The Hardest Steps
By Amanda Izzo
My legs felt like Jell-O, wobbling beneath me. My throat stung and burned from panting the cold autumn air. The weight of my pack felt more burdensome with each step. I started grabbing low hanging tree branches and pulling my weight up the steeply inclined hill. Struggling each step, I knew the end of the trail was near.
“The last ten paces are the hardest,” my sponsor once warned me, “but you’ll make it.”
His name was Rod. And against traditional meeting rules, he agreed to mentor me regardless of our age gap and opposite genders. I wasn’t a staunch believer in the anonymous groups themselves and I’d made far too many jokes about Kool-Aid to be popular amongst the demographic of religious baby boomer attendees. I always sat at the far back wall scribbling into a spiral notebook next to a giant German Shepherd, named Sergeant. He was someone’s service dog who occasionally was seated in his bed in the corner of the large recreational hall. Though he never left his command post, he’d scooch over just enough to rest his head on the edge of my chair or lap for pets. One day, the woman at the podium asked all of those with sponsors to raise their hands. I paused my scribbling, looking up to see eyes on me with no hand raised. A moment of deafening silence passed where no women in attendance spoke up offering to sponsor or mentor me. I sank a little in my chair wishing I would spontaneously combust into thin air. After the serenity prayer, I folded my chair quickly trying to make my escape before I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Rod stood behind me in his overalls and plaid shirt.
“I’d like to sponsor you,” he said, USMC hat in hand. My brows pinched in the middle.
“Isn’t that against the rules, what with me lacking a penis and all?” He laughed.
“If you don’t believe in the groups, why believe in their rules?” Check.
“Why do you want to sponsor me?” I asked, placing my chair on the rack.
“You want help the least, which means you need it the most.” Check mate. Shit.
“Alright. We’ll see if it’s,” I motioned between us, “I don’t know…compatible. Here, write your number down.” I held my notebook out.
“Can’t. Don’t have one. And I’m very busy building a cabin so I’m only here once a week. Be here next Saturday. And fifteen minutes early to help me set up coffee.” Placing his hat back on his head, he held his coffee up to his lips and slowly waltzed off.
The next Saturday, Rod took the spot where Sergeant the dog usually sat. After the meeting, he gave me his undivided attention. The time slipped by as we talked about everything. I found myself speaking freely as if I were in a confessional booth. He listened intently, offering his best sage advice. And when he couldn’t relate he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Yet still, offering his compassion and understanding, nonetheless. Urging me to get back in touch with nature, he told me about his favorite trail. One that was hell at the end, but the heavenly view made it worthwhile. With a waterfall that cut through the mountains.
“You just sit with your thoughts, or escape ‘em all for a moment. You’ll find peace there even if it’s fleeting.” He paused, leaning back. “In these groups they talk about finding something to believe in. We all need that, especially in hard times. But they preach the value of having a higher power. I don’t know about everyone else’s, or yours. But for me? On that trail I’m right in God’s lap. Ya know? I don’t believe much, but I believe that.”
I never knew he was terminally ill. And when he died, I wasn’t sure how to handle it. He was the first person to show me true kindness in a long time. Without a hidden agenda or secret motives, he selflessly gave me the gift of his presence and patience each week. I hadn’t known him for very long, but he’d made such a difference in my life. And in many ways, I felt I owed him my life.
Before I knew it, I was filling my old nomad backpack and hitching a ride to a campground at the bottom of the mountain he loved.
Looking up, I could finally see just over the top of the mound which felt endless. I counted each bounding step between lungfulls of frozen air.
Ten. Finding a foot placement on the slick rocks and steadying my balance.
Nine. Reaching far forward as my muscles scorched and cramped in rebellion, grabbing the narrow trunk of a white birch and hoisting myself upwards.
Eight. I can almost touch the top of the hill with my hand. Toppling forward I began scaling the almost vertical remaining few feet.
Seven. A branch snaps behind me.
I tried to stifle and gulp my hyperventilating gasps to listen closer. Leaves crunched underfoot, slowly inching towards where I stood. Unable to turn my body around on the steep mountain slope or run up the remaining six steps from exhaustion, I closed my eyes. My heartbeat throbbed in my temples, and my body trembled from the pain of sustaining my awkward posture. The footsteps came closer behind me when I heard the animal sniffing the ground. Slowly, I turned my head to the right. The edge of the cliff dropped to a landing close to thirty feet below. I couldn’t make a break for it without breaking something vitally important. The sniffing was now beside me. I glanced to the left to see a long straggly brown and black tail behind me. Assuming it was a coyote, I steadied myself to reach my only form of self-defense if needed; until I felt a lick on my face.
I squealed at the thought of a wild animal licking me, until I whipped my head up and saw the friendly brown eyes of Sergeant looking down at me. My eyes teared as I laid myself flat against the rocks with instant relief. I laughed and sighed.
“Sarge! Oh, Sergeant! You good boy!” I kissed his cheeks as he sniffed and nuzzled into my neck. In my shock and exhaustion it hadn’t occurred to me what he was doing there. All this time, Sergeant was Rod’s service dog! A far-distance whistle echoed through the hills. Sergeant turned tail and walked up the rest of the treacherous hill where he stood at the top looking down at me. With renewed purpose, the last six steps went by quickly. Finally, I slid my stomach onto the flat earth and rested for a moment. I slipped my arm through my pack’s strap and slanted my shoulders, letting it slump off my back onto the ground. As I stood, my breath I couldn’t seem to catch suddenly halted. The view was more beautiful than Rod had described. The waterfall ran down the jagged mountainside, pooling far off where a woman stood knee-high in the small clear lake. A second whistle came as she placed her thumb and index fingers in her mouth, peering through the trees with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. Sergeant looked at me before trotting off towards her, stopping a few times to see if I was following.
Getting closer to where she stood, I debated stopping to introduce myself. Sergeant paused at the shoreline and looked back at me, excited to introduce his two friends who have never met.
I wanted to tell her what Rod meant to me, the short time I knew him. But as I inched closer, I couldn’t find the words. Looking over, I realized I didn’t have to say anything. We both knew. Lovingly, she looked at Sarge and then back to me. Silently, we both acknowledged one another as acquaintances with a kind smile and nod. Far beyond her in the distance, a newly constructed cabin sat.
I felt my heart beam as I continued down the path.
A quarter mile up, I sat with the thoughts I couldn’t escape. By the sound of a rushing waterfall, I found fleeting peace in knowing if Rod wasn’t in God’s lap now, he at least spent his final days where he felt he was. And that someday, if I have half the heart he did, I’ll earn a little bit of heaven for myself.
I don’t believe much, but I believe that.
Amanda Izzo is a writer and undergraduate at Bridgewater State University. After years of writing privately, she's begun to share detailed recollections of her life and youth in the form of creative nonfiction. With the hopes of connecting to other readers, and shy creatives alike. A 2025 Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has recently been published in The Ana Magazine, Sheepshead Review, Waymark Literary Magazine, and Rappahannock Review to name a few.
Amanda can be found on Instagram @amandawritesetc.