MYRON

Speaking of views!  McAfee’s Knob is one of the most photographed spots along the entire Appalachian Trail. You pass through a pine forest out onto a rocky overhang…

EMMA

Like a diving board. 

MYRON

With 270 degree views of Catawba Valley, 1,600 feet below.  

Emma stands on the lip of the stage and looks out over the audience.

BENTON

This is a good sign, I think, her coming up here. She hasn’t shown interest in too many of the spur trails, so intent upon her mission, it’s rare to see her stop to enjoy the view. 

Emma opens Kevin’s journal. 

KEVIN

Summiting Katahdin was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Worse than the rocks of Pennsylvania, the weather of Mt. Washington, or the 100 mile wilderness. Not because of the terrain, or the rain or the pain that seems to be getting worse each day but because I didn’t want it to end. When I reached the sign that Myron Avery himself drove into the ground of his great obsession, I wept as did several of the folks I’d had the pleasure to summit with.  We had only just met, and didn’t even know each others real names, yet we shared a bond that could not be deeper if we’d known each other our entire lives. I know this shouldn’t feel like an ending. I still intend to flip flop and finish the southern half, but if this is the last thing I ever do, it will have been worth it. At least I will have this one story to tell.

She closes the journal and crosses to the lip of the stage. Dangerously close to the edge. 

BENTON

You didn’t drive the sign into the ground at the Northern terminus yourself.  You didn’t even give a speech!  All you said was “Nail it up.” 

MYRON

“To say that the Trail is completed would [have been] a complete misnomer. Those of us who have physically worked on the Trail, know that the Trail, as such, will never be completed.”

EMMA

It’s crowded now.  Maybe it’s Saturday.  Families. Boy Scouts.  If I slipped from this ledge right now, they’d never recover from the shock. The horror.  Such a lovely girl under all that dirt. Such a shame! She must have had a family who loved her, a partner, she’s old enough to have children. What was she doing out here, all alone?  Would they tell the tale for the rest of their lives?  Would they even realize they were doing it? Writing my story.  That’s a kind of story in and of itself. When you can no longer write: become someone worth writing about. And yet...that is quite a burden to bestow upon a stranger.  Inspiration.  A depth of emotion that can only be tapped and explored by crafting it into words. Truth made into stories and stories made true. Chaos made beautiful. It’s a gift as well.  Once you know the way into that realm of possibility, all that is, or was, or could be, you will never be bored. Never lack for purpose. Never be faced with something you can not transform. Until...you encounter something that you can’t feel because you don’t want to have to see it. You don’t want to have to know. What he knew. Why he...couldn’t just step off the path in order to keep going. This place is beautiful.  But in it, I just see so much possibility. So much life. So many stories that he will never hear or tell because he wanted to be one. 

KEVIN (a ghost)

That’s a better eulogy than you gave at my funeral. 

EMMA

I’m not talking to you. 

(She turns to him)

Not yet. 

MYRON

Should we be worried about her?

BENTON

Since when do you worry about people?

MYRON

All I ask is that people be competent, invested and productive. When they are, I care very much.