My Mountain, My Phobia

         As I scaled the steep slope, my fear swooped to record highs. I never should've listened to Marge; this mountain was far to high. Little Johny could scale these types of mountains with the best of them. Timmy, on the other hand, could not scale this mountain, and resorted to crying, and begging for his mom. We all knew he wouldn't get help from his mother at this altitude, and the realization came over him like a typhoon snapping a tree: quick and furious. He couldn't refrain from crying, and looking down; neither could I. I looked down, the color being flushed from my face. I never should've listened to Marge, she didn't know my limitations. I, on the other hand, did, and climbing a gargantuan mountain was one of them. I tried to bottle up my tears, but that was a futile attempt.
         "Mom! Help! I shouldn't have listened to you!" I shouted with ambitious fury.
         I could see her now, embarassed and bringing shame upon her, by her own son's weakness and fault. I admit it, I was scared of the height. Is that wrong? Certainly not, I'm sure many famous and well-endowed people were scared of heights.
         Little Johny, a very-skilled mountain climber that comes to this particular mountain once a week (every Saturday, to be exact), shouted back "Come on! You can do it! Come on, if you make it to the top, we'll go get some pizza or ice cream!"
         Oh, the envy I had for his child-like charisma, but I did have to admit: pizza and ice cream both sounded really good, as they do to a mere child. I had to push myself to the top.
         "Fine, but if I die, I'm blaming you!" I blurted out with more power than I meant to use.
         My right hand let go of the rugged surface and tried to find a higher rock jutting out of the wall in which to grab on to. I couldn't find one. I slipped. My life was flashing before my eyes as I seemed to fall from the mountain in slow-motion, as if god was taunting me; it was incredibly long. I felt a tug at my chest, and the wind got knocked out of me. I was a foot from the ground. Goodbye, life as we know it, I suppose I'll never get over my fear of heights; curse you, Little Johny. I gently landed on a soft blue mat on the floor, and two employees took off my harness. Marge, my mother, was chuckling.
         "Aren't you mad I didn't get all the way to the top?" I manage to mutter.
         "No," she replied. "I'm just glad you tried to get to the top, despite your fear of heights."
         I smiled, much as cartoon characters would on Sunday mornings. I took her hand in mine, and our fingers intertwined. My mother walked out of that building, with me in her left hand, and a bag full of goods in her right hand.
         "I suppose rock climbing just isn't my thing." I chuckled to myself.
         My mother must have heard me, because she chuckled herself, as if in sheer ecstasy. When we got to the car, my mother put her back in the trunk of the car. I was strapped into my booster seat in the backseat of the car, and all was good again. I took one last glance at the front of the building. Goodbye North Plaza, and it's treacherous rock climbing wall. We drove off, to meet up with my neighbor, Little Johny, at Doug's Pizza Parlor. Perhaps my long foe, the wall, will become a good friend. However, until then, I say goodbye and good riddance.