One, One Two One, One Two Three Two One

One, one-two-one, one-two-three-two-one. It was a drill my chorus instructor taught me. It was meant to help you calibrate your voice scales, so to speak. The one was a C, then two was a D, then three was an E, and so on, adding one more number to the middle of the sequence, until your voice went so high that you couldn’t bring it back down anymore. Then, me and my friends suggested that we make a song out of it. One person starts, with one, one-two-one, and on their next “one”, the next person starts the song. What you end up with are beautifully overlapping layers of notes. I hum the sequence to myself as I continue the trek up the mountain. I sang that sequence with myself, and I used it to keep myself company as we continued on to the top. I’d start off, singing one one-two-one, and then I’d sing the next part, one one-two-one. The notes don’t come out right. It goes one one-two-one one-two-three-two-one, but someone’s supposed to be singing with me for that third bit… why was I so sure that I was doing it myself? I only have one throat. Maybe the thin air is getting to me. I should grab some of the provisions I cooked for myself and take a rest. I reach into my bag and pull out a sandwich. There are five little plastic wrapped sandwiches, I note. Two are sliced meat, two are vegetables, and one appears to be a quinoa patty. I remember arguing with myself about if it’s really possible to efficiently transport quinoa into a mountainside, while I said that we could just make do, and if not, I’d go forage for something. Then I told me that it was a ridiculous idea, since neither I nor myself could even tell poisonous berries from edible ones. It took me a moment to realize that what I just said made absolutely no sense. I wasn’t playing four characters in a play, I was one person. I glance back down at the sandwiches, and the one in my hand- the meat one. Why would I pack three types of sandwiches in the first place? Especially when vegetable sandwiches will go bad quickly. I didn’t have the stomach space to eat all of them. It’s like I planned to give them to someone. I find a rock and sit down on it. The fog rolled in as I sat and waited, like my own mind was clouding up. It was scary, oppressive even. I wish I could find a cave to hide out under. But I didn’t have that luxury. Without anything to do, I start singing again. One, one two one, one two three two one, one two three four three two one, one two three four five four three two one. I hum the sequence to myself Why did the sound of that song sound so nice? Why did it sound so lonely now? Where was the other voice I sang it with? Where were the other two, or three, that I sang that song with? It’s only me out here. It’s only me. It has to only be me. Only me. Only me. Only me. Only me. Only me?