchuck would mean for Brock.
“What do you know, Dr. Shagull?”
The doctor rose and brushed off his slacks. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
The doctor clasped his hands behind his back and stretched his arms. “It would take considerable force to convince me that would be a wise decision. We’ll talk again after your return.”
Shagull tipped his hat, snatched his walking stick from where it rested against the bench, and strode away from Brock at a faster clip than a man of his age should have been able to generate. Brock remained on the bench for another ten minutes, wishing he was in better shape, because tomorrow he’d go on a hike that might be the key to the door of his salvation, and he wouldn’t be able to get up that mountain fast enough.