The Night Before

Summary

The narrator is experiencing a restless night filled with anxiety and anticipation on the eve of their climb up Kilimanjaro, reflecting on their preparation and the silence that contrasts with their usual noisy neighborhood.

Abstract

On the night before embarking on a climb up Kilimanjaro, the narrator, who resides in a typically noisy neighborhood, finds the unusual quiet unsettling. They yearn for the usual sounds of life and music to distract from their frantic thoughts. Having meticulously prepared for the trip, with everything packed and ready by the door, the narrator is left with nothing to occupy their mind except the anticipation of the adventure ahead. The excitement is akin to that of a child on Christmas Eve, a feeling that adults often lose amidst the routines of life. The narrator struggles to keep still, considering various activities to pass the time, and contemplates reaching out to a friend, Claire, who shares their enthusiasm and anxiety. As dawn breaks, the reality of the impending journey solidifies, marking the beginning of their ascent of Kilimanjaro.

Opinions

The narrator has a strong aversion to silence, preferring the distraction of noise to their own thoughts.
They value the sense of control that comes with routine tasks and find comfort in thorough preparation.
The narrator romanticizes the excitement and wonder of childhood, longing for the ability to find magic in the unknown.
There is a sense of camaraderie and reassurance in the shared anticipation and anxiety with Claire, indicating a desire for emotional support and validation.
The narrator views the climb as a significant life event, not just a physical journey but a reawakening of a childlike sense of possibility and adventure.

The Night Before

19 341 feet: Kilimanjaro Part V

Photo: David Magalhaes from unsplash.com

It is uncharacteristically quiet tonight.

I live in a basement apartment, in a neighborhood that isn’t afraid of noise. There is a large building across from me where bands play on the roof until midnight. For the first time in three years I’ve lived here, I wish the roof was full of boisterous musicians and riotous fans. But no band is scheduled for tonight.

I can’t take the quiet. I want drunken laughs, I want the sound of engines speed through stop signs, I want the sound of dark barking at everything and each other. Whatever it takes for me to drown my own frantic thoughts.

I was much calmer when I still had a check list to run through. When I was buying boots, or researching, or going on practice hikes; when I was going to work, and watering my plants, and buying groceries, and doing the laundry — then I didn’t have to think about everything that could go wrong.

Now everything is packed neatly in a bag sitting by my front door, right down to the underwear and toilet paper. I’m cursing myself for being so prepared.

There’s no sense in putting my head on a pillow right now. This is as close as I will ever get to recapturing the excitement of a six-year-old on Christmas Eve. It’s a feeling most adults assume they’ve lost forever, but that’s only because adults learn to control their lives down to the last details, and they lose their sense of wonder and possibility that come with an unknown tomorrow.

Maybe children believe in magic because they are willing to look let themselves believe the world is magical, because they are willing to seek out enchantment in places they have never been before.

I try to read ‘The Snows of Kilimanjaro,’ but it is impossible to sit still for more than a sentence. Maybe I should unpack my bags and check everything off the list one more time. Maybe I should go for a run, or do yoga, or try to do five hundred push ups in sets of 20.

Maybe I should make up some excuse to call Claire, to ask her something I already know about airports or visas, just to hear the same mania in her voice that I have in my head and know that I’m not crazy.

Or know that we are both crazy.

I can see my curtains beginning to grey with the first light of a new September day.

It’s today. It’s finally today.

Kilimanjaro. I’m coming.